Chapter 9

9

"… T hat's about all the time we have for tonight's show, folks. Next week we'll have Leon Addison in-studio talking about his recent Oscar win—yes, ladies, I'm excited too! We'll also have Leah Braxton discussing her new novel, Death to the Wayside . Thank you so much to tonight's incredible guests, our wonderful studio audience and thank you all so much for tuning in at home. No, really! To play us out this evening, Late Night Friday is proud to present the incredible Miss Mia Cortés!"

Standing off to the side of the stage, Harper mentally timed it. It only took thirty seconds of Mia's voice being broadcast (taking the thirty-second delay into account) for her phone to start ringing.

Leaning out of an open fire escape, Harper took some deep breaths. She wasn't going to lie, per se. Just drum up a little demand.

"Ah Mr. Johnson! How have you been, Stephen, how's Anita doing? Well, we really appreciate the enthusiasm, but I'm afraid she's fully booked for the next week. Yes, we would be available on the eighteenth but we would need a few days to make sure we could get all the resources for a show like that together..."

"Marie Andrews, as I live and breathe! Yes, it has been a while, how are—well, I'm sure she would be delighted to sing at the gala, but we would need at least a month's notice. Yes, really, she already has a packed schedule, but I can talk to her about it, see if we can squeeze it in…"

"…Mr. Carpenter I've already told you, she's fully booked. No, I'm afraid no amount of money will add extra days to the week—good day , Mr. Carpenter, talk to me like that again and I'll put you in the kind of legal debt that requires selling a beach house. No, I am not ‘fucking with you'—who the hell do you think you're talking to?"

Harper felt that, rather than being made about rockstars, movies should be made about their agents. This is where the action really happens, she thought as she negotiated, and a small part of her felt guilty. She knew Mia would kill for some of these opportunities, but Harper couldn't help but want a little time for them , too. She was the one who had brought up "restraint" and "taking time for us" so she knew feeling bad didn't change anything, but it was beginning to take a toll. Having to balance what she could now see was a budding romance with business interests was becoming challenging.

She briefly looked out onto the set, where a stage had been set up with Stefan, Taylor and Ricky, as well as some new faces. Mia was dressed in a studded black leather jacket that glittered under the studio lights, as well as a black maxi skirt with some very high thigh slits, showing off a pair of flower-patterned fishnets hiding underneath. I need to find some way of giving that stylist a tip, she thought, as Mia wove her invisible web for what was now an audience of millions. Her hips slowly moved as she sang, drawing circles in the air around her. Harper felt spellbound.

She made what she would later call a "strategic business decision," and turned her phone off. If the club promoters and executives wanted a glimpse of her Mia, they would just have to turn on their televisions like everybody else.

Her Mia. That was a new thought. In the last minute of Mia's song, Harper tried her best to reflect on the events of the week prior. Photoshoots, interviews, recording sessions. In between, quiet moments with Mia, some quick, dirty and breathless, yeah, but others had been quieter. More intimate.

The roar of the studio audience brought her back to reality. Mia had gone down a storm and was now waving to the cameras as the credits of the show rolled. Harper tucked some braids behind her ear and signaled to the security team that they would most likely need help getting her into the limo that was waiting for them downstairs.

When they arrived at The Orchid, Harper wished they had security of their own. Even through the tinted windows of the limousine, she could see a crowd of people, phones in the air, ready to take photos.

"Stay behind me," Harper said, turning to Mia. Mia smiled nervously, breathing deeply, and gave Harper's hand a quick squeeze. Harper squeezed back and suddenly looked to the driver, worried he might say something. He only laughed.

"Ma'am, I didn't see a thing."

With a nod from Mia, Harper opened the door of the limo. Immediately, there were people yelling both of their names, camera flashes from all around, but there was red rope between the crowds and the walkway to the main door of the club. Mia was an absolute professional, smiling and waving to the crowd like she had been born for it, and Harper felt a swell of pride. They both looked stunning, Harper knew it, her blazer secured just below her chest with fashion tape and her heels steady as she walked. Gold jewelry and a light dusting of highlighter meant that she shimmered in the flashing lights. Mia had the look of a rock star already, with those stunning cheekbones and enchanting green eyes. Her hair had been styled backstage, and the hairspray used by the stylists had clearly been made of superglue. There wasn't a single hair out of place. They were picture-perfect.

They reached the door of the club, and the security guard on the door nodded to her. She nodded back. She wasn't Harper tonight. She was the Huntress.

Getting to the green room was difficult. The crowd inside wasn't made up of fans but of businesspeople, vying for Mia's attention. Harper was able to tune out the yelling and shoving of the crowd, but as they walked through the club, she could see Mia getting more and more uncomfortable, fidgeting with the sleeves of her jacket and flinching away. Harper made a decision. In the dim, flashing light of the club she stood in front of Mia, her back to most of the crowd. Grabbing her by the elbow so it didn't look overly intimate, she made a breathe in, breathe out motion with her other hand. They took a minute together. For a moment, it could have just been the two of them on that club floor, Harper thought. Once Mia was calm, she tried to guide her through the crowd. Soon though people began looking for Harper's attention, so she just pointed to the door leading to the green room. Mia nodded and slipped away, leaving Harper with a sour feeling in her stomach.

These people couldn't possibly want what's best for Mia , she thought, they only want to make money off of her. Not in the way that I'm making money off of her, of course, that's different...

