Cindy steamed the milk.If I’m fired, I can always get a job at StarStrucks.Shrugging off her disappointment this morning was a monumental task. Articles detailing Beau’s arrest the night before hit her phone like a jackhammer. With him behind bars,Egypt’s Goldwas as good as dead.
She finished off the latte and took it and those for her stepsisters out to the receptionist’s desk.
“Morning, Daphne.”
“Morning. I made cookies.” Daphne held up a plate of oatmeal raisin goodness. The woman was the fairy godmother of baked goods.
“Forbidden fruit—thanks.” Cindy took a bite, enjoying the buttery taste and thick oatmeal flavor. The fridge at home was full of field greens, celery, and protein drinks.Carbswas a bad word in the Knight household, but, heaven help her, Cindy adored them.
The front door swung open, and Cindy stuffed the rest of the cookie into her mouth and clamped her teeth shut. She silently asked Daphne if there were crumbs on her face and Daphne shook her head.
Tomás came in first, carrying Cha Cha, Patricia’s hairless pet, on a teal blue pillow. He kept the dog as far away from his face as possible. A good thing, since Cha Cha had a tendency to go cray cray when startled.
Next came Drusilla in purple yoga pants, a yellow tank, and a tie-dyed headband. Her tiny chest had been squished together and thrust up, barely making a shadow over her protruding breastbone.
Natalie was next. She wore a short black dress that dropped down in the front and even lower in the back. She had the curves to fill out what was left of the dress.
Lastly, Stepmother entered withBreakfast-at-Tiffany’ssunglasses over her beak nose. Drusilla may have gotten her stick-like figure from her mother, but Patricia got her curves from Beverly Hills Plastic Surgery. She waved her arm magnanimously. “Today is a wonderful day for Knight Studios.”
She tossed her silky Navajo wrap in Cindy’s face while taking the latte from her hands. Cindy used the camouflage to chew and swallow the cookie.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why, Cindy?” Patricia tottered down the hallway in her Christian Louboutin heels.
Cindy exchanged a worried glance with Daphne and followed.
Tomás darted out of Patricia’s office as they neared, the pooch on his favorite perch—the windowsill, where he could woof derogatorily at cars as they passed by.
“Why is it a good day for us?” asked Cindy, her mouth unnaturally dry.
Her stepsisters peeled off at their respective office doors with nary a look in Cindy’s direction. They didn’t ask for things to her face—they preferred to text their demands on her time.
“The reason today is a good day is that I received a call from Beau Mckay’s agent.”
Cindy’s heart did an erratic thud-thud-thud. Her up-close-and-personal encounter with Beau had kept her awake and invaded her dreams. If kissing him in real life was anything like kissing the dream Beau, she was an absolute fool for walking away. She tucked her trembling hands behind her back.
“He wants to do a project with us—was quite insistent upon it.”
Cindy’s breath caught. He’d read it! Read her work and liked it! A squeal surged inside, and she tamped it down, clamping her teeth shut. She needed to tread carefully with her stepmother. Patricia was conniving on a daily basis, but having been caught in a lie, she could come out teeth bared. She hadn’t sent the script over, and she knew it, and she knew Cindy knew it. The only thing Stepmother didn’t know was who had delivered the manuscript.
Cindy was in a precarious predicament. “What project is that?” she asked, her face a mask of innocence.
“Egypt’s Gold.”
After the pool and the humiliation and the almost kiss, Cindy had gone to bed with a glimmer of hope in her heart. That glimmer was doused by Beau’s mug shot on the front page of the entertainment section. Buying alcohol for minors was bad—so bad.
Although, Beau didn’t have any real control over the party last night. She wondered how he could be held responsible for who walked through the door. After all, she’d gotten through without so much as a sideways glance. “You know he was arrested last night, right?” She pulled up the story on her newsfeed.
“You follow him on Twitter?” Patricia’s gray eyes turned ice cold.
Cindy mentally cringed at her stepmother’s lack of knowledge. “This is Atlanta News.”
Placing her palms on the desk, Patricia leaned forward. “Let’s make something clear. Beau will do this movie with Knight Studios, and you will keep a twenty-foot distance between the two of you at all times.”
“But assisting the talent is my job.” More like slaving for her stepsisters and their friends, but the official title sounded so much prettier.
“Drusilla will take a hiatus from filming her series. She will be Beau’s escort while he is here and lead the team.”
Cindy bit back her protest. She should be point on this project—it was her script. No one knew it like she did—they needed her research if the film was going to be authentic. She took a deep Ujjayi breath. Who was point wasn’t as important as the movie actually being made.
