The Royal Treatment Read Online Free Page B

sensation I felt when I connected to my princess clients, when my MP was tuned in. But magic only happened when I wore the Royal Rouge makeup. How could I have this magical feeling happen at home, away from Façade?
    I spoke again, punctuating the monologue with my swelling energy.
    “…My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
    My tongue should catch your tongue’s sweet melody.
    Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,
    The rest I’d give to be to you translated.
    O! teach me how you look, and with what art
    You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart.”
    A splattering of applause rang out in the theater—which had to be a good thing, right? I blinked, the magic of the words gone, and I was back to worrying about death by sweat.
    “Um, no wait…thank you.” I curtsied, an old occupational hazard from subbing, and exited the stage. Reed gave me a nod, but I didn’t sit down. Instead, I pushed open the theater door and retreated to the bathroom to undo the Dew.
    I caught my reflection when I stepped out of the stall. My complexion was pale, but also kind of glowing. Who would have thought all those nerves could create such a rush? I lifted my arm to redo my ponytail and stopped. Ew…I may have had that golden Helena moment, but in the process, I’d also gotten sweaty. I swear I’d put on deodorant that morning. Stupid generic brand.
    And…great. There was a huge smudge of chocolate near the bottom right hem of my shirt. Why hadn’t I noticed that before I stood in front of the entire theater department? I hit the faucet and a gush of water squirted all over me. Sweat circles, chocolate, and a half-soaked shirt. Eighth-grade genius right here.
    The shirt wasn’t going to dry out on its own, and I still needed to go back in to watch the rest of the tryouts. A brainiac idea snuck in, but I brushed it away like a piece of lint. No, I couldn’t. Well, I could …
    Wet the whole T-shirt.
    Seriously! Then it would look like I’d spilled soda and had to wash it off. A fully soaked shirt was far less embarrassing than the Sweat Circles of Doom and Choco Stain-o. I crouched close to the sink and hosed myself off. Kind of soothing, actually. When I was good and dripping, I punched the hand dryer to evaporate the drippiness, but it didn’t start. I wasn’t even attending this high school yet, and it was already messing with my head.
    I shook my hands, and when I did, a bubble formed from the droplets of water. Instead of popping, it drifted up to the ceiling.
    Wait…
    Was it…
    Growing? Oh yeah. The bubble morphed from watermelon size to beach ball to full capacity.
    I nearly shouted “ Ta-da!” when my princess agent, Meredith, stepped out.
    “Darling.” She leaned against the other sink, her nose scrunched in disgust. “I’m rather positive A Midsummer Night’s Dream does not have a wet T-shirt contest in it.”
    “Meredith!” I covered my chest. “Why do you always pop up like that?”
    “I travel by bubble. I find popping is a rather apropos entrance.”
    I finally realized what seeing my agent meant—work! Blessed work! I squealed and gave her a hug. “You’re back! Does this mean I’m ready for Level Two? Did I get all my training in? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Where are we going?”
    She jerked out of my embrace. “Let’s talk in the bubble. The fluorescents in this bathroom make my hair look limy. And your hair, well…just get in.”

Chapter
4
    T he interior of Meredith’s bubble was more fabulous than ever. Instead of the one office with a sitting area, she now had a reception room with a couch, TV, and a wet bar. A massive gift basket covered a coffee table. Her office, visible from behind the cracked door, had the same monochromatic color scheme as before, but with nicer bookcases, a glass-top desk, and a painting that I was pretty sure I’d seen in one of my art books. She pointed to her new hardwood floors. “Drip, drip, drip. Must you always return to me