I’ll let her talk about our future all night if she wants to. The excitement is like a caress to my heart because there was a time I wondered if I’d ever have a present with her. I tried not to be too hopeful for a future.
But now, that’s exactly what we have.
I’ll spend the rest of my life loving Margo Moretti.
I can’t fucking wait.
You can now pre-order Rewrite Our Story by Kat Singleton. This small-town, best friend’s brother, second chance romance will release May 11th, 2023. This will be the first standalone novel set in the fictional small town of Sutten Mountain, a place you already visited in Black Ties and White Lies!
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Continue reading for a glimpse into Founded on Goodbye, the first novel in Kat Singleton’s Mixtape Series.
“Why me?” The question lingers in the air between the two of us.
The silence causes me to take a long, nervous pull from my straw, and I swish the water around in my mouth before swallowing.
I use this moment to take a good look at the woman sitting across from me. She can’t be much older than my twenty-one years. I’d guess she wasn’t a day over thirty, but it’s hard to tell in Los Angeles.
There are so many plastic surgeons out here, she could be forty-two for all I know. Her hair is cut in a short, polished bob, the platinum blonde color of her hair appearing natural.
Monica takes a long breath, her narrow shoulders lifting and falling in a fluid movement. I can hear the annoyance in her sigh just before she says, “Why not you, Nora?”
Her comment spins in my head. She has a point; any girl would love the opportunity she’s giving me. I’m just not sure I’m the girl to accept the offer.
Monica’s phone chimes from where she has it laid out on the table. She says nothing as she picks it up and starts rapidly typing away at it.
While her fingers hit speeds I didn’t know were humanly possible, I look around the swanky restaurant. At the plants cascading down the black wall located behind her.
It’s loud enough inside that the two of us have had to speak up to be able to hear the other. Patrons around us are drinking cocktails named after literary heroes out of copper mugs. This is the nicest space I’ve been in since packing all my bags and moving out to California.
When I got the text from my agent—AKA my best friend Riley—to meet Monica Masters in an hour, I didn’t believe it at first. Monica is the right-hand woman to music icon: Nash Pierce. I thought this meeting might give me the opportunity to be one of the dancers on his upcoming world tour. It turns out, what Monica wants from me is a bit more complicated.
When Monica’s nails finally stop tapping away at her phone, she looks at me once again. “Look,” she starts, lifting her perfectly manicured hand to call our waiter over for the check, “there are thousands of girls who’d jump at this opportunity in an instant. I don’t particularly need you; you were just my first choice.”
Her cell phone continues to ping next to her as she exchanges brief words with the waiter. When she looks back at me, the look on her face screams business.
“How did you even find me?” I use the question as a diversion, to get my thoughts together. If she were to look under the table, she’d see the incessant tapping of my foot against the shiny floors, my nerves getting the best of me.
Monica studies me a moment, only looking away to hand the waiter her credit card. A few moments pass before she speaks. “You have a large following on Instagram. It seems people gravitate toward your life. That’s exactly what I need. I need people to give a damn about you.”
I gulp, her words simmering in my head. I think about my followers, or friends as I like to call them, on Instagram. Somehow, I have amassed over a hundred thousand of them. My following had started to grow after a news company featured my senior showcase on the air—a contemporary number that set the small town I lived in ablaze.
I try not to think of the showcase, of the reason they featured me.
When I moved to LA, I was just a simple small-town girl with big dreams. The same kind of dreams that most people in LA have. In my case, make my passion for dancing a career.
When I snagged a position in an up-and-coming dance company, my follower count kept increasing. Once I realized people were interested in that type of content, I started posting videos of me free styling to popular songs; and after that, my following skyrocketed.
It still feels odd that I share my life with so many people. If I accept Monica’s offer, there will be double—maybe triple—the amount of people looking at my life. I’m not sure I’m prepared for that, but then again, her offer is a one-way ticket to pursuing my dreams.
I just have to sell myself in the process.
I try to swallow past the lump of nerves in my throat. “I need some time to think about this.”
Monica’s eyebrows raise. She probably thought I would have jumped at the opportunity. She doesn’t know I swore I wouldn’t be a cliché when I moved to LA. I didn’t want to sell myself to achieve my dreams. And what she’s offering is a complete sellout. A sellout I find myself highly considering.
Her nails tap against the table. “You can have a day. Rehearsals for the tour begin next week and if you happen to say no, which I’m not sure why you would, then I’ll need time to screen other girls and meet with them. We have auditions on Saturday. If you say yes, you’ll be expected to be there.”
My eyes flick back to the plants hanging on the wall behind her. Staring at Monica for too long makes me incredibly nervous, and right now I’m just trying to keep my cool. “You haven’t given me many details on what this gig will entail except that you’re literally hiring me to break Nash Pierce’s heart.”
My hands move all over the place as I recount the conversation we just had. People are probably staring, but I’m too deep in my thoughts to worry about that. What she’s proposing to me is crazy.
“Which, while we’re on the topic,” I mutter, “why do you even think I can break his heart? He’s Nash Pierce and I’m, well, not on his level.”
The waiter hands Monica her card back before scurrying off. I don’t blame him—the look on her face makes me want to run away as well. Monica is known for being one hell of a ballbuster in Hollywood, and after meeting with her today, I can confirm what the tabloids say about her are true.
She’s terrifying.
“Have some self-respect, Nora,” Monica chastises.
I want to shrink down in my chair at the tone of her voice. It makes me feel like a child. It’s how my mother used to talk to me and my sister when we did something wrong.
“You’re stunning,” she continues. “The dance videos you upload show just how sexy you are. You’re very talented to be able to dance like that. If I didn’t think you were up for the job, I wouldn’t have gone through all the hassle to look at every single one of your Instagram posts and take the time out of my very busy schedule to meet with you.”