Desire isn't something I've had the time for, but as I get closer to the line cook, it’s slowly becoming something that I'm considering. I’ve never even had my first kiss, and I'm scared he’ll notice how inexperienced I am and decide I’m not worth the hassle. It’s best if we just stay friends. Can't get rejected if I'm wrapped up in my safety net.
“Stop fraternizing, and get on stage!” Damion rushes me away from the line before doing a double-take at my clothes. “Where is your outfit? Why are you wearing your uniform?”
I cock my head at him as my lips thin. “Because I’m stillworking, Damion. And I’m not wearing what you picked out.”
Talk about a burlesque show mixed with a 1920s speakeasy. I’m not an object for my boss to flaunt around, but sometimes he sure does act like it.
“Was it too much?” He winces.
“Yes,” I deadpan. “I’m sticking with Charlie’s outfit.”
He groans. “Fine, fine. Just get dressed,please. The crowd is eating my wait staff alive.”
Realistically, Charlie’s outfit isn't much better, but as myself-appointed manager, she insists on creating an image for me. She’s taken the softer approach, keeping my clothes in lighter tones to match the serenades that flow from me. She calls it my ‘good girl’ look, but I don't really care about the clothes. I care about the feeling of being up on stage.
So, I can deal with the occasional wardrobe change-up. As I pull a white cropped vest out of my bag, my eyes light up at how cute it is.
Okay. Maybe I am alittleexcited about the clothes. It’s hard not to be when I've only ever worn hand-me-downs. Charlie has a great sense of style too, and she always connects with what’s fresh. I know I’ll never be underdressed with her running the operation.
She paired it with a cute plaid skirt and some knee-high white boots to bring it all together. It’s something I would never pick for myself, but that's the wonder of it all. I’m stepping out of my comfort zone little by little, and every new thing is a first for me. I originally banned any outfits that would show the old scars on my arms, but after talking with Mrs. Hartman, she felt that exposure therapy was the best way for me to move on from the past.
I've taken her exercises seriously, and every day I feel closer and closer to beingnormal. Well, as normal as a growing stage presence will allow.
It’s been a drastic change to go from the broken, tormented girl everyone despised to someone whom people push through the heavy crowd just to get close to. I’ve been swept up in it all, but the feeling is addictive. I can't stop, and I don't want to.
Not anytime soon.
I dress quickly, zipping up the white, knee-length boots with an appreciative smile at how they mold to my legs. Seeing myself in a different light has been a challenge, but every time I take in my dressed-up appearance, it’s like breaking away the old shell that once contained me.
I’m slowly breathing life back into myself.
As I step out onto the main floor, the crowd awaiting my arrival erupts into cheers and shouts. For the first time in a long time, a genuine smile tugs on my lips as Charlie ushers me on stage.
And I sing.
The pain and suffering fuel my voice, creating something beautiful from the broken fragments of my past. As I perform in front of hundreds of people, I remain unaware of the music producer Mr. Marcus tipped off sitting in the crowd, observing me with an astute eye. Little did I know that it would be the start of a very long and successful career with Charlie by my side as my manager.
Chapter Sixteen
Roman
Driving through Manhattan is what fucking nightmares are made of. It’s even worse when operating an Oshkosh HET, a vehicle designed to move heavy equipment.
The traffic swallows us, and I pinch the bridge of my nose before laying on the horn when another car cuts in front of me. “Jackass!”
Kairo snorts from the passenger seat as he scrolls on his phone. “Say it louder. I don’t think they heard you.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble before resting my head back against my seat. “How much longer until we reach Fort Hamilton?”
“Thirty-eight minutes,” Maddox supplies from the back.
I groan. “Of course.”
Being in the army is just as horrible as we all thought it would be. Climbing our way through the ranks has been a bitch and a half, and there was a time we were all separated during basic training. Kairo probably suffered the most from it. He didn’t get along with the other recruits, and I don’t blame him. Maddox excelled in the solitude while I was stuck dealing with stories of my old man’s accomplishments. In his shadow, I was pressured beyond belief. I still am, but now I have some respect within my rank. It isn’t much, but it’s better than scrubbing toilets and cooking dinner.
It’s been an adjustment, to say the least.
Kairo flicks through his feed, oblivious that I’m peering at his screen out of pure fucking boredom. He scrolls quickly past some girl singing in a dimly lit bar, and it creates a domino effect in the vehicle.
