My Double Life by Janette Rallison

jealous.”
    Maren pulled a picture from a stack of paper on an end table and handed it to Kari. Kari let out a low whistle. “He is cute.” She handed the picture back to Maren but looked over at me. “Okay, you can make out a little. That would totally bother Michael.”
    I walked over to Maren and reached for the picture. “I’m not making out with guys so your boyfriend will be jealous. That’s not part of my job description.”
    I looked at the picture. The guy was stunning. “Well, maybe one kiss,” I said.
    The doorbell rang, and I shoved the picture back to Maren and turned toward the door.
    “Have fun!” Kari called.
    “Glide!” Maren reminded me.
    I slowed down and made my walk smoother.
    “One more thing,” Maren said. “If you mess up and blow your cover—then you’re a celebrity imposter who crashed the club. The real Kari is home sick, and we’ve never seen you before.” And on that note of confidence, I left.

CHAPTER 7
    Nikolay, my bodyguard, sat up in front of the limo, a look of dour seriousness never leaving his face. I knew he worked for me, but he just seemed like a really muscular version of a chaperone.
    Stefano sat in the back of the limo with me, and he was just as beautiful as his photo. I wished I could use the camera on my cell phone to take my picture with him and send it to Lori—or better yet, send it to Theresa and Trevor. Who cared about the stupid Sadie Hawkins dance? I was in a limo with a specimen of a hundred percent male hunkiness.
    Instead, I made small talk with Stefano as Bao-Zhi drove us to the club. Well, I tried to make small talk, anyway. Mostly Stefano talked about the shoots he’d done in Paris and Milan, dropped names of celebrities in the fashion world, and checked the time on his Rolex. I knew it was a Rolex because he pointed it out to me three times.
    I wanted to tell him, “Okay, you’ve proved your point. You’re rich and well connected. Please talk about something besides your stupid expensive watch.” Instead, I nodded and smiled.
    When the limo finally pulled up to the club, I saw a line of people waiting outside. Every single one of them turned and watched the car. A wave of anxiety swept over me, and I instantly regretted the whole thing. I shouldn’t have come to California. I should have been back home listening to Abuela complain about humidity, taxes, and how many commercials she had to sit through. I should have been sitting on Lori’s couch watching stars on TV, not pretending to be one.
    Nikolay got out of the limo first and opened the car door for us. Stefano followed, then held his hand out for me. As I emerged from the car, a thrilled gasp moved through the crowd. I heard Kari’s name repeated over and over again. So many camera flashes went off around me that I felt like I was in the middle of a fireworks display. For a moment, I couldn’t move at all. I’m not sure if it was nerves or just the surprise that so much attention, so much adoration was aimed in my direction. This is why I had prepared nonstop for weeks. I was a superstar.
    Stefano pulled me forward. My anxiety dropped away, replaced by warm elation. Each flash was a kiss blown in my direction. I was beautiful, famous, and most important, loved. I gave the crowd one of Kari’s over-the-shoulder grins, then let Stefano lead me into the club.
    Once the three of us were inside, the owner, a man who didn’t look much older than Stefano, hurried over and introduced himself. His hair was slicked back, he wore all black, and when I gave him my hand to shake, he took it to his lips and kissed it. I didn’t know men did that and had no idea how to react. Did I laugh or pretend that hand kissing was normal? Maren hadn’t covered this area. Fortunately, the owner didn’t wait for a response. Still holding my hand between his, he said, “You’re even more gorgeous in real life, Miss Kingsley. Anytime you want to hang somewhere, consider this your home away from