22. Kiana

22

KIANA

I'm in trouble from the moment I return to work.

My team begins prepping me for my appearance on the Queenie Tate show, one of the most popular afternoon talk shows out right now. Tommy and the label thought the performance would be good PR for me after my recent bad press from the break up with Shawn and the car accident.

I'm led into the foldable chair where I'm swarmed by hair stylists, nail and makeup artists, and Amari and her costume team holding up costume cards, trying to finalize my look.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, reminding myself what Tyson said.

It won't be much longer… hopefully.

"K, Tommy's here. He wants to speak with you," Amari whispers amid the chaotic pre-show preparation. "You want me to come with you?"

I gently shake my head. "He'd just tell you to go away. I'll deal with him."

I slip out from under my team and wander from the dressing room in nothing but the robe I've been put in, hair and makeup only half done.

Tommy's in the hall outside. The second he spots me, he's striding in my direction with a tight expression that says the only thing holding back his ire is the fact that we're technically in public. Plenty of behind-the-scenes staff loiter in the vicinity. Otherwise, he'd explode like he really wants to. Stopping in front of me, he holds up his pointer finger in warning.

"When this is over, we're going to talk," he says. "We're going to address the breaches in contract and the absolute fucking disregard you've had. There's going to be hell to pay. Workwise and financially. Understand that."

I'm caught between the knee jerk reaction of snapping at him and being smart and playing along for now. The truth is, he has no idea the contempt and bitterness I've developed over the past few days. I don't give a damn what punishment he and the label have devised this time.

They're not going to control me much longer.

Even if it means I'll be out millions of dollars. Even if my brand will be destroyed and I'll lose my career as I know it.

None of it matters anymore.

My freedom means more. Freedom that I've realized is invaluable.

No amount of fame and fortune can ever compare.

"Tommy, I'm here to perform," I say, barely holding my temper in check. "You got what you wanted. For once, let that be enough."

I round on my heel and march back toward the dressing room. The group's already waiting to continue where we left off.

Fingers comb through my hair and makeup brushes glide against my skin. Amari and Monica buzz around me like fruit flies, trying to shimmy me into a sleek pants and corset costume.

In under ten minutes, they've transformed me.

I go from clean-faced, natural-haired Kiana in a crop top and leggings to a diva superstar in high heels and a microphone earpiece.

When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it's enough for a double take. I look like I'm wearing a real life filter, my face contoured and highlighted within an inch of its life.

It's not at all me. Not the down-to-earth, sultry woman I am at my core.

But it's the image the label wants. Tommy wants. My brand calls for.

I'm herded toward the entrance to the stage along with my group of backup dancers. Because of the car crash, we've changed the song I'll be performing. Instead of performing my dance heavy club song All Night Long, I'll be performing Craving You, a slightly slower tempo song about craving someone's love.

"Kiana!" calls Tommy, striding up. He's not alone. Hal's by his side, grinning ear to ear. "Remember what I said earlier. You better not screw up this performance."

I roll my eyes. "How many times are you going to subtly-not-so-subtly threaten me, Tommy?" I ask. "It's getting old."

"We'll be watching."

Tommy pivots to take his seat in the front row of the audience. Hal lingers a second longer, his grin widening, if that's possible.

"Knock 'em dead, Kiana."

I hardly have a chance to react before it's go time.

Queenie Tate announces to the audience I'm up next to perform. The music begins and the curtains rise.

A smoke machine cranks out a haze of lavender smoke that soon clears to reveal me and my dancers. As the music starts, I step toward the center of the stage crooning the first verse.

You've got the loving I want

You've got the loving I need

So give it to me, baby

Don't leave me waiting…

I sway my hips as my backup dancers dance around me. The cameras film our every move as we transition into the dance break during the chorus. Bright stage lights make it impossible to do anything but pretend I'm staring seductively at the cameras and audience.

Really, I can't see more than five feet in front of me.

The audience is shrouded in darkness, a crowd of faceless strangers as we step to the music. But I don't need to see anyone else's reaction to know I'm killing it. I've hit every mark and note, despite the fact that my swollen knee aches and the makeup I'm wearing covers up some of my bruises from the crash.

As the song reaches its climax and I hit my highest note yet, even the blinding lights aren't enough to hide the commotion that's broken out. Several murmurs from the crowd grow louder and people rise out of their seats. Their silhouettes twist and turn to look at something that's barreling down the center of the aisle.

At first, I don't let it throw me off my game. I'm still rocking my hips and singing the lyrics.

…until I realize the person sprinting down the aisle is headed for the stage.

He's swathed in shadows, his form huge and bulging.

I barely have time to react, freezing in place and gasping in shock.

Tyson vaults over the guardrails separating the audience from the stage. He lands on the stage with a resounding thud that feels like an earthquake beneath my feet.

I forget all about my performance. Forget all about the fact that we're on live television with thousands of people watching, including those in the audience.

"EVERYONE GET DOWN!" he roars.

A scream spills out of me as Tyson wraps me up in his arms and we're soaring through the air.

We're landing when, seconds later, an explosion erupts from one of the sound machines nearby, and flames engulf the stage.