The Masked Singer

[Chapter Nine]

No matter what I try to do with my hair, it just seems to have a mind of its own. I want to make it flat, it frizzes. Maybe some curly locks, forget that, it's turns out to be an odd shaped curl that looks more flat than round. I'm not sure what I've done, but most days it appears we're enemies. I've burnt enough of my fingers for one night, straight it is.

I'm thankful applying make-up comes with easier consequences – if you ignore the eye prodding and the smudged Alice Cooper resemblance. I manage to rim my eyes with a define kohl liner, shimmer on a light purple eyeshadow and some mascara to complete the look.

The dress is tight around my bust, the soft flowy material brushes past my upper thighs, which sends a flirty vibe coursing around me. I add a sparkly belt around my waist to tie in the jewels on my shoes. I twirl around in the bathroom, checking my image from different viewpoints to ensure I look nice. Once I'm satisfied with my appearance, I head to the bedroom and scoop up the clutch bag from the end of the bed.

Within good time, I head out of the hotel room and make my way down the halls. As I circle around the corner I see the elevator doors closing within the distance.

"Hold the door," I shout, but the old lady looks away, ignores my request.

I eloquently run down the hall but before I can slip my hand in, the doors close.

"Damn it." I slap the metal doors.

"Problem?" a male questions.

My body freezes up from the sound of his voice floating through the air. I slowly turn around and come face to face with a familiar young man with curly blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes.

"I uh." I tangle my fingers together. "I just really needed that lift."

"Bad luck." His deep voice chuckles.

I look over my shoulder at the elevator doors, and then back at the young man's face. "Do I, have I met you before?" I ask.

His piercing gaze is a hard one to forget, but my worry lies on him. Does he remember me from this morning? I'm not every special to stand out, and I bet he delivers food to hundreds of people per day.

He slips one hand into his pocket and slouches back casually, a small casual smile slipping onto his face with ease.

"I believe I brought you pancakes this morning." He cocks his head to the side, sending his curly hair flopping to the side with him. His blue eyes trace down my figure, soaking in small details.

"Right." I smile.

"Where are you running off to now?" he asks, a thin smile spreading on his lips.

"Dinner with my father tonight." I awkwardly nod my head when I realise how lame that sounds. My eyes trail over to the elevator and then back to the guy.

"You look very pretty with your-" He waves his hand around his face as he tries to find the words. "-make-up finished." He smiles.

"Yeah." I laugh. "Hopefully better."

The guy chuckles which makes my insides spark with nerves. His eyes suddenly light up and his free hand points to something behind me. "Your lift is here."

Smiling, I turn to see the doors open.

"Thank you." I wave and rush inside the doors just in time.

"You're welcome," he replies just in time as the doors shut.

As the lifts descends, I squirm at my missed opportunity to ask for his name. I've only got one more day left – maybe it's a good idea I don't get his name. I'm not sure where a guy like him would fit in my life at the moment, especially if he's from New York.

The elevator takes a few minutes to hit ground floor, when the doors open I can see my Dad straight away. He's standing a few metres away from the entrance with an older couple. So this is the prospective evening clients, I knew there would be a catch to dinner plans.

Brushing my hands over my dress, I walk over and stand by his side. Their conversations die down and Dad focuses his attention on me.

"This is my daughter, Riley." He wraps one arm around my waist. "I didn't expect another business meeting today. I'm afraid I have plans with my daughter," he explains.

The man standing in front frowns and shoves a hand into his pocket. He's a tall man with hardly any hair on his wrinkled head. The woman standing beside him is in her late forties. With her wedged heels, she falls just an inch shorter. She's strikingly beautiful with her string of pearls, and black and white cocktail dress.

"My son is joining dinner tonight, they would make great company," the man slips in.

The woman's face lights up. "Oh, that would be a splendid idea." She places her hand on his shoulder, "Michael here, has our poor son working to the bone on his last summer vacation."

Michael's body angles towards his wife. "I told you Marina, if he wants to take over the company, then he needs to start learning about it, and the people who work here."

His tone of voice makes chills run done my back. I'd hate to be under the tough love approach from my parents – but I know I'll be feeling the same pinch with touring and keeping up appearances.

"If my daughter doesn't mind, we might be able to make that dinner." My stomach churns as their eyes fall on me. I hate how he's pinned this on me.

"I um, sure. Dinner sounds good." The three of them both light up.

Dad stands a little taller as he announces where our dinner reservations are. "We've got dinner at Golden Apples, they should be able to move us to a larger table."

"Don't be silly, we've got reservations at The Modern tonight. I have a big craving for divine French food," Marina explains.

My eyes spring open, "Are you serious? It takes months to get a reservation there, let alone a group table!"

"The owner loves staying at the restaurant, and Marina likes dinning there – we've got certain agreements," Michael explains. "Nathan appears to be running late, he can catch a separate car."

"Just let our driver know that," Marina slips in. "Let's head off."

We walk outside the hotel, and there's a car waiting for us. The driver opens the door and Michael ushers his wife inside, then me, followed by those two. The evening is starting off very nicely, but my mind keeps wandering to their son, and who it could possibly be.