Holland adjusted his designer sunglasses, making sure no one could see the redness in his eyes. The car rolled to a stop beside a tall, glossy building labeled 'World Reports". Upon looking up at the sleek and modern architecture, Holland was instantly reminded of his mother. The woman always had an appreciation for well considered design.
"Mr. Kingston, we've arrived at your destination. Ruby is waiting for you inside and will give you the run down of what you're going to say during this interview." Alyssa tipped the driver before turning around to Holland, meeting his eyes with her familiar and intimidating gaze.
"Yes, Alyssa, I know. You're my PR agent, not my nanny." He smirked, grabbing his wallet and exiting the car as the driver pulled open the door.
The radiant LA sun instantly lightened his mood. He stood for a moment, soaking it all in. It was the first time in months that he'd experience weather other than rain. As much as he wanted to just bask in the California heat, he knew he'd eventually have to face the interview. Holland adjusted the collar on his button up shirt and took a deep breath before striding into his living nightmare.
As soon as he entered the silver revolving doors, he was bombarded with a storm of reporters. Their camera's flashed like lightening and their voices roared like cracks of thunder. He ducked his head and shouldered his way through the crowd, a technique he'd learned from years of watching his parents. Once he made his way through the lobby of the enormous broadcasting center, he easily spotted a familiar face. His personal assistant ran towards him with stacks of papers and a bag of nearly twenty mini water bottles. He pushed up his sunglasses while nervously biting his lip.
"Before we get into the details, I need your help." He urged, his voice low and raspy.
"Oh, god." Ruby crossed her arms, waiting for what she knew would be a disaster.
Holland pulled her over to the corner of the room, making sure no one could see them. He carefully pulled off his sunglasses, a guilty look on his face.
"Bloody hell, Holland!" Her mouth dropped open as he revealed a deep, puffy black eye. Holland could almost feel the steam radiating off of his assistants head.
"I had a little too much to drink last night and things got out of hand! It's not my fault, he spilt-"
"You're telling me you got into a fight over a spilt drink?" The girl was clearly using every ounce of strength in attempt to keep herself quiet.
"I can fix it, I just need-" Once again, his sentence was cut off by Ruby's venomous voice.
"You, have done enough. What you need to do is go straight to the studio, keep your sunglasses on, study your script, and don't make a world until the other guests arrive. And for the love of god, don't be a dumbass."
She shoved the papers and waters into his hands before angrily making her way towards the front desk. With a sigh, he slid his sunglasses back down and made his way into an empty elevator. Each floor he passed reminded him that he was one step closer to having to lie on global television. But also one step closer to meeting the only other people who could possibly understand his pain.
The elevator opened to reveal a large recording area filled with tons of busy personnel. He stood cluelessly, unsure of where he should go. A sudden tap on the shoulder saved him from having to navigate his way through the maze-like studio. He turned around to see a tall blonde woman, her hair done to perfection and a smile adorning her face. There was no doubt that this woman would be leading their interview.
She introduced herself and pointed him in the direction of the lounge area, the plastic smile never leaving her face. Her misplaced joy made him instantly hate her. Holland settled onto a comfortable red couch and did as Ruby had told him, letting the nerves slowly eat away at every ounce of comfort he had left.
Beck wasn't used to the buzz of California. He'd been once with his mother for a Golden State basketball game, which reminded him of the current events. He wore a dark blue dress shirt, rolled to his elbows revealing his burns on his left arm. A black tie, jeans, a pair of ostrich cowboy boots, and aviators. He looked out the window of his car, as the streets flew by as quickly as he saw them. When the driver pulled up to the complex, he spotted the paparazzi swarm a young man like himself. "You can just stop here Mr, thanks for the lift" he handed the man a $50 bill. A big tip for a Uber driver, but he was a generous guy. He slid out of the car, and smiled to the cameras, something his father taught him to do. "Just smile and wave, if you embrace them you won't be in tabloids for bad reasons." The camera flashing reminded him of the frenzy of cameras at the accident. He took a deep breath, and pushed his way inside, "Y'all have a good day" he said simply before the elavtator closed sealing him away. He sighed relived, he used that line every time he saw the paparazzi, simple, and southern. Basically his label. The elavtator dinged, as he made his way into a lounge like area. He'd been to this place before with his father. He removed his glasses, free from the cameras, and tucked them in his breast pocket. He saw the younger man from earlier, and noticed a slight redness around his eye. Heck he'd probably notice his ugly ass arm. "Names Beck" he said outstreching his hand.
