Page 42 of Stolen Omega

I stretch a little in the chair, glancing at my personal assistant who’s looking irritable as she chases Harvey and Peter out of the room.

Harvey frowns at her as he leaves.

He’ll get used to her brusqueness.

Peter’s an older guy who’s seen it all. I got his name out of him a few years back, when I was still trying to make friends out of everyone I met. He thought I was flirting, and he was very matter of fact about already having a wife. I guess some men don’t know how to have female friends.

Anna closes the lid on my transport box and then keeps herself busy steaming the creases out of my stage outfits. She doesn’t say a word while Mandy chatters to me ceaselessly as she applies my makeup.

My amazing makeup artist moves on to my hair once my face is glammed up, and one glimpse of myself in the mirror has me sitting up straighter. I look like a star, and I start to feel like one every time I see that transformation.

It’s like I’m putting on a mask and becoming the Zelena who can strut around in killer heels while she sings her soul out for a captivated audience of thousands.

Plain old Zey in her sneakers with her love of oversized T-shirts isn’t really the same person.

She loves music, and she can sing her heart out, sure, but she doesn’t care about glitzy dresses or maintaining an image that a record company can sell. All she ever wanted was to record music.

She had no idea about all the other stuff that went along with that until she got her deal.

Producers talked her into changing her songs, to make them into hits.

Stylists decided what she wore, and when.

Personal trainers helped her lose fifteen pounds so she could wear sample sizes and model for the designer brands who helped create her image.

All of that made her a star.

It’s not who she is on the inside. It’s a mirage.

The transformation is temporary. It only lasts as long as a performance goes on.

I stand up when Mandy’s done with my hair and makeup, and I do a few stretches to warm up before I slip out of my sneakers and get undressed.

Anna helps me into the strapless bodysuit I’ll be wearing under the first floor-length gown.

The layers under the heat of the spotlights are a nightmare, but the first quick-change is worth the discomfort. It always stuns the audience. They love the spectacle of the show.

I step into the gold heels, and then bend forward and put my arms out for Anna to put the dress over my head. The slinky gold material cascades down my body effortlessly and bounces a little around my ankles when it stops.

Anna moves around me, fussing over the shoulders of the dress until she’s satisfied with how it looks. I do a few breathing exercises, and Anna answers the door when the stagehand knocks.

She fits my earpiece, and we test it, and then it’s time to head out to the stage.

My security team is in the hallway when Anna opens the door for me.

Harvey and Peter lead the way to the stage, with two vaguely familiar guys walking behind us.

It’s weird not seeing Russ around, even if I know why he can’t be here.

Focus, Zey. You have a stage to light up in a few minutes.

I can’t seem to keep my gaze from straying around the room, especially once we’re backstage and there’s so much activity. The warm-up band are hanging out here, talking with some of the equipment guys. A bunch of security guys are back here, too, and I don’t recognize most of them so they probably work for the concert hall. Or I guess they could be crowd control guys checking in with their boss before they head out into the stands. I see other people I don’t know, and I stop looking around.

My stomach feels fluttery and strange.

The sensation isn’t a million miles away from my usual pre-performance jitters, but there’s something a little different about it tonight. I can’t put my finger on it, but if I had to take a guess, it probably has something to do with barely eating since breakfast.

It’s too late to fix that now.

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