Brooke—it was about Zoey wanting to lie down and die every time a client cried over another failed date.
But makeup . . . Just last week, Zoey had done the makeup for a bride who’d been burned in a grease fire. The bride had barely held back tears at the finished product. She told Zoey it was the first time she felt beautiful since the accident. Toujour was all computer databases and guesswork. But Zoey’s talent had helped give that bride confidence.
Zoey just needed to tell Brooke the truth and quit. Brooke would understand. Hopefully. Worst case scenario, Brooke would hate her, the business would tank, and Zoey would end up unemployed and homeless.
Yeah. Easy, peasy.
Zoey grabbed her phone and swiped a finger across the screen, bringing it to life. She’d received at least a half-dozen emails from prospective makeup clients while at the shower yesterday that she needed to respond to. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to turn anyone away. Her schedule had been packed lately, and she was starting to run out of excuses to explain away her absences to Brooke. If not for Brooke’s preoccupation with the press and the wedding, Zoey knew her secret would’ve been blown long ago.
A message icon blinked. She opened the text, surprised to see Mitch’s name and two cryptic words: call me .
Zoey’s nail clicked against the screen before she swiped the message away without a response. If Mitch wanted to continue harassing her about last night, she could do without talking to him. Anything important, and he would’ve called. No, scratch that—he would be banging on her door, demanding answers.
She checked the views on her latest makeup tutorial video—nearly five thousand in less than forty-eight hours, not too shabby—then flipped over to her emails, deleting the spammy ones and leaving the Toujour-related messages for Monday. She responded to a few emails from makeup clients and added their appointments to her calendar, relieved she could fit them all in. Then she checked Instagram before moving on to Facebook.
It only took three seconds of scrolling for the first trending news topic to appear. Zoey yelped, sitting bolt upright in bed. How had a photo of Brooke, her tiara and sash glittering in the street lamps of Disneyland, found its way to Zoey’s newsfeed? The photo also showed Zoey at Brooke’s side. The other party guests were partially hidden due to the angle of the picture, the Haunted House clearly visible in the background. They all looked tipsy.
Bachelorettes Gone Wild. What a headline.
“No no no no no.” Zoey clicked on the article and rapidly scanned through it. Well, those wedding date predictions were all wild speculation. Still, the article was right about one thing—the wedding date was sooner than Brooke and Luke were letting on to the press.
Wait. Was that a picture of Zoey? She zoomed in, muttering curses under her breath. The photo was grainy—definitely of the cell phone variety—but still worth at least a thousand words.
Someone had caught the moment she threw soda on Alan, then sold it to the press. Alan had probably been the one to buy it. The article didn’t have a byline, but she’d bet money he’d written it.
Zoey closed her eyes. The phone loosened in her hands, then fell forward and hit her on the brow before tumbling into her lap. Zoey growled, rubbing at her forehead.
Brooke was going to freak.
How had Alan gotten the photos off his camera? There was no way it had survived that soda explosion. Had there been another photographer she hadn’t noticed? Had Alan had another camera? The photo quality of everything but the soda picture was too high quality to come from a cell phone.
How had Zoey gotten them into this mess?
Zoey clicked over to the trending topic. The story had already been picked up by nearly a dozen different magazines.
Brooke’s wild night on the town was a result of a big fight between her and Luke. No, it was a bachelorette party, and the wedding
But makeup . . . Just last week, Zoey had done the makeup for a bride who’d been burned in a grease fire. The bride had barely held back tears at the finished product. She told Zoey it was the first time she felt beautiful since the accident. Toujour was all computer databases and guesswork. But Zoey’s talent had helped give that bride confidence.
Zoey just needed to tell Brooke the truth and quit. Brooke would understand. Hopefully. Worst case scenario, Brooke would hate her, the business would tank, and Zoey would end up unemployed and homeless.
Yeah. Easy, peasy.
Zoey grabbed her phone and swiped a finger across the screen, bringing it to life. She’d received at least a half-dozen emails from prospective makeup clients while at the shower yesterday that she needed to respond to. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to turn anyone away. Her schedule had been packed lately, and she was starting to run out of excuses to explain away her absences to Brooke. If not for Brooke’s preoccupation with the press and the wedding, Zoey knew her secret would’ve been blown long ago.
A message icon blinked. She opened the text, surprised to see Mitch’s name and two cryptic words: call me .
Zoey’s nail clicked against the screen before she swiped the message away without a response. If Mitch wanted to continue harassing her about last night, she could do without talking to him. Anything important, and he would’ve called. No, scratch that—he would be banging on her door, demanding answers.
She checked the views on her latest makeup tutorial video—nearly five thousand in less than forty-eight hours, not too shabby—then flipped over to her emails, deleting the spammy ones and leaving the Toujour-related messages for Monday. She responded to a few emails from makeup clients and added their appointments to her calendar, relieved she could fit them all in. Then she checked Instagram before moving on to Facebook.
It only took three seconds of scrolling for the first trending news topic to appear. Zoey yelped, sitting bolt upright in bed. How had a photo of Brooke, her tiara and sash glittering in the street lamps of Disneyland, found its way to Zoey’s newsfeed? The photo also showed Zoey at Brooke’s side. The other party guests were partially hidden due to the angle of the picture, the Haunted House clearly visible in the background. They all looked tipsy.
Bachelorettes Gone Wild. What a headline.
“No no no no no.” Zoey clicked on the article and rapidly scanned through it. Well, those wedding date predictions were all wild speculation. Still, the article was right about one thing—the wedding date was sooner than Brooke and Luke were letting on to the press.
Wait. Was that a picture of Zoey? She zoomed in, muttering curses under her breath. The photo was grainy—definitely of the cell phone variety—but still worth at least a thousand words.
Someone had caught the moment she threw soda on Alan, then sold it to the press. Alan had probably been the one to buy it. The article didn’t have a byline, but she’d bet money he’d written it.
Zoey closed her eyes. The phone loosened in her hands, then fell forward and hit her on the brow before tumbling into her lap. Zoey growled, rubbing at her forehead.
Brooke was going to freak.
How had Alan gotten the photos off his camera? There was no way it had survived that soda explosion. Had there been another photographer she hadn’t noticed? Had Alan had another camera? The photo quality of everything but the soda picture was too high quality to come from a cell phone.
How had Zoey gotten them into this mess?
Zoey clicked over to the trending topic. The story had already been picked up by nearly a dozen different magazines.
Brooke’s wild night on the town was a result of a big fight between her and Luke. No, it was a bachelorette party, and the wedding