5. Blakely
FIVE
Blakely
Sweat drips down my brow, and I soak in the feeling as it coats my skin. Glancing at my Apple watch, I check how many calories I’ve burned. Seven hundred and three. Once I get to one thousand, I’ll stop. Realistically, I’d love to hit at least fifteen hundred, but time won’t allow it. I ramp up the intensity on the treadmill.
Tonight, I’m making an appearance at Club Ransom, and while I’m so exhausted I may need to glue my eyelids open, I bask in the chaos of a constantly busy schedule. It keeps me from standing still—and every still moment is a wasted second.
“You need to be in makeup at seven. We’ll arrive to Ransom at eight thirty. Twenty minutes on the press line, ten minutes for pictures, then you’ll be taken inside to host. They want an hour minimum of you up front… Blakely, are you with me?” Sierra snaps her fingers in my face.
I nod along, her voice drowning out the slap of my feet against the treadmill. “Who’s the DJ tonight?” I huff out.
“DJ Andelo.”
My brows draw in. “Am I supposed to know him?”
Sierra shrugs. “I don’t think you’ve met.” She spins, pulling two hangers from the rack of clothes set up behind her. “Now, do you want to go with the Amber Allen or the Retzy top?”
I want to wear my sweats, but that definitely wouldn’t draw the right attention. I can see the headlines now.
“Let’s go with the Retzy.” I’ve been putting off wearing it because I know once I do, I won’t see it again, and it’s one of my favorite pieces.
I’ve never been photographed in the same outfit twice.
The doorbell rings—most likely my glam team—and Sierra rushes out of the gym to let them in.
I glance over at Lennox, who’s currently lounging in the corner at a small table, his buzzed pale head buried in a worn paperback of Dracula. Even though I’ve spent more time with him than anyone else, we might as well be strangers. All I know about him is he’s thirty-three, and he’s extremely skilled in fighting. When he’s not at my side, he’s lost in a book, and sometimes I feel envy crawl through my chest, wishing I could take his place and lose myself between the pages of someone else’s story.
But there’s no time for that.
My phone vibrates from where it’s resting in the treadmill’s cup holder. I snatch it up quickly, wondering who would be texting me that isn’t already in the house.
Jackson:
Still want some company tonight?
My heart skips. I slow the treadmill for a two-minute cooldown as I text him back.
Me:
…are you fucking with me?
Jackson:
Nope. Are you taking back your invitation?
I chew on my lip as I contemplate how to respond. When I asked him to come with, I didn’t expect him to say yes. The truth is, going to these clubs isn’t a party; it’s an obligation.
Me:
It’s not really going to be fun. I’ll be working.
Jackson:
Working? At the club?
Me:
Yeah…I didn’t think you’d take my offer seriously. I don’t think you’ll have a good time. :(
The treadmill beeps as it comes to a stop, and I stand there for a few long seconds, waiting for him to text back. I’m caught off guard by him texting me and even more so by him wanting to hang out. Something takes flight inside me at the thought, soaring through my chest and whipping around my stomach.
Jackson:
Look, your dad wants me there. Make it easier on both of us and just let me tag along to keep an eye on you, princess.
I inhale sharply, hurt shocking the breath from my lungs. Of course there’s an ulterior motive. Silly me, thinking he’d had a change of heart. For just a second, I consider telling him to go fuck himself. But as much shit as I give Jackson, I don’t want him on my father’s bad side.
Sighing, I text him back the address, telling him to meet me at the house and ride with us. I walk over to where Lennox sits and stare down at him, sweat beading on my cooling forehead, my hands on my hips. “I have a friend showing up here soon, his name is Jackson. Tall guy, shaggy blond hair. If I’m busy, will you make sure he’s let in?”
Lennox grunts a response, his icy-blue eyes glancing my way before sliding behind me, his fingers tightening around the edges of his book. I spin around to see what stole his attention.
Kayla comes prancing into the gym and a smile overtakes my face. I’ve known Kayla since the first day of prep school. Her father is a sought-out director who works with mine frequently, so we bonded quickly, both of us knowing what it’s like to grow up in the belly of the beast that is the Hollywood elite.
“Hey, girl. I didn’t know if you would make it tonight.” I wave.
She grins. “Duh. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Thought you’d be busy with Jared .” My nose scrunches as I say his name.
Kayla’s smile dims. “Nope, I cut him loose.”
“Why?” I’m not really surprised. As quick as Kayla falls in love, she falls out faster. Even a perfect man would eventually fall off her pedestal.
She shrugs, running her hand through her pin-straight locks. “He kept asking about you . Wouldn’t shut up about it, really. I’ve got literally zero interest in toting around somebody who’s only using me to get to you.”
My stomach tightens, her words jabbing me, even though I’m sure she didn’t mean them that way. “Really? He was kind of a dick to me.”
She shrugs again. “Probably because you weren’t giving him the attention he wanted.” She sighs, sticking her bottom lip out. “It sucks though. I really thought he was the one.”
