Manipulated: a Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

here. It dripped from the chandeliers, the banisters, even the curtains. The feel was glamorous and ritzy, and the old me craved to be let loose, camera in hand.
    And alone. I really wished I was all alone, left to safely explore.
    “This isn’t any big deal, Cal. I swear. I know it seems intimidating, and this is a fancy place, but hello, we weren’t exactly raised like paupers.”
    “It’s not the place.” I closed my eyes. “I just don’t know how to do this anymore. How to smile and flit around as if I belong in this world. I don’t anymore.”
    “Says who? Look at you. You’re fucking gorgeous. You have a killer body, and amazing eyes, and you’re smart and funny and a million other positive things that would totally disrupt our sister balancing act if I told you every one of them. But even if I don’t say them out loud, I still know them.” She tugged on a long loose curl and made me smile. “I still have the best big sister in the whole world, and everyone is still jealous of me.”
    I snorted. “Sure they are. Can you give me a little of what you’re smoking?”
    “No, but I can slip you some of what I’m drinking.” She opened up her tiny purse and pulled out a notebook. At least I thought it was a notebook until she discreetly flipped open the top of the spine. “Straight tequila,” she whispered conspiratorially, tossing some back and wiping her mouth. She offered me some and I shook my head. I needed every one of my faculties to get through tonight.
    “You know they have an open bar here, right?”
    “Sure. But I also know how to get things off on the right foot. You’re not the only one who needs to soften the edges, Bettie. Now fix your blouse. Your bikini is showing.”
    I glanced down at the white shirt I’d tied off over my midriff, hearing Ava’s voice in my head all over again.
    Bettie Page rocked a bikini like no one’s business. It’s a costume, not the real you. Just lose the shirt. Show off that smokin’ body you work your ass off for on the elliptical.
    But I wasn’t losing the shirt, and I wasn’t getting loaded, and I was going to have a great time and take some incredible shots. Maybe if I was really lucky, the horror movie fest would still be playing on TV when I got home. I didn’t have DVR like the rest of the free world. No nonessentials in the budget of Calliope Templeton, the original drudge.
    “Here.” I handed her my camera bags and waited until she had a good hold on them before tightening the tie of my shirt. I fluffed my hair, straightened my shoulders and took a deep breath—and realized I had to pee.
    Lovely. The nervous tinkling had begun.
    “Do you have any idea where the bathroom might be?”
    Ava huffed. “Already? Didn’t you grow out of that when you were like seven?”
    “It’s a natural function.” I grabbed back my camera bags. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll find the bathroom myself.”
    I heard my sister call after me, but I was on a mission. I rushed up the wide sweeping staircase to the second level, dodging and weaving around an assortment of partygoers. I ducked around an angel, a fox, a pilot and two Donald Trumps before I’d made it halfway up the stairs. But I pressed on, hoping I’d find a moment’s solitude if not the ladies’ room. I really needed that too, though perhaps one would lead to the other. Surely it would be quieter upstairs. Already the spookily-themed music coming from unseen speakers was becoming fainter. This was a more private space, not meant for such frivolity.
    Even if part of me sincerely wished I was having fun too.
    At the top of the stairs, I turned left, following the patterned tiles to a circular space at one end. The door to the room was open, and the windows were bell-shaped, curving out so that the man who stood at one, glass in hand, his hair gilded by moonlight, was outlined in sharp relief. Instead of singing along to “Monster Mash”, he was belting out his own raucous tune, singing