"...and be sure to listen to Mr. Brady. He means well. He really does consider your family to be close friends, so he always has your best interests at hand...." Sylvie made another noise to show that she was listening, throwing another apologetic look towards the middle aged man in the car beside her. He was the infamous Mr. Brady, her parents' PR agent who had insisted on helping her with this interview. She had met him a couple of times to discuss public image and whatnot before the deaths but those meetings never focused on her like they did now. She was so used to being told to play the placid, good daughter that she forgot there was more to image than the boring bad or good.
"Oui-I mean- yes, Carla, I understand," Sylvie said, almost slipping back into French. She was still adjusting to L.A., despite ironically being born in the very city nineteen years ago, which also meant sticking to plain English. She didn't have an accent or anything; French was just a hard habit to kick. "I need to go now. Love you. Yes, bye." With a flood of relief, she turned back to Mr. Brady, who had been looking out the window anxiously. "Sorry, she's just nervous for me." He forced a pained smile. "No worries. Now, as I was saying, I have a copy of the file I sent you with what you should say. You've already looked at it on the plane like I asked, so you should be good. Just relax and maybe review it some more. And...oh, looks like you're here."
The young woman looked out the window, brushing a blonde curl from her face almost contemplatively. "Yes...looks like I am." She put the copy into her bad and slung it over her shoulder, shooting a grateful look at Mr. Brady. "Thanks for helping me out. Really. I appreciate what you've done for my family." She barely heard his 'good luck, Ms. Valette' as she scrambled out and shut the car door behind her. She respected him a lot as a PR agent, but his presence was as boring and suffocating as always.
There were dozens of reporters hounding the entrance as she went in. She weaved her way around them, uttering polite apologies and 'excuse me's along the way. Once she was safely in the elevator, she let out an inaudible sigh of relief, already sensing that the next couple of hours were going to be rough. She started to take out the copy Mr. Brady gave her, but thought better of it and quickly shoved it back into her purse. After all, it was already almost memorized and she got the gist of whatever wasn't ingrained in her head. The elevator dinged its way to the correct floor, exposing her to a rushed blur of personnel. She tapped the nearest one. "Excuse me, I'm here for the interview. Is there somewhere I should be while I wait?" He grunted and muttered something about a lounge area before nodding in a general direction and scurrying off immediately.
Thanks, I guess. She started walking in the direction he nodded in, at this point just hoping for the best. There are only so many places I could go on this floor. Luckily, the personnel didn't mislead her and she found an area that looked like a lounge room. There were already two others there and a red couch. It was red and a couch; what more could she want? Unfortunately as she walked towards the couch, she tripped and fell, uttering a tiny yelp in the process. Silently cursing herself, she picked herself back up, picked her bag up from the ground, and tossed it to the red couch before sitting down. While other people's clumsiness might be cute, Sylvie's was not; maybe she just didn't carry herself in a cute manner, but it never really earned her those condescending 'aww' moments she saw in movies. At least she managed to carry on before anyone could react properly or help her. "Hello, sorry about that," she said, turning towards them. "Is this where we wait until the interviews or have I just embarrassed myself in front of strangers for nothing?" There was her wit again, trying to salvage some of her dignity for her.
Katarina stepped off her yacht into the Californian port and took a deep breath, enjoying the warmth and bright blue sky common in California at this time. It has been years since she has been in the states, remembering a trip to Los Angeles seeing Hollywood and the other sights. It was the second last trip before the accident. She groaned as she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. Certainly was a shorter trip. Even with the comforts of a private train and yacht, a trip from St Petersburg to Vladivostok than having to cross the Pacific was long and tiring. She knew a plane trip would be faster but she couldn't, she couldn't risk again.
She was dressed in the traditional summer look, a straw hat and a long flowing dress going down to her knees with a purple flower pattern. She showed her prosthetic leg casually without care or shame walking confidently if a bit lopsided toward the car. She had hired a car to get her to the family mansion were she will change to more appropriate clothing for the interview. It was funny having the interview talking about her parents passing, pleading for the police to continue their investigation to their death. Especially when she was disowned by them and hated them to the point she was investigated for the murder. However friends advice her to do it for the sake of appearances and got a holiday in the states because of it so she might as well.
Once home she had her bags brought in and changed to a black short sleeve top, grey dress and black high heeled shoes. One needed to show that she was still in mourning even though she enjoyed more colourful clothing when in California. She added a cane with her for effect and left for the studio, there she was met by stage hand who led her to the waiting area were others congregated. She looked at each of them and wondered which family each child belonged to.
