Page 9 of Bribed by the Billionaire Bad Boy

That’s something else I respect.

Even if I want to build my career around lies, there’s a truth in acting that feels safe. I saw that safety spark to life in Calypso’s eyes right before she adorned herself in Harriet. She pulled an entire person around herself like people were just cloaks you could put on. It was real, even if it was completely fake.

She’s capable of weaving magic, but the second the spell broke, horror coursed through her eyes. Like she wasn’t supposed to be showing anyone what she really is at all.

I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face.

Of all the things I dabble in, I’ve prided myself on not lettingpeoplebe one of my phases. I haven’t dated frivolously since high school, and I don’t toy with others’ emotions.

I don’tbuytime orbribepeople into doing my bidding.

There are, after all, far more rewarding ways to get what I want, but all of them are tied up in acts and lies. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want to start whatever this thing with Calypso is going to be on that foundation. Bribery, at least, is honest. I’m treading in new territory, and whether or not I regret it only time will tell.

“Nine thousand dollars.” I breathe a laugh.

Exploring whatever might come of this phase doesn’t even cost as much as a piano. And my interest in that didn’t even last a month.

Thirty weeks isn’t even almost a year.

Nine thousand dollars isn’t even almost a piano.

Oh well. It doesn’t matter.

I’ve given in to less amusing impulses more times than I can count. Whatever happens now depends more on her than it does on me.

I can only hope my interest sticks around long enough to make it worthwhile.

Calypso

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am quite clearly out of my mind. I accepted the money. I agreed to audition. Nothing guarantees I’ll make it. Nothing at all, except the fact Mr. D’plume knows I wrote the play, he spent all last year trying to get me “out of my shell,” and he’s the only person determining who gets which roles.

If I do half decent, no doubt I’ll be Harriet.

What is it with entitled people thinking they know what’s best for me?

I agreed to let Mr. D’plume use my play this year on the condition he told absolutely no one who really wrote it.

His sigh lasted a full ten seconds, but he obliged.

He never should have known about my play to begin with.

Not in a million years would I have willingly shared it with anyone.

Back before I found the rhythm of college, I was tired, stressed, and desperately too close to the cut-off time for an assignment essay about the most prevalent topic I believed was present in the play we did last year. I didn’t realize I accidentally attached my play until the next week when he kept me after class and handed me theedited copy.

Having a secret with someone like Mr. D’plume is weird. Most of the time, it doesn’t exist, then out of nowhere he brings it up in the most outlandish way.

Like by saying: “I want to submitThe Magpie Girlfor your class’s play next year.”

My one little error has led to both horrible and wonderful conclusions.

My play is actually going to be performed in front of an audience. My words and music are actually going to be releasedinto the world in a way separate from me, where I can hide forever from people like Agatha who determine people like me and all that we do will never be good enough.

I’ll still have to overhear the people like Agatha even if they don’t know where to direct their criticism, but I convinced myself it would be okay so long as I can hide and pretend nothing involved me.

Groaning, I tramp into my little house after a long walk through my cookie-cutter neighborhood from the bus stop at the entrance. Mom will be home from work late, so I have a few hours to get things done and have dinner ready before she gets back.