A shady promotional deal is not the same as having representation in the industry. That's what she told herself as she pushed through the crowd to get side-stage. She was here to support Mia, first and foremost, and she wanted to make sure Mia was happy.

The green room door was crowded with people eager to get photos and autographs with Mia, but they parted in awe when Harper walked over. She heard the whispers. She always heard the whispers.

Huntress, Huntress, Huntress .

"Oh thank God, the crowd didn't crush you," Mia said as Harper shut the door behind her. A makeup artist was using a fluffy brush to freshly powder her face, and a stage-hand called from a door on the other side of the room.

"Five-minute call, Miss Cortés."

Harper went over to hold the door for Mia, smiling as she mock-curtsied. All this attention and she still hasn't lost her sense of humor.

Side-stage, Harper could tell that Mia was going through her usual mantra. As Mia rubbed her hands on the side of her legs, Harper imagined how the fishnets would feel under her fingers. She hoped she would be able to find out once they got to the after-party. They would find an empty room somewhere.

"Ladies and gentlemen, The Orchid is proud to present…"

"You're on, sweetheart, best of luck." Pet names were safe. Nobody would be able to hear them over the cheers of the crowd. Professionalism and privacy was important to Harper, especially when protecting her own reputation.

Mia looked at her, putting a hand on the side of Harper's face.

"I don't need luck. I have you!"

"… Mia Cortés!"

In a move that blindsided Harper, Mia stepped in and kissed her sweetly, lingering for a moment before turning and walking on stage without looking back.

Getting to see Mia perform twice in one night, especially this close up, was a treat for Harper. She allowed herself to indulge in fantasy, feeling fishnet and skin and leather underneath her fingers, Mia's lilting voice onstage reminding her of breathy sighs and quiet noises in moments nobody else would ever see. That was her Mia out there. She became more comfortable with the thought.

When the set finished, the door to the green room was once again thronged. Crowds of people begging for Mia's attention and businesspeople looking to meet with Harper. They got a few seconds of muffled quiet in the green room, just enough time for Harper to congratulate Mia, before they were pulled apart into their separate roles. The Superstar and the Huntress, consummate professionals. As they stood on opposite sides of the small club, Mia taking selfies and Harper getting ready to draft emails, Harper managed to get a brief moment of eye contact with Mia and mouthed, Sorry . Mia laughed, shrugged, and then pointed to a corner of the club with a gasp. Harper couldn't quite hear her, but she could lip-read something along the lines of, "Is that Leon Addison?!"

Laughing to herself, Harper turned back towards her business associates and talked them through Mia's schedule for the coming months, not giving too many details away. She didn't have to lie about being busy anymore. Mia's stellar performance on Late Night Friday had given her the attention and demand, but the intimate slot at The Orchid had given her the opportunities she needed.

After securing several interviews, more late-night show guest slots, fan-exclusive sets and a documentary crew for the making of her debut album, Harper thought she deserved a little fun at the afterparty.

Standing outside The Orchid, the twilight of the evening turning Los Angeles purple, Harper unlocked her phone and texted Mia.

Waiting outside The Orchid, let me know when you want to head to the afterparty. I'm so proud of you xx

Half an hour passed. Harper didn't see or hear from Mia. Instead of getting annoyed, Harper decided to go back inside and look around for her. She was probably still there. Surely she wouldn't have left without saying goodbye.

"Have any of you seen Mia Cortés?" she asked a group of socialites, a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice between them.

"Oh, she left a while ago with some other people. They said there was an afterparty happening somewhere and they were going to that. Do you know her?" asked one of the women, champagne flute delicately held up.

Harper thanked them for their time and left, calling her driver. Mia leaving without letting her know where she was going was irresponsible, but Harper tried to not let it get to her. She was young and tasting stardom for the first time, and that kind of attention could be irresistible. Harper thought back to when she first started getting real attention in the industry, the kind of attention that means VIP access, having a private driver and getting opportunities simply because you were in the right place at the right time. It could feel overwhelming but addictive. You could lose yourself to it.

Harper tried to quiet her mind on the drive home, but as her driver pulled up to the block of apartments, she couldn't help but worry. It didn't help when he said, "Mia not back from the party yet, Ma'am?"

"I think she'll be out late. You head on home for the night, Michael, I think she'll be alright without a ride home."

"Thank you, Ma'am, will do. Have a nice night."

Harper had similar conversations with the doorman and the receptionist. She really hadn't considered how much Mia had slot neatly into her life, how much she had become involved in Mia's life too. When she arrived home, she texted Mia, letting her know she had gotten home safely, and noticed that Mia had read the message she sent at The Orchid without replying.

She thought about it more as she got ready for bed. Taking the supplements her personal trainer recommended to her, Harper thought about how close and involved they had become in such a short amount of time. While washing her face, she worried about how Mia would deal with the amount of attention she would be getting and made a note to make sure she got some media training the following week.

She didn't really settle into bed, instead climbing under the sheets in an old college sweatshirt, tossing and turning. She had gotten into the habit of listening to Mia's demos as she fell asleep—the old ones, from her website. Her disdain at the quality had faded a little, being replaced by easy enjoyment. She couldn't bring herself to listen to them now. She was too worried about Mia and, in a way that she thought was selfish, worried about herself.