It was cold and dark. All Kiara could see was the dust blowing.
She was all alone, well she thought she was.
Soon a figure started to show.
It was walking towards her.
Soon there was two walking.
A female and a male.
"Kiara" "Kiara" It called again
She closed her eyes and when she opened them she could see there faces
Her parents
And when she closed her eyes and opened them, She woke up.
~*~
"Miss Vox! Are you Ok?! Her assistant asked, shaking her body vigorously. "Claire, I'm fine! Now gwt your hands OFF OF ME!It was just a dream!" She said in a demanding tone. "But-But you-" I AM FINE" Kiara said cutting her off. "Yes Miss" Claire said in a defeating tone.
Kiara got off the plane, acting as if nothing happened. She got her bags and walked out of the air port. Once she got into her driver's car she set off to go to the interview.
"Do you know what your going to say?" Her assistant asked, "Of course I do! When am I not prepared!" Kiara said. "No not the interview, The other billionaires!" Claire said. "What is there to say? I'm sorry for the loss of your dead parents? Are you ready for the interview that's going to asked you about your dead parents?" She sarcastically. The ride went on going in silence until we stopped. Then her PR agent stepped into the vehicle. "Hello Selena" kiara said to her in a formal tone and prepared to have to her ear chewed off.
Finally they got to their destination and Kiara was about to step out of the car when her PR agent stopped her, "Remember your parents are watching you" She said. Kiara nodded and got out of the car leaving her agent. She stood up straight and adjusted her outfit and walked into the building, avoiding paparazzi. She went up to the front desk, and said "Kiara Vox, I'm here for the interview." The person directed her to the room everyone was at. She stopped mid way and turned to her assistant, Claire,"I'll go. You can get me a coffee and meet me up there." She said and walked a way. When she got there she looked around noticing who the people were.
Luna stared blankly out of the car window watching the world pass by as a blur, her elbow was on the armrest of the chair and her chin rested on the palm of her hand. It had been a few weeks since her parents' deaths, even though the subject was still quite sensitive she was able to talk about without breaking down into a big mess. She had been traveling since this morning, she left her home in Brooklyn at about seven o'clock and time seemed to have been moving slowly.
The sound of someone clearing their throat next to her caused Luna to turn her head in their direction. She gave them a slight nod as if to say I'm okay.
"We have arrived Miss Lewis." The deep voice belonged to the man sitting next to her, Connor Grey, the Lewis family's most trusted bodyguard. He had known Luna since her birth as he was hired by her mother while she was pregnant. He was not only a bodyguard to Luna but a close friend and sometimes a good personal advisor. "Are you sure you are up for this, if not-" Luna waved her hand, she understood Connor did not want her to push herself but they had come this far; they couldn't go back now.
"Trust me Connor, I'm fine." She reassured him before signalling to him to open the door. That was mostly true. In the fact that she was much better than she was the last few weeks.
With slight hesitancy Connor eventually opened the car door and held it open for Luna as she shuffled across the seats to swing her legs out of the car so she could get out. A tip that her mother had taught her to do when wearing a skirt or a dress to avoid flashing her underwear. She had done it so much this was natural for her now. As she stepped out of the car she pulled her shiny black framed sunglasses over her eyes, which had previously been placed on her head. The warm breeze toyed with her coffee brown hair as she waited for Connor to shut the door and thank the driver.
As if on cue a swarm of photographers and reporters crowded around Luna, bright flashes and microphones were pushed in Luna's face. There were so many voices she could not pick out what anyone was saying apart from Connor whose booming voice echoed from next to her.
"Miss Lewis will not be answering any questions at this current time." He stated before turning into a human shield and escorting Luna safely into the building, only to be greeted by another group of photographers hovering around Luna like wasps. Connor continued to do his job and continued to guide Luna into the closest elavator.
"Thank you Connor." Luna thanked her bodyguard as she ran her fingers through her curls and smoothed down any creases which had formed in her pale salmon colored skirt of her dress.
"Just doing my job Miss." He replied with a slight nod.
Luna had just about enough time to reaply some subtle chestnut color lipstick and spray a few bursts of her favorite 'Beyonce Heat' perfume which she had a small travel version of in her handbag before the elevator dinged and the doors opened.
With Connor close by her side Luna walked out of the elevator and into the large studio, her simple black heels clicking softly across the floor as she did so. She stood patiently as Connor spoke to some staff to find out where to go.
