BRIAN (The Callahans Book 1) (47 page)

Chaz didn’t look impressed. “We’re going to have to drain all of that bitchiness out of you, or it will show up on camera. The worst thing you can do is make them hate you even more than they already do. If you’re going to do an interview and introduce yourself to the entire world, don’t you want them to at least like you a little bit?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I complained.

“Oh, poor little girl,” Chaz whined. “A movie star fell in love with her and she didn’t ask for any of this.”

What the hell was that? Was that really how Chaz viewed me? Would that be what people thought of me?

“I don’t think I want to do the interview anymore,” I said.

“Stop it,” he scoffed. “Of course you’re doing the interview. I already told Kelly you were doing the interview. If you back out now, even that’ll be news. And it definitely won’t be good.”

“Then help me do the interview well,” I said. “Stop insulting me. I delivered pizzas for a living before this. I don’t know what I’m doing, and Devon said to trust you.”

Chaz sighed. “Look. Take whatever anxiety or doubts you’re having about the interview and magnify them by a metric fuck ton. That’s how terrified I am of it.”

“This isn’t helping.” My eyes darted around, looking for the nearest exit.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that I’m going to help you,” Chaz said. “Everything that happens in this interview is going to blow back on Devon, and if anything negative tries to stick, it’s my job to unstick it. I can’t have him looking bad. He’s my meal ticket. That’s an unkind way to put it, but it’s the truth. So my job is to keep him looking good, and now that extends to you. You’re going to do fine because you’re going to do exactly what I say. Right down to the haircut.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter.” Chaz tapped on his phone, texting someone. “You’re going to have to look good. Didn't I tell you that was the most important thing? And even I know that’s not a good length for you. It does your face a disservice.”

Was he saying that my face was pretty or my hair was wretched? Had the man ever given a compliment in his life?

“You’ll have hair and makeup done prior to the interview, of course,” he said, not bothering to look up from his phone. “But you can’t go in there expecting a miracle. You have to arrive looking good or it will find its way out that you came to the interview a hot mess. We also have to go shopping. Ugh. I’ll just have a personal shopper bring some selections over in your size. That’s the better plan. I’ll just bring all of this to you. You shouldn’t be seen in public until you have your new look.”

It was a relief to me that I didn’t have to be seen in public with Chaz. I honestly had no idea why Devon tolerated his presence. Chaz hadn’t grown on me one bit, and he hadn’t done anything to build my confidence about the interview.

An army of beauty and appearance professionals arrived at the house shortly after we finished our beverages, going over possible questions Kelly might ask.

“Smile!” Chaz kept barking. “Who’s going to be sure of you if you look unsure of yourself?”

He continued to coach me even as a stylist had me leaning back over a sink, scrubbing my scalp raw.

“What do you think of LA?” he asked, still fiddling with his phone.

“I think it’s very new and exciting,” I said, mimicking the exact tone of the answer he’d fed me earlier.

“That’s not very believable,” he said, frowning at his phone before flicking his finger over the display several times. “Aren’t Texans supposed to have an accent?”

“Some do,” I said. “I don’t. I lived in Dallas.”

“Can’t you just talk with an accent?” he asked. “Come on. We need them to pity you. If they pity you, they have less room for hatred.”

“Why would they pity me over an accent?” I asked.

“Because people go to classes here to get rid of things like Texas accents,” Chaz intoned.

“I’m not faking an accent,” I said. “What if someone found out I was faking it?”

“True. Fine. You win that one. No accent.”

I tried to watch my appearance’s progress in the reflection of the cabinets in the kitchen, where we were all working, but my view was blocked most of the time by a beautician or Chaz. I could only track what was going on by the hanks of hair dropping to the floor at my feet. I hadn’t had a professional haircut in my entire life. Nana had always trimmed it up for me until her hands had become too unsteady, and then I’d just gone to budget places to keep it out of my face.

As soon as my hair was cut and styled, a couple of tall, silent women made a move to strip off my clothes.

“Whoa, wait a second,” I protested. “What the hell is going on?”

“Personal stylists,” Chaz said. “They want to see what clothes will work for you.”

“I can undress myself,” I said. “Can’t we do this somewhere other than the kitchen?”

“What, are you shy now?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve seen your everything, June. What else do you have that’s going to surprise me? A tail?”

I huffed a sigh and began trying on clothes, shivering in the cool air of the kitchen, at the clinical disinterest of the stylists. We finally settled on an outfit that Chaz loathed the least—a pair of skinny jeans, ankle boots, a slouchy tank top and a leather jacket—and it was on to the makeup.

“You need to do this makeup as close to what they’re doing now every single day,” Chaz said. “You’re prone to dark circles, and in Hollywood, that means you party too much.”

“I don’t party too much,” I said. “I party hardly at all.”

“That’s neither here nor there,” he said. “Ask questions. Learn this routine. Or I’m sure we could have a stylist come every day and help you get ready. Plenty of actresses do it. I just thought you’d enjoy your privacy.”

I tried to keep track of the steps and the brushes and the pots of powder and tubes of liquids as the makeup artist kept a running commentary of what she was doing, but it got hopeless as soon as she broke the airbrush out. There was no way I was going to learn how to airbrush my own face.

When I was finally primed and powdered and as perfect as they were going to get me, I got to stare at myself in the mirror.

Only it wasn’t myself.

It was some imagining of just who Chaz thought I should be—styled to a fault, not a hair out of place.

“This isn’t me,” I told him, looking at my sleek bob that shined beneath the lights overhead. There wasn’t a square centimeter of my face not covered in makeup. I had eyeshadow all the way up to my brow bones. At least my outfit was a little bit cute, but I was not in love with my face—not one bit.

