Page 30 of Now Their Starlet

“He’s out of the office now, but would you like to leave a voicemail?”

God, I could kiss her.

“Yes. Yes, please⁠—”

Before I even have a chance to process, a beep sounds. Damn, I guess she really wanted to get me transferred away from her phone.

“Hi—hi, this is going to sound insane,” I whisper, glancing at the door every half a second like Stuart is going to materialize through the wood, “but it’s Andi. I’m—okay. I’m not hurt, I just—” My voice cracks and I hate how thin it sounds.

Will they even be able to recognize it’s me? The moment that anxious thought sinks its claws into my brain, it won’t let go.

“It—it’s me, I promise. Remember all those galaxy-ception jokes? Anyway, I—I just wanted to say I didn’t do it. I swear. Please, I—I know you have no reason to help me, but I need your help. I—I have to go.”

I hang up before I have a chance to say something that could get me into trouble. I should’ve thought about what I wanted to say more. I just have to hope that Cameron believes me and that sense of justice he has is strong enough to get him to help me despite the rocky start between us.

I wipe my clammy palms on the itchy fabric of my dress and walk back into the ballroom like my chest isn’t cracked wide open.

I feel like I’m floating away from my body, dissociating from the crushing reality of my situation. Turns out, screaming into the void of Cameron Foster’s voicemail, didn’t help the debilitating anxiety gnawing at me.

It doesn’t matter that my dress makes me feel naked, or that these are the kinds of shoes that send agonizing bolts of pain up the balls of my feet with each step, or even the fact that the paparazzi are throwing out increasingly ridiculous and insane questions whenever I’m within earshot.

No, that’s not true. It definitely does matter.

But does it matter more than the few breaths of fresh air I manage to gulp down between exiting the hotel and entering the SUV with tinted windows, ready and waiting for us? I don’t think it does.

Which probably means Gina’s psychological torture is working.

CHAPTER 8

Beck

I’m glad we’re doing this shit outside. My perfume is so ridiculously intense, even with the de-scenters I put on multiple times a day, that I know the others will be stifling coughs. Everyone has been good sports about it and no one’s mentioned it to my face, but I know that my daily freakouts have been a lot to deal with.

“Hey,” Eli murmurs.

“Don’t, hey, me,” I snap, my voice a rasp past the tight knot in my throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eli murmurs, stepping in front of me and resting his large hands on my shoulders.

A breeze blows up the hill in Edison’s backyard where we’re trying to record the music video for my new single. It’s a stunning view. You can see what feels like all of LA, including the skyline of downtown.

“But I do.” My voice comes out thin and scratchy. “I always play live for my music videos.”

“Maybe you don’t have to for this one; we could figure something out.”

“No,” I say vehemently. “The higher production music video is Andi’s to direct. She’s the only one I want working on something like that. I—I feel like I’d be betraying her if I didn’t make sure the first music video I did in a different style wasn’t hers.”

“You wouldn’t be betraying her,” Eli murmurs, his hands shifting to cup the back of my neck. “She’d understand.”

“No.” I shake my head and clear my throat. “I just—I just need some water before I sing. I have to do this, Eli.”

“Okay,” Eli murmurs, thumbs swiping along the screen of his phone, probably texting the group chat to have someone grab me a bottle.

“I’m such a baby,” I mumble. “Can’t even get myself my own water.”

“Hey, you’re not a baby. You’ve just got people in your corner to help. None of us can do what you can do, so let us worry about the rest, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, struggling to even out my breathing.