"This way Miss Lewis." Connor took big strides across the room which Luna managed to keep up but had to walk a little quicker than usual.
When they reached the sofas they were instructed to wait at Luna noticed a small group of other people she gave them a nod before sitting on the red sofa opposite them with Connor stood naturally on her right side.
Seeing the man didn't want to shake hands, he took a seat on the red sofa. Soon after the room began to fill with PR agents,bodyguards, and stars themselves. He had told his PR agent, James to stay in Texas. He knew enough about the media, and since he handled the cameras well they both decided against his presence. Surprisingly he didn't reconize anyone in this room, well not surprisingly, he never kept up with celebrity business. But he couldn't stand the mennotney of the silence. "So, I can tell everyone's real excited to be hear. Y'all probably want to be on your yachts and your jets going to some island to get away from the world." He was trying to make conversation, while inserting a tad of irony. His family did have a yacht, but it looked more like a Gulf coast boat. And he did have a jet, but he didn't like to show off his wealth. Honestly he wanted to be home on his horse, disappearing into his ranch property and not returning for a few days. That was peace to him.
Floyd let out a groan of disdain as Felicity opened his curtains, not to rays of sunshine, but to a few glittering stars and a sliver of the moon. "Come now," she chided at his glare from under the covers. "We have a flight to get to."
He grudgingly obliged, tossing away the silky cover. Felicity smiled at him, walking over to his large closet, where he closely followed suite. "I don't want you to choke with formal attire..." She considered a few different things, and they ended up packing his suitcase instead. Felicity stepped away from the closet door, although Floyd easily cleared the top of her head.
"You choose."
This wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but his father usually requested that Felicity helped him with dressing for occasions of importance or occasions with the press. His father... A lump formed in his throat as he walked inside. He didn't care what Felicity would say as he pulled on a grey t-shirt with a graphic of Yoshi riding in a go-kart. He turned around to get a light pink dress shirt, and Felicity opened her mouth in protest, but Floyd raised his hand. "My choice, remember?"
He ended up buttoning most of the shirt up, and Felicity gave give light brown dress pants, most likely to inhibit him from getting jeans. He rolled his eyes as he did up the belt. "I was going to choose this pair anyways," he half snarked. He really didn't feel "up to it" as he left his house walking down the massive driveway down to his hot red sports car.
He didn't feel like anything as he blew down the short highway, not until his assistant gave his arm a tug. "Floyd! You're going 20 over the limit!" She cried, and much to his horror, she was right, and he quickly corrected his mistake, his cheeks burning. They arrived at the airport and went straight to the jet, the only good thing about how smoothly everything went. He slept most of the flight and awoke to Felicity again, although this time she urgently shook him awake. His headphones had fallen down to his neck, but he could still hear the sounds of "You Only Live Twice" which was continuing to play on the screen. "You will see that my piranha fish get very hungry. They can strip a man to the bone in 30 seconds. I have decided to ask for a little money in advance. I want the sum of a hundred million dollars in gold bullion... ...deposited in our account"
He had memorized that part, and he went through the lines in his head as she handed him a comb to fix his hair.
The drive to the building felt way too short, and a bitter taste became apparent the closer they went. As the car rolled to a stop, Felicity turned to the blonde teenager, fixing his collar with a decisive tug. "You are handsome and charming. And remember; Play nice." Floyd couldn't do much more than nod with all the buzzing in his ears as she told him that she would rejoin him as soon as she could.
He slipped on a pair of aviators as the door was opened by a body guard, he couldn't quite recall his name, but then again, he was having trouble clearing his mind. The would-be short walk to the doors was made considerably longer due to the press attempting to shove microphones at him from every direction. He made it through with some tricks, and quietly slipped into the elevator. The doors to the correct floor wooshed open, and Floyd didn't feel like saying anything to these people who were only in it for the money, like that fake-looking bint who was wearing a large smile.
For once in his life Barton Edwards was completely silent. He had barely spoken a word since leaving the airport in London where he had protested getting onto the plane. What did he care if he missed the interview? Flying after his parent's "accident" seemed like the stupidest thing he could do. He was also uneasy about flying on an airplane with strangers, unable to remember the last time he hadn't flown on the family jet. Luckily his PR agent, Portia Wendall, had been able to keep him from making a scene. Portia was a short, fierce woman that had managed his family's image for a little over ten years. She pulled Barton into an unoccupied bathroom when she sensed the approaching meltdown and calmed him with words that his father used to say whenever things didn't go as planned. There was a small chance that the words would have upset him but instead they filled him with determination. The crisis was averted and both of them arrived to L.A. on time.