“Exactly,” Chaz said easily. “You’ll be great. Though I still think it would be better if you could hold a Texas accent throughout the interview.”

“That would mean I’d have to hold a Texas accent for the rest of my life, and that’s not happening.”

“You could lose it in a couple weeks,” he said, returning his attention to his phone. “You’d just tell everyone you took a class for fun to get rid of it.”

“No way,” I said. “I let you take everything else from me. Let me have this one.”

“Fine,” Chaz said.

Devon picked that moment to get home. “Wow!” he exclaimed, coming up behind me. I looked at our shared reflection in the mirror in front of us. For the first time, it looked like we maybe belonged together. That’s how drastically my physical appearance had been altered.

“What do you think?” I asked uncertainly.

“It’s a big change,” he said diplomatically.

“I don’t look like myself.”

“You’re still beautiful.”

“I think it’s the hair, mostly,” I said, staring at myself. “It looks like a shiny black helmet. It’s too perfect.”

“Easy solution.” Devon ruffled my locks.

“Don’t touch her!” Chaz shrieked at him. “We’ve been at this project all afternoon! You’re going to ruin her!”

“I’m not going to ruin her,” Devon laughed, continuing to play with my hair, moving it aside so he could kiss the back of my neck. His lips there made me shudder. “She was perfect just the way she was, but this is nice, too. Are you ready to go?”

Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten that all of this was leading up to getting interrogated about my intentions with America’s boyfriend.

“As I’ll ever be, I guess,” I said.

“Well, thanks for your help, Chaz,” Devon said. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” he said. “I’m witnessing this debacle firsthand.”

“You’ve been prepping her all day,” Devon said easily. “If it’s a debacle, that’s your problem, not hers.”

I couldn’t hide my smug grin as Chaz paled. “You can’t blame whatever she says on me,” he said, clearly panicked. “That’s not the way this is going to work.”

“Let’s go,” Devon said, and I could’ve sworn he was fighting laughter. It made me feel better that we were both on the same side ahead of this stressful interview. Ganging up on Chaz helped take my mind off of the task at hand.

The ride to the studio passed by too quickly. Chaz barked questions at me the entire ride, quizzing me harder than he had all day on questions Kelly would ask.

Finally, though, I was freshly powdered and varnished and miked up, seated across from a woman who, if possible, was wearing even more makeup than I was. Kelly’s hair was mile high and rock solid, curls cascading over her shoulders like blond boulders. She checked her lipstick in her cell-phone camera, baring startlingly white teeth, before smiling at me.

“You ready for this, darling?” she asked, and I couldn’t help my stomach’s flopping, full of nerves.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I squeaked.

“You’re going to be marvelous,” she assured me. “Everyone will be tuning in.”

“That’s kind of what I’m afraid of,” I admitted.

“Nonsense.” She laughed. “That’s a good thing.”

A good thing for who? Excellent for her show’s ratings, I surmised. But not great for me, as millions would tune in to analyze every feature of my face. For the first time, I wished there was a way I could be wearing even more makeup, if only to hide myself.

“You’re live in fifteen, Kelly,” someone from behind the bright lights illuminating us called. She slipped her phone into her jacket pocket and beamed.

“Wait, this is live?” I asked, my mouth dry. “I thought it would be prerecorded.”

“Darling, this is a historical moment,” she said. “Relax. Ride the wave. You’re about to be famous.”

I didn’t have time to puzzle out what that meant.

“And five, four, three, two…”

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Kelly said, turning that full-wattage beam toward the camera. “I’m Kelly Kane and do I have a special edition of the show for you tonight.”

It was mesmerizing to see her do her spiel. I’d personally never watched any of her programming, but Devon and Chaz hadn’t been lying when they said she was good at what she did. She conveyed poise, professionalism, and mischievousness simultaneously. I found myself more interested in watching her talk than I was in being nervous.

I looked over her shoulder as someone gesticulated wildly. Beyond the lights, just off set, Chaz and Devon watched. It made me feel better to see them, to know they were here with me, until I could make out what Chaz was trying to convey. Oh—I improved my posture immediately and plastered a smile on my face.

“Joining me in the studio tonight is June Clark. If you don’t know the name already, hold tight. You’re about to start hearing it more and more.”

I pursed my lips and frowned before breaking out into an uneasy smile again, prompted by Chaz’s exaggerated gesturing. What in the hell was Kelly talking about? Did this have to do with her saying I was about to be famous? Was this interview going to launch me into stardom? I had my doubts about that.

“Everyone, this is June,” Kelly said, turning to me, that smile still so bright that I was sure she had some kind of hidden mechanism stretching her mouth apart for her. “You might know her better from this photo.”

Colors and lights shifted behind us, and I realized there was an enormous screen, currently showing the horrible photo of me taken with Devon at the airport upon our mad dash through the terminal.

“That’s not the best photo of me,” I said uneasily, laughing weakly.

“Well, you do clean up nicely,” Kelly chirped.

“Thanks,” I said before I considered the fact that it wasn’t that great of a compliment. That meant I looked like shit before this extreme makeover Chaz had orchestrated. He gave a big thumbs-up behind Kelly, and she continued.

“June Clark is the one you see in this picture, hat pulled down over her face, hanging on for dear life to America’s boyfriend, Devon Ray.” Kelly folded her hands in her lap, leaned forward, and adopted a look of mild concern. “June, what were you trying to hide?”

“Um, hide?” I squeaked. “I wasn’t trying to hide. To be honest, I didn’t know what was happening until we were in the thick of it.”

“Surely you knew photographers were going to be there to meet Devon Ray,” Kelly said, winking at the camera conspiratorially.

“I really didn’t. I don’t really think about those kinds of things. I’m…um…I’m from Dallas. Our most famous resident is Tony Romo. And I’m not dating him.”