twisted-9

she growled, grabbing her purse from the empty chair.
“But, Hanna . . .” Mike stared at her with round blue eyes.
“Let’s. Go.”
“Hanna, wait,” her father called behind her.
Keep walking, Hanna told herself. Let him see what he’s missing. Don’t speak to him ever again.
Her father called her name once more. “Come on back,” he said, his voice dripping with guilt. “There’s room for all of us. You can even say a few lines if
you’d like. We can give some of Kate’s to you.”
“What?” Kate shrieked, but someone shushed her.
Hanna turned around and saw her father’s eyes pleading with her.
After a moment’s frustration, she handed Mike her purse and trudged back to the set. “Tom, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jeremiah warned, but Mr.
Marin just shrugged him off. When Hanna stepped into the lights, he gave her a big smile, but she didn’t smile back. She felt like the loser kid the teacher
made everyone play with at recess. Her dad was only asking her back because it made him look like an asshole if he excluded her.
Sergio ran their lines with the family, divvying up Kate’s lines between the two daughters. When the camera turned to Hanna, she took a deep breath, cast
off the negative vibes around her, and got into character. “Pennsylvania needs a strong leader who works for you,” she said, trying to look natural, tamping
down her wilted hopes. Sergio shot take after take until Hanna’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. An hour later, it was over.
As soon as the lights dimmed and Sergio declared it was a wrap, Hanna ran over to Mike. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You were really good, Han,” Mike said, jumping off the table.
“He’s right,” a second voice said.
Hanna looked over. One of Sergio’s assistants stood a few feet away, two large black suitcases full of equipment in his hands. He was probably only a
few years older than Hanna. His hair was cut in a messy yet artfully arranged way, and he wore snug-fitting jeans, a weathered leather jacket, and a pair of
aviator sunglasses, which were propped atop his head. His fawn-colored eyes grazed Hanna up and down as if he approved of what he saw. “Totally
poised,” he added. “With a ton of presence. You kicked that other girl’s ass.”
“Uh, thanks.” Hanna exchanged a suspicious glance with Mike. Was complimenting the clients part of this dude’s job?
The guy rummaged through his pocket and handed her a business card. “You’re seriously gorgeous. You could be a high-fashion model if you wanted.”
He pointed to the card. “I’d love to shoot you for my portfolio. I could even help you pick out some shots for agents. Give me a call if you’re interested.”
He hefted the suitcases higher and walked out of the studio, his sneakers slapping softly on the dusty wood floor. Hanna stared at the business card he’d
given her. Patrick Lake, Photographer. On the back was his phone number, website, and Facebook page.
The door to the studio slammed. The rest of the crew packed up. Jeremiah opened the small gray pouch that contained Mr. Marin’s campaign petty cash
and handed Sergio a wad of bills. Hanna turned Patrick Lake’s business card in her hands, suddenly feeling a bit better. When she looked up, Kate was
staring at her, her brow wrinkled, her lips pursed. Clearly, she’d heard the exchange between Hanna and Patrick.
How do you like that, bitch? Hanna thought giddily, slipping the business card into her pocket. She may not have won the battle for daddy, but she still
might win the pretty-girl war.
Chapter 4
And now arriving from Helsinki . . .
“Is your new cologne made of potpourri?” Aria Montgomery whispered to her boyfriend, Noel Kahn, as he swooped in for a kiss.
Noel propped himself up on the couch, looking offended. “I’m wearing Gucci Sport. Like I always do.”
Aria took another sniff. She definitely smelled lavender. “I think you accidentally switched it with Grandma’s toilet water.”
Noel smelled his hands and winced, his soft brown eyes narrowing. “It’s the hand soap from the sink. I can’t help it that your mom puts girly shit in the
bathrooms!” He slithered over to Aria and covered her nose with his hands. “You love it, don’t you?”
Aria giggled. It was late Sunday afternoon, and she and Noel were all alone in Aria’s mother’s house, lying on her couch in the family room. Since her
parents’ divorce, the room had undergone a bit of a makeover to suit Ella’s tastes and adventures. Hindu-god statues from Ella’s trip to Bombay last
summer lined the shelves, Indian blankets from her stay at an artist’s colony in New Mexico this past fall covered the couches and chairs, and tons of
green tea-scented candles, the smell of which Aria’s father, Byron, had never liked, flickered everywhere. When Aria had crushed on Noel in sixth and
seventh grades, she used to daydream about Noel coming over to her house and lying on the couch with her just like this—well, minus the leering looks
from the many-armed Ganesh figurine in the corner.
Noel pecked Aria on the lips. Aria grinned and kissed him back, staring at his chiseled face; long, wavy, black hair; and pink lips. He breathed in and
kissed her deeper, running his hands up and down the length of her spine. Slowly, he unbuttoned Aria’s leopard-print cardigan. “You’re so beautiful,” he
murmured. Then he pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor, and reached for the zipper on Aria’s jeans. “We should go to your bedroom.”
Aria put her hand over his, stopping him. “Noel, wait.”