Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Okay, baby girl, let’s get you playing on the piano and I’ll fix your hair.” The hairstylist, whom I’m assuming is Doug, smiles at her, but his eyes narrow on me as if he knows I’m the one who messed up her hair.
“You’ve just made a big enemy,” Rachel snarls at me, and if Courtney didn’t look like she’s about to throw up, I’d laugh in her face. Instead, I lift her chin so she focuses on me.
“Listen to me, baby.” My voice is commanding and I see her start to focus. “You were born for this.” She blinks at me, her ridiculous fake eyelashes looking almost too heavy for her eyes. Again, that protective feeling comes over me as I take her hand and kiss her cold fingers, as my eyes hold hers.
“You’re a Queen. Now go take your throne.”
“Yasss, Queen.” Doug nods his head as he runs his hands through her hair. I like him, he kind of has the Adam Ant in the 80’s vibe going on, but his eyes have no time for bullshit, and I respect that.
“This is working,” she puffs out. “Okay. I’m ready. Get me on the stage,” she demands, her eyes focused on mine as the stage manager, along with Doug and makeup artists, take her arm, propelling her toward the back area.
“You son of a bitch. If she fails, this is all your fault,” Rachel spits out like a reptile and points a claw finger at me, then turns and follows after Courtney.
“Ammo,” Melanie calls out, waving and holding her hand up at people trying to talk to her as she makes her way toward me, frowning as she watches Rachel march past her.
“What’s crawled up Rachel’s ass? And you’re fucking late.” She punches my arm, then grabs ahold of my suit jacket as a PA motions for quiet, pointing at the red light that signals they’re live again.
I take Melanie’s arm as we zig zag around people to stand next to Malcolm and get a better view, as a stagehand helps Courtney up onto the Grand piano.
“She’s okay, right?” Melanie’s worried voice barely registers in my brain. I refuse to hear it. I can only focus on Courtney and nothing else.
Come on, baby, you can do this.
“Who’s playing the piano?” I demand.
“A famous pianist they flew in from Russia,” Malcolm answers as the smoke machines start to fill up the stage.
Look at me, Courtney. I know you can do this. As if she feels me, her beautiful gold eyes blink up and lock onto mine. I’ve done thousands of performances, and I’ve never felt like this, as if I’m getting ready to jump, and I can only hope there’s water at the bottom to break my fall.
Mine.
Courtney is mine.
This is the second that I understand that saying that I’d die for someone. I’d easily give up all my success just for her to have this moment. All my fame, money; Christ, if I could crawl inside her body I would. She’s worked every day for this moment, and no one is going to take this from her.
“Okay, I have to admit, when I heard that Courtney Falcon was performing…” The host is a fucking comedian, and he’s not funny as he grabs at his heart dramatically.
“I admit it, I have a crush on her …” The crowd whistles and cheers.
“So, here she is, giving us a taste of her new solo album. Give it up for the insanely talented and gorgeous…Courtney Falcon.”
The stage starts to move around in a half circle, the spotlight directly on Courtney as she lays her head down, her body draped on the piano as if she’s asleep.
“Wait. She didn’t do that in the rehearsal. Jesus, I’m gonna have a heart attack before this night is over.” Malcolm runs his hands through his hair numerous times, looking at Melanie like she can help.
“She’s got this,” I state. The audience goes wild as she comes into view.
“Courtney…Courtney.” They chant and cheer, barely noticing the Russian pianist who has just walked out in a black tuxedo, bowing at the audience before he sits.
Then silence…as we all wait.
Nothing but my heart pounding, and Melanie’s nails digging into my forearm as she chants quietly.
“Come on, Court.”
The Russian waits, then lifts his hands dramatically. His fingers seem to have a life of their own as they glide across the keys. Courtney rises at the start of the music, as if she’s Sleeping Beauty and the piano is her Prince coming to kiss her awake. She gracefully rolls to her stomach, watching him, one hand picking up the microphone, then she looks out at the crowd.
The audience explodes, and she closes her eyes and leans her head back as if their love and devotion is all she’ll ever need.
Then, like a siren sent to seduce, she starts to sing.