Page 62 of The Billionaire's Invitation

Stella

“Fiveminutes,everyone!”thestage manager shouts into the bathroom.

I don’t say anything in return, curled up in the corner of a stall with my eyes glued to my phone.

I’m late.

Not just a little late, but really late. At least that’s what the period tracker on my phone says. A calendar full of days not marked with red dots where they should be.

I don’t usually worry if my period is a couple of weeks off. The pill can cause my cycle to fluctuate from time to time. Sometimes I skip whole months at a time, other times I’m spotting for a week straight.

Except, this time, I’m sick.

Like doubling over the toilet and retching my guts out sick. And it’s been this way for three days now.

Even that, I might be able to write off as a stomach bug or norovirus, maybe.

Except my breasts are also sore. Likesosore.

Please don’t be pregnant,I think to myself.

Not much else I can do but hope right now. I’m trapped backstage at Cash’s runway show, the one ostensibly for me and the shelter. I tried one last time to get out of it yesterday when I was bent over the porcelain throne for the fifth time that morning.

Her solution to my sickness? “We’ll have a bucket for you offstage. Don’t worry, plenty of models have done it before you.”

Well. That’s just great, isn’t it? I’m going to have to walk down a runway in front of hundreds of people I don’t know, cameras at me from all angles, trying not to throw up. And on top of all that, I might be pregnant.

Oh God, I might be pregnant with Flynn’s baby.

As if this situation couldn’t get more convoluted.

The door snaps open again, and I hear Cash’s voice. “Stella! Where the hell are you?”

I get up and open the stall door, stepping out into the dingy bathroom lighting. “Here.”

“For God’s sake, we have to get you dressed! I know you’re my muse, but I can’t stand a drama queen!” Cash gestures to the changing robe I’m still wearing; I sprinted in here in the middle of makeup when I felt my stomach lurch. Luckily, I was able to quell my nausea with some deep breathing, but I’m still lightheaded.

“I really don’t think I can do this, Cash.”

Cash ignores me, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me out of the bathroom. “Stage fright. It’s normal.”

For such a tiny woman, she moves at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. I’m tripping behind her as she takes me back to the makeup chair.

“Alright. Just sit, let them get you all sorted.”

I look at my reflection in the mirror. I know my makeup is only halfway done, but it makes me look sick, even sicker than I feel. My lips are blocked out with concealer, and my eyes are rimmed in light gray. We look more like extras in a horror movie than models.

As the makeup artist goes back to her work, dusting a translucent powder over my forehead, Cash stands beside me and softly kneads my shoulder. “You can’t let it get to your head.”

If only I could tell her that I’m not even thinking about the show anymore. My head is already several hours in the future, wandering through a Duane Reade, trying to get the gumption to pick up a pregnancy test.

“You’re the star, Stella.” Cash giggles. “It’s in your name.”

“Cash –” Gregory bumbles over with a look of desperation on his face, holding a broken high heel.

Her façade to calm me immediately drops. “Can’t you see I’m busy, Gregory?! Dammit!”

Gregory skitters away. Cash takes a deep breath and tries to reinstate her air of tranquility. “Where was I?”

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