Portia had assumed that being in the sunshine of L.A. would somewhat cheer the boy but the continued silence was beginning to worry her. "About this interview...do you think you're ready for it? If you need to leave at any time please do. Put your mental health above your public image."
Barton averted his eyes away from the window and raised an eyebrow at the small woman. She had surprised him with her kind words especially since she was the person that constantly nagged him about his shenanigans that the tabloids loved. He took a deep breath and managed to smile. "I think I'll be fine. If there was ever a time to care about my image it would be now."
Portia eyed him suspiciously at the sudden change of mood. The brunette only gave her an even wider smile. "I'm anxious to meet the other people at this interview. Don't you agree that multiple dead billionaires around the same time is a little suspicious? Either way...I'll try to be on my best behavior but stop me if I make an arse of myself."
The car arrived in front of the 'World Reports' building and Barton stepped out into the sunlight leaving the car door open. A tall woman with a camera pushed through to reach him for a picture. He could barely understand what she was saying but winked at her. "That's a very good question. Why don't you talk to my agent and maybe we can have dinner sometime?" Barton slipped throw the rest of the crowd and into the building. His phone buzzed with a message from Portia.
From: Portia W.
You're being an arse.
Once inside the building he was directed to an elevator that led up to a lounge. There were other billionaire kids waiting and he eyed them before taking a seat on one of the red sofas. He was positive that he had seen at least a few faces in the tabloids. The only person that looked happy to be there was the tall blonde woman with the fake smile. "Is anyone going to tell her that this isn't a happy occasion?" His tone sounded harsh but his eyes shone playfully. He was definitely still torn up about the death of his parents but he felt that it was necessary to be his usual self. The two days he had spent holed up in his home would have to be the extent of his grieving.
"Alright Mellie darling. Your jet is waiting for you to board." Melanie nodded and checked herself in the mirror one last time. Her bright orange hair was slicked back into a low bun. She was wearing her mother's pearl earrings and her mother's favorite turquoise ring. Her white buttoned down shirt was accompanied by a black vest and bowtie. She wore her favorite black pants and black boots. "You've always been sweet to me Mrs.Justine..You were like the mom I've always wanted." She hugged the maid tightly. "Everything's going to be alright sweetheart. Go on, before you're late." Justine released Melanie and stepped back to look at her. "Be safe now, promise?" she said softly. "Ha, we already know the answer to that one." she laughed and ran off towards Mr. Withern, her parent's assistant. "I've always wanted to go to L.A." she smiled. 'But not for something like this.' She followed Mr. Withern onto the airplane and fell asleep for the ride. "Mhm, Miss Melanie. We've arrived." Mr. Withern said in his Italian accent shaking her awake.
Melanie opened her eyes and looked around. "They weren't kidding about these palm trees." She got off the plane and got into the family car that was waiting for her. She stared out the window, focusing on her own musings and what to say at this interview. She hated studying for any interview or social event. Instead she decides to wing it and hope for the best.
She finally arrived at the location and took a deep breath before stepping out. The only reason she hated studying for these things, is because they made her very nervous to do in person. Over the phone she could picture something funny or something to distract her. But in person...not so much. She opened the car door and stepped out. On cue a swarm of microphones and flashes greeted her. "Here goes nothing." Melanie took out her bun and fluffed her hair to reveal a few messy curls. She took her favorite black and grey beanie out of her back pocket and put it on her head. She winked to the paparazzi and walked coolly into the building. "Now that's over...where do I go?" She looked around and found someone easily approachable. "Excuse me, do you know where I'm supposed to be going?" the man gave her quick directions and walked away. "Um...alright then." She followed his instructions and came upon a lounge with a red couch. "That looks comfy." She smiled as she walked towards the lounge noticing the others that were there. She started feeling nervous again and wondered when Mr. Withern would be following her here. 'Oh wait...I ditched him at the airport. Haha yea...good times.' She laughed to herself and sat quietly on the couch slightly further away from the others as she could get.
The last while had been hard. A mix of emotions and media bashing on the door. To attempt to avoid more, Melora and her assistant had flown over the day before, unlike majority of the interviewees. It somewhat worked, but, of course, the press still got their hands on that information and went looking all over to try get some exclusives of her.
