Jennifer
I sat in the makeup chair at Vesper Studios, my gaze fixed on my reflection as the stylist dusted peach powder along my cheekbones. The bright ring lights bled into my irises, blurring out the edges of my pupils, making me look almost ethereal. Perfect and immaculate.
Exactly how I needed to look today.
“Miss Sinclair,” the producer said from behind his clipboard, his voice clipped and efficient, “we’ll go live in five minutes. Can we get a final touch on her hair, please?”
The stylist fussed with my bangs, spraying them gently into place. I closed my eyes, inhaling the chemical sweetness of the setting spray. When I opened them again, the woman staring back at me in the mirror was not tired or panicking. She was all ready just like I was.
“Thank you,” I murmured, giving the