I squint my eyes. “You always think that.”
“Yeah, well…one of these times, I’ll be right.”
Laughing, I toss my towel in the hamper near the door. “Your optimism is inspiring.”
“Good.” She smiles, plopping down across from Lennox. “Hi, Lenny.”
I stifle my smirk as I watch his jaw tense, his eyes boring holes into the pages of his book. Kayla is forever flirting with Lennox, and he’s forever ignoring that she exists. Not that it deters her.
“Okay, you two play nice. I’m gonna go grab a shower.”
It isn’t until I’m rinsing the shampoo from my hair, the warm water cascading over my sore muscles, that the stillness creeps in. It allows me a free moment to drown in my thoughts, recognizing that in a houseful of people—all here for me—I’ve never felt so alone.
There are butterflies doing flips in my stomach, and I have no idea why.
Okay, that’s a lie.
I have a little bit of an idea why, and he’s currently sitting across the club, the ends of his blond hair brushing against his sharp jaw. It’s down tonight and has a slight wave, like he dipped in the California sea and let the salty water mold the strands.
My nerves meld into a different type of flutter when Kayla throws her head back, her white teeth gleaming as she laughs at something he says.
Why did I think it was okay to leave them alone together?
Jackson never showed up to the house, and Sierra wouldn’t let us wait, so I texted him to meet Lennox outside the club. But it didn’t cross my mind that my love-starved best friend would be his entertainment while I was working.
It doesn’t matter, I guess. I should be happy that he doesn’t seem bored to death. Clubs don’t really seem like his type of scene. To be honest, they’re not really mine either.
Kayla’s hand shoots out, caressing his arm. My fingernails press into my palms. Deep down I know I have nothing to worry about. As soon as she realizes he’s my father’s employee, someone who works on cars for a living, she’ll lose interest. But it doesn’t stop my stomach from tightening with irritation, because while I’m stuck onstage, a headache pounding between my ears, and a DJ who loves to play grab-ass, Kayla gets to enjoy the attention of Jackson Rhoades. It doesn’t seem fair. Even worse, he seems to be enjoying her company.
My gaze skims along the lines of Kayla’s barely there curves, her perfectly toned legs front and center. Green gusts of jealousy burn through my chest as I watch her guzzle her blue drink. I wonder what it feels like to enjoy something so freely—to savor the taste as it rests on your tongue. To not have regret attacking your psyche with every sugary sip.
My eyes bounce to Jackson, his perfect smile pulling up one side of his pouty mouth and his black T-shirt snug around his biceps. I’ve always thought maybe he was putting on a show with his flirtations and laid-back attitude. But in this setting, watching from afar, I realize it’s just in his nature. The charm exudes from his pores like it’s overflowing from the tap, and I know the second I walk over, it will disappear.
Am I that unpalatable? Is Kayla that much better?
Maybe he can see the difference in us, can tell that while she’s effortless, I’m a constant struggle.
A never-ending work in progress.
A fraud.
I feel the brush of a palm along my lower hip, and I turn, staring into the gray eyes of DJ Andelo.
Gripping his wrist, I smile. “Watch your hands.”
He smirks, his neon-pink headphones pressed between his shoulder and his ear, while he leans forward and shouts into the mic. “Everyone having a good time tonight? Give it up! We’ve got the stunning Blakely Donahue in the house!”
Cheers erupt, a sea of hands and hair flying as they jump to the beat.
Anxiety eats away at my insides, and I try to find my center.
Deep breath in. One. Two. Three. Deep breath out.
Slowly, the rubber band around my chest loosens, allowing the Blakely Donahue they all expect to come to the forefront, knowing that as long as I play my part, they won’t look too deep. Won’t see through to my core and realize I’m an imposter.
I’ve tricked the world into thinking I’m somebody, when really, I’m nothing more than what they pay me to be.
A walking, talking billboard.
But I’m damn good at it.
Closing my eyes, I throw my hands above my head and move my hips to the beat, hoping they’ll get some candid shots to circulate online. My goal is to come across lost in the music, having the time of my life, even though I’m anything but.
Controlling the narrative is everything.
Suddenly, a frisson of energy snaps at my skin, sending a rush of tingles up my spine. I don’t even have to look to know it’s him. There’s a magnetism whenever Jackson’s eyes are on me, an attention that splices me deep and tries to draw out everything I keep locked inside.
I open my eyes, our gazes locking like pieces of a puzzle.
He’s not smiling. Just looking.
Watching.
A grin grows on my face as I hold his stare, my hips moving faster to the beat.
He shifts uncomfortably, and my eyes trail down his body, warmth shooting through my stomach and pooling between my thighs at the sudden urge to know what it would feel like to move my hips in his lap instead of on a stage.
Smirking, he leans back, spreading his legs out in front of him. Kayla’s mouth is moving, and he nods to whatever she’s saying, but his eyes stay on me, burning me from the inside out.
Just the way I like it.