“Move it—I’ve got to change!” Lacey started running the moment she hit the door to the backstage area, and bright lights swept over, exposing her farce to harsh fluorescence. “Are there any reporters back here yet?”
“Not a one! Just our own cameras!” Anna fell in line with her, somehow managing to yank Lacey’s shirt off while they were hustling through the corridor. She threw it to a groupie, who hooted with pleasure.
“eBay, here I come!” the girl trilled, and Lacey halted, then swung her head around to Anna, who’d crashed into her and was now unpinning her wig.
“She’s selling that shirt on eBay?” Lacey asked. “I thought it was a relic of one of his earliest shows!”
“You’re the relic,” Anna grinned. “They’d sell every scrap of clothing on your body after tonight’s performance. You were outstanding!”
“Do you think we pulled it off?”
“I think you pulled it off. Big difference. Get in here.”
Anna hustled Lacey into an equipment closet barely big enough for them to turn around. She peeled off Lacey’s heels, skirt, hosiery, and every scrap of leather, then stuffed the whole mess into a backpack. “Your dress is there. Hang your head over while you get into it. I’ll fix your hair. Then we’ll walk you out with your folders and forms and your serious little face and no one outside of the crew will know a thing happened.”
“How did I look?” Lacey tried to shift, but Anna pushed her head back down and ran a brush through her hair like she was intent on pulling half of it out.
“You looked great. YouTube is going to eat that entire show up, I’ll tell you that right now.”
“Yeah?” Lacey brought her head back up and smoothed down her dress. It was a sundress, but one that made her look about ten years old—black with white polka dots, with a thin red belt wrapped round it. She stepped into the low-heeled sling backs that Anna had remembered to bring as well. The woman was worth her weight in gold. No wonder her consulting career was taking off.
“Yeah. And, you look perfect once again. You’re welcome. Here.” Anna handed her a carton of makeup wipes. “Your mouth is doomed—but let’s get the rest of that sludge off your face, and I’ll redo your lips. You’re going to have pouting pink on your lips for the rest of the week, but we’ll cover the harlot red if it kills me.”
“You’re amazing.” Lacey scrubbed at her face with a dozen of the bunched-up towelettes, then winced as Anna got to work on her abused mouth. All the while, she heard Dante’s words in her head, telling her to be waiting and ready for him. Naked.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kill the flush, girl,” Anna said. “You don’t want to look like you just did something dangerous. You have to look cool, calm, and collected.”
“Got it.” Lacey grinned, though she felt anything but.
Less than a minute later, a knock sounded on the door. “That’s your cue,” Anna said. “I’ll stash the rest of this, but you go out there like the busy little bee you are. The reporters are going to be looking for Dante’s number one fan, bet on it. Remember what we planned—everyone is set up for it. You’re pissed. RockerGrrl ran out of the corridor and you sent security after her, but the bitch got away. You’re mainly mad because of the lost camera time, since you want the distraction more than anyone. Got it?”
Lacey grinned. “Got it.”
Another knock sounded, more urgent this time, and she was out the door.
Dante stalked through the crowd of chipper roadies, his entire body jacked and ready. The rest of the band had begun jawing before he’d even gotten offstage, alternating between congratulating him on a job well done with Lacey, and asking him in half-serious voices if it even was Lacey. The getup had been real enough to fool half of them, easily.
It’d been real enough to fool Dante, too.
“Where is she?” he asked, as Harry blocked his path.
“Chill out, Dante. Cameras are fucking everywhere, and you want to play the role of intrigued star, not horny boyfriend. You got me?” Harry watched his face, then hurried on. “Right. Well, she’s already prepped the reporters. Said the woman ran through here like she had the hounds of hell on her ass. Sprinted right out the door, and—”
Dante checked his stride. “She said what?”
“Yeah,” Harry nodded emphatically. “You should have seen her. Got out her statement right before her phone blew up like it was the end of the world. Jury’s still out on whether she’s a genius or she’s lost her job for giving a fan access like that to you, but either way, it was one hell of a show.”
“But—” He saw Lacey coming around the corner now, and the sight of her really make him skid to a stop.
She was perfectly composed in every way, except for her face, which was her usual combination of stressed and flushed. Her hair was neatly brushed, her little dress thing looked like something out of the 1950s, and she had that damnable collection of file folders pressed over her chest like she was going into battle. And she was talking on her phone.
“No, Brenda, it was not planned,” he could hear her say clearly. “Yes, it was a fan. Yes, I know. Yes, I know that, too. No, we can’t find her. Yes, I know that’s ridiculous. It’s a little bit of a madhouse—shit. Cameras. I’ve got to go.”
Dante frowned and looked around. There were no cameras at this end of the hallway, but Lacey whirled around and immediately began accosting the security guys who came trotting back through the doors, their faces grim. “How could you have lost her?” she seethed. “You know I have cameras set up to finish the show. They’re going to want to put a clip of whoever the hell she was on the Jumbotron and you’ve given me nothing!”
Dante blinked, then looked back toward the stage. Lacey was right. There was the demand for the encore—Harry was already at his side. But—
“God, I’m sorry,” Lacey’s voice brought him back, already apologizing to the hapless security detail. “It’s not your fault, I saw her, too—let’s try the bathrooms. She may be hiding—” She strode off in a knot of them, never having looked at him once, and Harry was still there.
“Let it go, Dante—she’s done her part, now you’ve got your job to do.” The manager grinned as Dante swung around, feeling like he was meeting himself coming and going.
He went back out on the stage, the band kicked in, the lights came up, and the show went on. The fans demanded an encore of the impromptu fangirl, only RockerGrrl never did show up again. Because she was back to being the Lacey everyone knew.
The usual onslaught of fans and cameras—both sanctioned and unsanctioned—followed them out of the venue and onto the buses. They were heading to Atlanta next, he thought. Then Daytona after that. He couldn’t shower until the bus was moving, so he went into autopilot—get everything on, get everything going. Get the hell out of town.
Because the moment they cleared the city limits, Lacey was all his.