Big Brother Billionaire (Part Two) Read Online Free Page A

my own path forward, and trading treading water for a powerful stroke forward. I couldn’t say that being a dancer was my dream job, but I knew it could get me to where I needed to be in life—financially and personally. I wanted to prove to myself that I could make it without Marcus.
    At home, I pored over the contents of my meager closet. There wasn’t much beyond a couple of pairs of jeans, a few nice blouses, and a collection of t-shirts I’d amassed while I was in Miami. I’d mostly relied on work uniforms to see me through my wardrobe worries. There was nothing in this closet that screamed Parker at me—at least not this new Parker I was cultivating.
    It was strangely freeing to embrace this dominant, slightly angry, but somehow laconic character I’d come up with to get me through the audition at the club. I’d realized then that I could be anyone I wanted to be, and this was who I picked. This Parker was strong, capable, and able to come up with solutions in the face of problems, and she always got what she wanted.
    To be very honest with myself, this new Parker was a lot easier to be than my former self. This Parker was so self-assured. She was the person I wished I could be, the Parker who would’ve told her mother and stepfather to go to hell, the Parker who would’ve admitted to Marcus that she did, in fact, care for him and did want to be with him, societal ideals be damned.
    Couldn’t I be this Parker all the time? Did I have to be in costume to do it?
    I threw out all the clothes that reminded me too much of my life up until this point. Goodbye, old work uniforms. I hoped I never needed them again. I owned one nice pair of dark jeans, but the rest were light, battered, and full of holes. I mulled them over for a while. Couldn’t I just keep one for running errands or lounging around the house?
    What would the new Parker do? She wouldn’t leave the house unless she was in full makeup, perfectly coiffed, dressed only in things that would flatter her—comfort be damned. She wanted everyone to know that she meant business, that appearances mattered, and that she was the most important thing they’d be seeing that day.
    The sloppy jeans ended up in the donate pile.
    I scraped together all the money I could manage and took myself shopping, wearing the dark jeans I’d been able to salvage and the same blouse I just danced in at the club. I didn’t own any fancy makeup—just the basics—but I took great care in applying it and reapplying it until I was satisfied with the result.
    My dark hair was slicked back. It looked severe, but my thick eyelashes and luscious red lipstick softened the look and made it take on a persona of its own. If I looked like this all the time, almost with a mask of makeup, I felt that I could adopt this new Parker as my own. I wanted to be her all the time. It was all I wanted. She was so much stronger than I’d been. With this Parker, I felt that I could do anything.
    I tried out the new Parker on a salesperson at a mid-level department store, employing her through sheer will to help me locate the pieces that would bring the rest of my look together. I required black pants, black shirts, black skirts, a black dress, a black blazer, simple but expensive-looking metallic jewelry, and black pumps.
    Black was the new Parker’s color of choice. It was a color for power, for prestige, for elegance. The only color I wanted for myself was red lipstick. Red nails.
    “This is going to be a very…interesting…new wardrobe,” the salesperson said, a bit uncertainly as she rang me up at the register. “Are you sure you don’t want to try on any blouses in those pretty jewel tones that I was showing you? Black is a great color to own, of course, but a little pop of color will help bring out the color in your eyes. You’ll really brighten right up. Wait until you see the difference.”
    I held up a hand to halt her babbling, as I handed over way more cash than I wanted to.