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new creation, she made it to the backstage area. Her dress was pinned and hidden beneath a long white robe that was embroidered with her monogram beneath Marco’s logo. Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna flitted around her, anxious to begin the show. She couldn’t even address them. She was too nervous.
    She had never been afraid of anything, but she had never been put into a dress like this with no forewarning and no practice for a production that was imperative to her career.
    Marco’s introductory words rang through the speakers. It was immediately followed by a thunder of applause. He was a raw talent with a booming voice that was as soothing, seductive, and stimulating as a Siren. He was in his natural element, charming an audience.
    She could see him in her mind’s eye, gorgeous and tall. Intoxicating with a smile, he could cast a spell with those dark, dreamy eyes.
    Assistants lined up models in order while a famous American singer began her latest number-one hit to open the show.
    Marco appeared backstage an instant later, pushing people into place, adjusting hair, and demanding overall perfection.
    Chyna’s green eyes bored into his back from a distance. She knew he could feel it, and then he pivoted around, quirking a smile at her. She continued to shoot daggers at him, which just seemed to amuse him further. He turned away from her then, finished off the last model, and disappeared back behind the curtain to watch the show.
    “That man is insufferable,” Chyna groaned.
    “He is a genius,” Giselle said in a voice that sounded like she agreed.
    Chyna couldn’t help continuing. “I want to rip off his head and post it on a stake sometime.”
    “But, most of the time, just his clothes, so he can work his genius on you, no?”
    Giselle responded.
    Chyna gaped at Giselle. She was always so incredibly prudish.
    Giselle broke out into laughter. “I’d try not to look that shocked on stage,” she suggested.
    Models were already being ushered back offstage to be escorted into the party to be put on display immediately. Time was moving fast, and Chyna wasn’t prepared to step onto that stage. The room emptied more and more until even Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna were kissing her cheeks and wishing her luck before they disappeared.
    As soon as the very last model left backstage, Giselle stripped Chyna out of her robe and began unbuttoning the train of her dress and letting it loose behind her.
    When she was finished, Giselle admired her handiwork, her top lip turned up as she scrutinized with intense, hard blue eyes. “Are you prepared?”
    No! Hell no! She couldn’t do this.
    Marco was insane to even pull this shit on her, but she nodded, certain her face showed every evident concern.
    “You’ll do fine,” Giselle reassured her. “I’m certain Marco wouldn’t do something he thought would ruin the show.”
    “Let’s hope.”
    “Chin up. Watch that step,” Giselle reminded her.
    Not that she needed the reminder. She almost rubbed her ass at the thought. “I can do this,” Chyna said confidently, walking carefully up the steps.
    She waited for her cue, her intro, the music—anything that would let her know when to begin, but nothing came. A hushed silence passed over the crowd, and suddenly, the lights were extinguished. A soft whisper, no louder than a hum, filled the room at the abrupt darkness, but it too died down. Was this her cue? She was’
    supposed to have music and lights! Where was her cue?
    She was terrified to walk onto a fully lit stage in this dress, so the thought of doing it blindly in the dark was atrocious.
    When nothing else happened, she took it upon herself to make the decision. Her six-inch sparkly nude platforms created the only noise in the room as she clicked slowly across the black stage. What was the point? No one could see her, and it was dangerous. Marco better have something up his sleeve.
    Chyna had obsessively counted steps all summer. Marco had some small