three.”
“Thanks.” Now, that actually made me happy and my smile became real. “I’m always on time for Daddy.”
Bianca looked like she had seen the rapture when Nikki mentioned my father. “It must’ve been great, growing up with Richard Sterling as your father.”
“He’s a man like every other man,” I replied, upset that she would even regard him like she knew him like that.
“Yes, but one of the richest men in the world. It had to be an amazing childhood.”
“He adopted me when I was six,” I lied, deducting an entire decade from the truth. “But yes, it was an amazing childhood. Not because of his wealth; because of his heart. He’s a very loving man, especially toward me.”
I decided not to ask her about the dress. I wanted her grubby ass to grovel for business for her friend. I was sick of staring into her hazel eyes that were clearly fake. Her eyes were brown, the color of walnuts, like her skin. She was wearing colored contacts to make herself more appealing. There was nothing wrong with her natural eye color. I had stared into them enough as a child.
I had a quick flashback of Bianca and me walking down the street to school in the tenth grade, laughing about what had happened on a sitcom the night before. We were both smiling at each other and lightly tapping each other on the arms during conversation. Then I realized she was there, in real time, in my presence, smiling again, but I remembered what evil she was capable of: BITCH!
“You should get going. Please be in touch with Nikki when you have a formal presentation together and she’ll fit you into my schedule.” I went from being overly gracious to strictly professional in the blink of an eye. “She’ll see you to your car, and thanks again for coming by.”
Bianca shook my hand and started to hesitantly walk away. She paused and turned around. “Um, by the way, I have a friend who is an excellent designer and stylist. You may have heard of her. Cherie Thompson?”
“No, can’t say that I have.” I sighed and started acting irritated.
“She’s great. Top-notch. In fact”—Bianca spun around like she was ripping up a runway, so I could peep the same dress that I had been looking at all damn day—“she designed this little number exclusively for me. She does practically all my clothes.”
“It’s simplistic but rather nice,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Leave her card with Nikki and I’ll consider giving her line a look-see.”
Bianca cleared her throat. “Maybe we can have lunch one day later this week, at your convenience.”
I rolled my eyes, making sure she would see the gesture. She had a lot of fucking nerve to think that she could commandeer my time like that. I was the celebrity, not her. Stupid whore!
“Or maybe not.” She paused. “You take care.”
“You as well.”
Bianca walked off, trailing Nikki.
“This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel,” I whispered to myself. “Look at you,” I said to Bianca’s back, “with your fake hair, your fake nails, your fake smile, your fake eyes, and your fake attitude. Biotch!”
I plopped back down in the chair and drank some wine, trying to calm myself down. Daddy may have been across the globe in Australia on business, but he was far from stupid. Someone had clearly made sure he had seen the reports on CNN or had read the online articles about how Wicket, real name Ladonna Sterling, had decided to relocate to Georgia after giving a spectacular performance at Philips Arena in front of a sold-out crowd of fans. How she had instantly become enamored with Atlanta and had dropped $19 million on a crib. How she was planning to spend the majority of time between tours there, working on her next album.
At three o’clock on the dot, I would have to look happy as a pig in shit on Skype and try to convince him that I understood and totally embraced what I was doing, that I had gotten over the past, and that I was legitimately interested in
“Thanks.” Now, that actually made me happy and my smile became real. “I’m always on time for Daddy.”
Bianca looked like she had seen the rapture when Nikki mentioned my father. “It must’ve been great, growing up with Richard Sterling as your father.”
“He’s a man like every other man,” I replied, upset that she would even regard him like she knew him like that.
“Yes, but one of the richest men in the world. It had to be an amazing childhood.”
“He adopted me when I was six,” I lied, deducting an entire decade from the truth. “But yes, it was an amazing childhood. Not because of his wealth; because of his heart. He’s a very loving man, especially toward me.”
I decided not to ask her about the dress. I wanted her grubby ass to grovel for business for her friend. I was sick of staring into her hazel eyes that were clearly fake. Her eyes were brown, the color of walnuts, like her skin. She was wearing colored contacts to make herself more appealing. There was nothing wrong with her natural eye color. I had stared into them enough as a child.
I had a quick flashback of Bianca and me walking down the street to school in the tenth grade, laughing about what had happened on a sitcom the night before. We were both smiling at each other and lightly tapping each other on the arms during conversation. Then I realized she was there, in real time, in my presence, smiling again, but I remembered what evil she was capable of: BITCH!
“You should get going. Please be in touch with Nikki when you have a formal presentation together and she’ll fit you into my schedule.” I went from being overly gracious to strictly professional in the blink of an eye. “She’ll see you to your car, and thanks again for coming by.”
Bianca shook my hand and started to hesitantly walk away. She paused and turned around. “Um, by the way, I have a friend who is an excellent designer and stylist. You may have heard of her. Cherie Thompson?”
“No, can’t say that I have.” I sighed and started acting irritated.
“She’s great. Top-notch. In fact”—Bianca spun around like she was ripping up a runway, so I could peep the same dress that I had been looking at all damn day—“she designed this little number exclusively for me. She does practically all my clothes.”
“It’s simplistic but rather nice,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Leave her card with Nikki and I’ll consider giving her line a look-see.”
Bianca cleared her throat. “Maybe we can have lunch one day later this week, at your convenience.”
I rolled my eyes, making sure she would see the gesture. She had a lot of fucking nerve to think that she could commandeer my time like that. I was the celebrity, not her. Stupid whore!
“Or maybe not.” She paused. “You take care.”
“You as well.”
Bianca walked off, trailing Nikki.
“This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel,” I whispered to myself. “Look at you,” I said to Bianca’s back, “with your fake hair, your fake nails, your fake smile, your fake eyes, and your fake attitude. Biotch!”
I plopped back down in the chair and drank some wine, trying to calm myself down. Daddy may have been across the globe in Australia on business, but he was far from stupid. Someone had clearly made sure he had seen the reports on CNN or had read the online articles about how Wicket, real name Ladonna Sterling, had decided to relocate to Georgia after giving a spectacular performance at Philips Arena in front of a sold-out crowd of fans. How she had instantly become enamored with Atlanta and had dropped $19 million on a crib. How she was planning to spend the majority of time between tours there, working on her next album.
At three o’clock on the dot, I would have to look happy as a pig in shit on Skype and try to convince him that I understood and totally embraced what I was doing, that I had gotten over the past, and that I was legitimately interested in
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