Finding Yourself || on hold

Chapter 3- Please Don't Accept

Chapter 3

“W-what?” I asked, taken aback. I gaped at the bald guy, whose smile never faltered. His dark eyes twinkled in curiosity behind his rectangular glasses.

“We want to speak to you,” He emphasized every word. Giving me another smile, he reached for the door and grasped the metal handle with his right hand.

My gaze lingered on the man’s pressed grey suit before turning it to Mariana. Her lips were pursed in a tight line and she was looking the guy up and down, still unsure whether to take his word or not.

Then, Mariana’s eyes met mine. We shared a confused look.

Why on earth would a man who looked like he owned a million bucks want to talk to me for? Me, normal, unimportant Olivia who messed up in the recital because of my own mind and probably looked like the world's biggest idiot.

Finally, Mariana tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder and spoke up.

"Why would you like to speak to my sister?" Mariana asked the man. She cocked her head slightly and looked from me to the man, her eyes narrowed slightly as she was thinking.

I bit my lower lip in confusion. The man didn't notice this, however, and he continued to flash his pearly white smile.

"Hmm, well, how 'bout you find out?" He ushered us outside, away from the crowded room. As he held the door out for us, I felt a chill go down my spine, but I didn't know why.

When I stepped outside the backstage door, I looked around, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. As I opened my mouth to voice that thought, Harold told us to follow him around the corridor, which was basically empty space where no one went. That corridor was used as dressing rooms for famous people way back then, but now, the walls were bare and the wooden floors were unkept.

Mariana’s eyes widened slightly and she gave me a warning look, which I met with rolling my eyes. I really didn’t think that a middle aged guy who looked spanking rich was going to rape us in the corridor of a theater.

When we finally walked to the deserted hallway, I stopped short when I saw who was in front of me and let out an audible gasp.

It was Blake Eversworth. The Blake Eversworth. As I gaped at the scene in front of me, a thought processed in my mind. What was going on?

Blake peered at me through light blue eyes with a bit of interest, but his perfect lips were formed in a scowl, which seemed fake.  In fact, his whole being seemed fake.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Blake gave a dramatic sigh and extended his hand, which had a few bracelets on it.

“So, I guess you’re Olivia?” He raised an eyebrow, staring at me. His eyes darted up and down, sizing me up.

Giving a small nod, I refused to shake his head. Instead, I just stood there, frozen as a statue.

I’d seen in magazines and on TV that Blake had fairly dark hair, but in real life, his hair was as black as a raven’s feathers. He also had very fair skin, which was never depicted in magazines (he probably got spray tanned). 

He was known as an attractive bad boy pop star. I couldn’t lie: he was attractive, but he probably had the talent of a speck of dirt. Maybe less.

When I realized that I zoned out, I saw that Blake was smirking slightly. At first I was confused, but I then realized that I was staring. I felt a blush spread across my cheeks. Stop it, I scolded myself. The last thing I needed was to look like a fan-girl. I quickly narrowed my eyes and scowled.