“Well, I have some time and we can get the headshots done. This is a very fluid, fast-moving business. You have to be able to stomach that sort of thing.”
Nadine barely gave it a thought. It made sense that things happened quickly in this business. She’d heard the term overnight success plenty of times, and now it had new meaning.
“Sure. I guess.”
“You have nowhere you have to be for a few hours?”
Nadine shook her head. “No. Nowhere.” Really nowhere, she thought.
“Well, let’s get going then. Time’s a-wasting. Is your car here?”
Nadine wanted to place Stephen’s accent, but it was hard, something she’d never quite heard before. “I don’t have a car.”
That was no trouble at all for Mr. Stephen Macan. “Fine, then. Mine is nearby. I’ll drive you to the studio and get the headshots done, then take you wherever you want to go.”
He was all smiles, but Nadine felt uneasy. Where exactly was this studio? Her mother certainly wouldn’t approve of her getting into a car with a strange man. A ripple of anxiety coursed through her body, but what could she do? She didn’t want to offend Mr. Macan. She had already said she’d do it. She felt committed. Besides, he looked so pleased, happy with her—finally someone was happy with her—that she hated the thought of disappointing him.
Nadine pushed aside her doubts. She would have the stomach for this sort of thing, just as he asked.
They walked in silence to the garage where he’d parked his Cadillac Escalade. It was an impressive car, but even more impressive was the tall man who emerged from the driver’s seat. He was a lot younger than Stephen Macan—Nadine put him in his mid-twenties—but he had that same star quality. Not just handsome, but beautiful. He had chocolate eyes and gorgeous olive skin. His hair was dark, thick, and lustrous, cut over the ears, and his chiseled jaw was splendidly accented by the perfect amount of scruff. He wore a blue blazer with a white oxford shirt underneath, dark pressed blue jeans, and expensive-looking cowboy boots on his feet.
“Nadine, this is Ricardo. Ricardo, Nadine. She’s getting the full workup. Headshots, marketing package, glossies, the works.”
“Sounds good, boss.” Ricardo opened the rear doors of the Escalade and Stephen motioned for Nadine to get inside.
He has a driver? She felt even more relaxed about her decision now that another person was present—a driver, no less. Mr. Stephen Macan was indeed a very big deal.
“Mark my words, this one is going to the silver screen.”
Ricardo slipped Nadine a conspiratorial look that said she was lucky, and his boss was seldom wrong.
Soon enough, Nadine was seated beside Stephen in his roomy and plush Escalade. It was a luxurious ride, something her father might drive, or at the very least, envy. A bottle of water was in the cup holder, and the console held a bag of peanut M&Ms that she devoured.
Stephen was looking at his smartphone. Nadine took out her phone and did the same. She went right to Facebook and her stomach turned over as she read the posts her friends had written on her wall.
Nadine we miss you and love U!! Please come home. Xoxo It’s not the same with you gone. Where u @ girlfriend?
One of her friends, Sophia, even wrote a poem.
My heart is broken
My friend is gone
To where I do not know
I miss her so
The short poem got seventy-eight likes and a bunch of really sweet comments.
Tears came to Nadine’s eyes. She missed her friends terribly. Hard as it was to read all the posts, she still believed she had done the right thing by leaving. She couldn’t stand one more minute in that house and didn’t want to burden her friends with her problems. Leaving was better. Leaving gave her a chance to get back at her mom and dad. She wanted her parents to feel guilt, shame, sadness, and regret. She wanted it to hurt.
Her plan was working, to some extent. To Nadine’s surprise, her mother had miraculously figured out how to use Facebook, and had taken the time to write something. It wasn’t the most incredible message ever written, but it was something.
Honey, please come home or call and let us know you’re all right. We miss you and need to hear from you. Love you so much, Mom.
Nadine checked twice, but her father hadn’t written anything. No surprise.
“Do you mind if I ask exactly how old you are?”
“Eighteen, almost nineteen,” Nadine said, answering Stephen Macan, finding the lie came easy. Her shirt was tight-fitting against her chest, and even with a jacket on she looked developed, mature—maybe almost nineteen instead of sixteen, her true age.
“Are you in school?”
“No,” Nadine said.
“Did you drop out or something?” Stephen’s curiosity came across as genuine.
“Or something.”