Wicked Force (Wicked Horse Vegas #4.5)(16)
He leaves me with one last pearl of wisdom though. “She’s not going to be in Vegas long. You know that, right?”
I don’t reply but watch Joslyn strut around on the stage, having moved to a high energy pop song with a slight techno beat to it.
“Her trajectory is upward,” Jerico continues on and I just wish he’d shut the fuck up. “It will take her away from here. Mark my word.”
He’s right, of course, and I hate him for it.
So all I can say is, “I know, and that’s good. She deserves it.”
Chapter 8
Joslyn
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stick around?” Michel asks as I change out of my costume. After a show, nothing feels better than a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt after wearing such uncomfortable clothing.
Well, a shower is better, but there isn’t one in my dressing room so that has to wait for when I get home.
Still, Michel normally brushes out my hair, displacing the tangle of teased poufs and hair product, as well as my thick stage makeup.
“I’m good,” I tell him as I pull my T-shirt down to my hips and come out from behind the screen. My mother wasn’t here after the show, which is highly unusual, and she didn’t even leave me a nasty kale smoothie to drink. I think I’ll ask Kynan to run me through a McDonald’s on the way home. I’d kill for some of their french fries.
Right now, he’s standing just outside my dressing room door, patiently waiting for me to get back into my street clothes. He stopped coming in here after that first time I invited him, which amuses me somewhat. Once we get to the apartment, we easily lapse into friendly conversation, teasing, and secret sharing. But here at the venue, he’s all business.
Which is hot.
“Okay, I’m out of here,” Michel says before pressing a kiss to my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
“Have fun,” I call out to him as he opens the door to leave.
“You know it,” he chirps back at me. Seems that the bouncer he met the night we went out is intriguing Michel in a way that no man has in a long time. They’ve seen each other almost every night since.
I get a brief glimpse of Kynan standing outside and smile to myself as I sit down at the vanity table. The mirror is surrounded by round, frosted bulbs that reflect back to me a woman that looks nothing like the real Joslyn Meyers. My makeup is heavy, my hair outrageously wild, and my lips shiny with thick gloss.
I wrinkle my nose and grab a few makeup removal towelettes from a box on the table. I start wiping the gunk off and then dab oil across the tops of my eyelids to free the heavy and incredibly sticky false eyelashes. I dump them in the trash beside me and pull out some more wipes to remove the rest of the eye makeup.
Someone gives a sharp rap to my door and I call, “Come in,” thinking it’s Kynan.
Instead, I see my mom poke her head in the door through the reflection of the vanity mirror. “You dressed?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I reply and she pushes the door wide open to step inside. Behind follows a man that I’ve never met before. He closes the door after they cross the threshold.
I turn halfway in my chair, putting one arm around the back to look at them straight on.
“Joslyn,” my mom says in a gracious voice with an underlying vibration of excitement. “I want to introduce to you Ian McMichaels.”
My eyes flare wide. I recognize him now that I know his name and I pop off my chair to face him fully.
He’s of average height and looks, with reddish blond hair that is longish but styled. His eyes are green and his face ruddy, covered in freckles and Irish genealogy. If I remember correctly, he’s in his early forties but he looks younger than that.
Stepping past my mother, he holds his hand out to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joslyn.”
Unfortunately, I’m rendered a bit speechless by the fact that the most sought-after entertainment agent is standing in my dressing room. He represents six of the top ten actors and actresses in Hollywood and has secured amazing deals with major record labels for his signing stars. I manage a quick swipe of my suddenly sweaty hand and hold it out to him.
We shake and a quick glance to my mom shows her watching us with a nervous expression on her face. She waits for me to say something, and when I don’t, she rushes in to fill the silence.
“Joslyn... Mr. McMichaels flew in from L.A. to catch your show tonight,” my mother says exuberantly. I realize that this is not a surprise to my mom the way it is to me. She must have set this up somehow but didn’t tell me, and I’m grateful for it. The pressure of knowing he was in the audience would have put my stomach in knots, sort of the way it’s starting to do now that he’s here in my dressing room.
“You were amazing,” Ian says as he releases my hand and gives me a genial smile. “Your mom was going to bring you to L.A. to meet me, but I understand you had a charity concert that conflicted.”
I shoot my mom a quick glance, now understanding why she was so upset that I took the concert. No one would miss a meeting with this man, who has paved the way to gold for so many superstars today. Still, even if I had known that was the opportunity awaiting me, I would have chosen the concert without an ounce of hesitation. I can’t even imagine what my mother had to do to get Ian McMichaels here to Vegas to watch me.