Sweet As Sin

9

If I was going to get through today, I’d better remember that.

When I stepped into the chaos of the master bedroom exactly twenty minutes later, it took mere seconds for the hubbub of voices and activity to die down, and for everyone to turn and stare.

Standing inside the doorway with Kenji beside me, I fought the urge to turn and run.

The sense of critical inspection was suffocating. Dozens of pairs of judging eyes raked over me, no doubt finding me a pathetic substitute for the woman who was supposed to be standing in this spot. I’d done my best with my hair and makeup, curling my long dark hair so it hung around my shoulders in loose waves, and using a pale palette on my skin and lips, with a contrasting dramatic, smoky eye. A pair of cream Louboutins with Swarovski crystal appliqué on the heel completed the look, adding six inches to my height.I thought I looked pretty good. For me anyway. But I was no supermodel. Or any kind of model.

Which, judging by the looks on their faces, everyone in the room knew.

I swallowed hard and took a step back. A firm hand settled on my shoulder.

“Chin up and smile, sister,” murmured Kenji. “It’ll be worse if they think you’re afraid. Sharks can smell fear, you know.”

Since fear was leaking through my pores like giant, sweaty gumdrops, I assumed I was about to become chum.

Kenji gently shoved me forward, and I took another step into the room. A mincing step, because the dress was so tight I couldn’t walk normally. I squared my shoulders, careful not to breathe too deeply so I didn’t split any seams. On my lips I plastered a big, fake, s**t-eating grin.

But when I saw Nico, sans shirt and shoes, lying atop a huge four-poster bed across the room with his hands behind his head, the s**t-eating grin died a quick death.

Tattoos.

Muscles.

Burning eyes.

Bronzed skin.

The impressions came quick and fast. Blinking, I had to look away so I didn’t just stand there and gape like an i***t.

“I know. Sears the retinas, doesn’t he?” Chuckling, Kenji linked his arm through mine.

The master bedroom was as cavernous as the rest of the mansion, elaborate with antiques and oil paintings. The cameras were set up opposite the bed. A field of white-hot halogens on telescoping stands lurked behind. Rock music blared through speakers wired to the walls, and the air reeked of stale coffee and sweat.

I was ninety percent sure I was going to faint.

“Replacement girl! Yo!”

A young man swaggered up. Pasty and skinny, tatted from wrists to shoulders on both arms, he wore a red baseball cap reversed on his head, a sleeveless T-shirt, cargo shorts that looked as if he’d slept in them, and an enormous gold cross on a chunky chain around his neck. He looked all of fifteen years old, like a white kid from the burbs playing dress up in gangsta rap clothes.

In other words, he looked like Justin Bieber.

He jerked his chin at me. “’Sup?”

I took this as an inquiry into my general state of being. My response was to recall the s**t-eating grin. He grinned back, revealing a gold front tooth.

“So here’s what needs to happen, yo? We only got half an hour for this scene, so we gotta work quick. You and Nico are on the bed, and it’s right before the part where you run out on the wedding—”

“Run out on the wedding?” What woman in her right mind would run away from Nico on her wedding day? This sounded like a stupid video already.

Kiddie gangsta looked at me as if I were mentally challenged. “Yeah. You know. Like in the song.”

“The song?”

This was the wrong thing to say. Kiddie gangsta’s pale face turned an interesting shade of red. He looked at Kenji.

“Yo.”

There was so much emotion packed into that one syllable. Disappointment, disbelief, anxiety, anger. It was as if he’d just given an entire speech about his artistic dreams being crushed and the impossibility of working with such an i***t, using only two letters.

Kenji dug his elbow into my side. “Of course she knows the song, Obi! Everyone knows the song! She’s only playing.” He turned to me with a brittle smile. “Right?”

I realized I’d made a gaffe of epic proportion and would have to quickly backtrack. Whoever kiddie gangsta was, he was apparently important. “Of course,” I lied smoothly. “Who doesn’t know the song!” Then I laughed.

It sounded, even to me, more than a little insane. I was beginning to crack from nerves.

“Ha! You got me, yo!” Obi grinned, easily appeased. He contorted his hands into some kind of gang sign. “She just buggin’!”

I wondered how much worse this day was going to get.

Obi rattled off a list of instructions about how I was to act, stand, and stare off pensively into the middle distance while Nico lip-synched the lyrics as the song played over the speakers. I was tempted to give Obi another heart attack by asking about my character’s motivation, but decided in the end to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want anything coming between me and that thirty grand.

“We good? You got it?” Without waiting for an answer, Obi turned and swaggered back to the bank of cameras, and started barking orders.

“He’s the director?”