Page 6 of Hercules

“Only would’ve taken the right one to put you behind bars. And Reks has gotten me signed up to his US law team now.” She paused, letting that one sink in deep, before smoothly slinking her arms back together over her chest. “So there’s nothing stopping me from directing them to scour the web and pull up a few photos of a poor little girl working Rodeo Drive, trolling tourists who thought she was me, and getting away with it. I can also tell them that instead of getting litigious back then, I got generous and offered that urchin a job instead of a jail cell. But since then, she’s taken full advantage of my beneficence. Has continued masquerading as me at different Hollywood events, taking advantage of the doors my face opened for her, with the plot to further her own connections and career.”

With the exception of the chinchillas’ happy scrunts and the feral parrots making their early evening flights through the silk oak trees, silence took back over the mansion’s front patio—though Lois was surprised her plummeting jaw didn’t cause an audible crash. She wasn’t sure what to gawk harder about: the fully formed logic behind the woman’s threat, or the fact that Natasha knew how to use litigious and beneficence in the same sentence.

But neither point mattered. Not from this corner into which she’d been painted with her employer’s nasty lava. Never mind that the “job” Nat had “generously” offered was likely less than what the fruit crushers at the smoothie joint were scooping in daily tips, or that every high-stakes event Lo had attended in her Natasha Korra wig, colored contacts, and fake fingernails were unpaid charity soirees for the pop princess.

At first, it had all been in fun. A lot of fun. But lately…

“Nat. Please. You have to listen to me now too. Remember what I told you about the last party? People are starting to get suspicious. I always do my best, but somebody’s going to catch on, and soon. I was only at that thing at Nobu for an hour when Miley and Lana cornered me. They were asking questions about Reks that I couldn’t answer…”

And frankly, never wanted to. There were some things a girl didn’t need to know about the person who paid them every two weeks.

“And you handled it beautifully, honey,” Natasha soothed. “I texted them both the next day, and all was well! See?”

Suddenly, that pretty little pout returned to the woman’s features. Pretty—and manipulative. Lois almost looked toward the parrots and begged them to carry her off with them.

Nat rushed on, “Besides, I guarantee that neither Miley nor Lana will be at tonight’s party, okay?”

And there was the incentive to snap all the way around. And damn near lunge a fist at that ridiculous pout. “Tonight?”

Nat spread her hands across the air. “Don’t worry about a thing, sweetie. I’ve laid out the clothes and accessories, as well as your wig, contacts, and such. You just need to slip into it all and be ready for the town car at seven. Pictures start at seven-thirty, then the main festivities at eight sharp. Though what does that mean, right? Since when does anything in downtown start on time?”

“Downtown?” She was even more of a dumbfounded parrot this time, but how could it be prevented after the woman’s second bombshell? “As in, LA?”

Nat expelled another girlish sniff. “In the gentrified part, okay? You know, where Keanu lives. Or so they say.”

“They who?” A harsh head shake later, she persisted, “And what festivities, exactly? If this is going to require any dancing beyond a lame grapevine, you know this whole jig will really be up, right?” That first fated day out on Hollywood Boulevard, Nat had proved her real identity by performing every step of choreography from her latest video while Lo sheepishly looked on as part of a growing crowd. But she didn’t dare bring up that part of things again. “I create plot and dialogue, not booty pops and heel-toe-whatchamacallits,” she said instead.

“No dancing.” Nat enforced it with windshield wiper hands on the air. “I promise. That’s not until way after the speed dating thing, if at all.”

Lo greedily grabbed the chance for a stunned choke. “Speed dating?”

“Hey, hey. Breathe.” And there was the combo that was more than ready to go, flowing out of the woman with well-rehearsed timing. “It’s not a huge thing. Only open to the very-VIPs of the thing, and just a light little thing forged in good fun.”

“Good?” She ignored the command for reenlisting her lungs to help with words. “Fun?”

“Come on, now. It’s for charity. And it’ll be fine. Nearly everyone in town knows Reks and I are strutting solely for each other now. Nobody’s going to suggest you go home with them. Well, not and keep their dick intact.”

“You mean except for the rich frat boys who don’t subscribe to the gossip grind socials? The ones who’ll jump on the challenge to fork over daddy’s money for the chance to ogle my chest and ask which Sailor Moon character I match with?”

Fewer of Nat’s giggles were as exasperating as the new titter that spilled out. “Theoretically it’s my chest, but—”

Thankfully, Lo drove back the rest of that with a violent swipe of her own hand. “Okay. Let’s talk real terms,” she stated. “If I do this again,” —if I pretend to be you, in all the glamorous and vivacious glory— “then it’s the very last time, Natasha. After this, we’re really done with playing the rock star and the writer.” It always felt too pathetic to say princess and the pauper, though that certainly applied, as well. “After tonight, you hereby agree to never ask this of me again. No more throwing Rodeo Drive in my face. No more asking me to be cornered by your close friends, fielding questions about the size of Reks Byrd’s fingers. Or other body parts.”

The woman had the tact to blush a bit over that. Her mouth settled into a quivering little smirk. She broke the expression to readily reply, “Agreed. As long as you stay at the party until the speed dating part is totally over.” She flittered nonchalant fingers. “They stressed that it was the main portion of their fundraising stuff.”

What did that mean?

Contemplating the answer finally brought Lo to a full eye roll. She inhaled long and deep. The temptation toward no was like a storm-driven wave through her senses. But if she gave in and let the roller take over, she’d never be invited back up this hill again. Nat would have her replaced before even catching a return flight from Tokyo. She’d be farther than ever from even a promise of meeting Sam Ashcroft.

While that half of the argument was riding high, she quickly blurted, “Fine. Okay. I’ll do it. But,” —she stabbed out a finger— “we’ll officialize it in a contract. I’ll write it up and print it before you leave.”

Natasha nodded. “Certainly. Fine. Anything you want.”

This was none of what Lois wanted, but at least she wasn’t going into the situation blind. She’d been to enough of these things to know the usual professionals around town, a gang of older college boys who ran with the younger execs who’d soon be hiring them. They all talked about “grinding” and “getting it” like they actually knew what the words meant, because the size of their bank accounts must magically mean their IQs matched, right?

It was rough to withhold a groan as the obvious answer to that. The only real halting block was the recognition that she had to make the best of it. To actually talk to these youngsters as if they were spewing golden nuggets of knowledge for her ears alone. No pretending to be interested in an hors d’oeuvres station. No changing the subject to a more complex topic, like a new episode of The Magic School Bus.

No way out. No escape.