Light rays flooded into her room, and Melora shot up. Sweat beaded down her head, and her hands clenched onto the soft covers. Her breathing slowed and lightened as she pulled her scrambled senses together. Yet another nightmare, so Mel just tucked it away in her mind, like she always tried to. Climbing out of bed, she pondered on what to wear, until Jordan burst into her room. Her hair a light brown, and being curly, seemed to be springing about, as she rushed around muttering. "Jordan?..." Melora murmured.
"Ah... yes, miss... Sorry. Just busy." she said, looking up and tucking some curls behind her ears. "Get changed, and we'll leave promptly." Melora simply nodded and turned to put on the dress she'd decided on wearing just before.
She hurriedly made her way down to the shuttled car, and climbed in. Time passed quicker than she'd thought, as she took in the scenery.
She took a few breaths, they were shaky, sure, but they calmed her. The door opened, and a flood of reporters were scrambling on top of each other to try get a photo of her, or some answers. Mel had insisted she had no body-guard with her, but unfortunately, her PR agent, turned somewhat assistant, Jordan Bliss had gotten one nonetheless. Now, she was grateful. How could such people make such chaos and thunderous sounds, and stampede like animals? Microphones were shoved into her face, and flashes harassing her eyes.
She stood, brushing down her dress, and weaved her way through the crowds, giving a few cameras a quick, yet forced smile. She'd learnt that from her parents, as a way to get good publicity in the media, but not have too many photos being taken. With the help of... whomever this body-guard was, Mel had successfully weaved through the press. They still attempted to swarm her as if she was a light, and they were all mere flies, but she made her way to the elevator as fast as humanly possible for herself. Melora glanced down at her dress. It was simple, yet elegant. It was also the last dress her mother had designed. But she didn't plan on letting anyone know that.
A light ding, and the doors opening clearly signaled they were on the right floor. "Um, you wouldn't happen to kno-" she began to ask the body-guard, before being cut off.
"That way." the man replied in a raspy voice, pointing towards where the others already resided. Immediately after, her escort went the opposite direction, off to do whatever else he had to do.
"Oh... okay." she muttered, walking insecurely to the lounge. Her request of no body-guard must've been... half met. She regretted that decision at this point, chastising herself for such an idiotic idea. She reached the area, and her eyes scanned over the other kids. They had all gone through what she had, they may be the only ones who could ever understand her pain and issues. Realizing she was starring, she muttered, "Sorry..." under her breath, to no one in particular, as she directed her gaze to her feet, and went to sit on one of the red couches.
Floyd looked over at the other teenager who had just spoken, the corners of his mouth couldn't help but turn up as he commented on the eerily cheerful woman who seemed much too out of place amongst the scowling, gloomy teenagers. He walked a bit closer to get in his two cents.
"Oy, I just wonder what questions she'll ask. 'Are you sad? Turn that frown upside-down!' pah! She creeps me out, looking like she drank straight caffeine." He scoffed as she fluffed her hair, bobbing her head side to side as if dancing to a silent tune. If she was trying to get people to join her, it wasn't working. It only made his loathing for her grow stronger, and she hadn't even said a bloody word to him!
"Do you reckon she needs to blink?" He asked quietly, before remembering one of his intentions, so he quickly added; "And say, are you a Brit?"
Kiara stood their silently scrolling her twitter feed. She suddenly felt a tap on her soldier and saw that it was her assistant. "Sorry I'm late I couldn't find a Starbucks" She while breathing heavily. It had looked like she ran here. "It's fine, It's not like I had anything to do" she said in a bored tone. Suddenly a guys spoke out loud in what sounded like Texas accent. "If I was exited, I'd actually smile, cowboy" she said while rolling her eyes and continued to scroll her twitter.
Barton chuckled at the other male's comments. "She really is giving me the creeps. Almost like something you'd see in a horror movie. Blimey, they could have at least gotten someone human to interview us." His eyes fixated on the woman who looked like she was in her own perfect world rather than sitting in a room with a group of people who had just lost parents. There was no doubt in his mind that she would try to get them to smile. Well, he would beat her to it and smile as he made fun of her. "She probably had surgery to stop blinking because blinking gives you wrinkles. Sounds very Californian to me."
He redirected his attention to the male after being asked if he was a Brit. "Yes, born and raised in London. You wouldn't happen to be the son of the Rosathains? My mother loved that clothing line..." The thought of his mother temporarily removed the amused smirk from his face. Keep it together. "I'm Barton Edwards."
The arrival of another girl instantly distracted him. He was a sucker for cute girls, especially brunettes. His father had always described girls as Barton's one weakness, well girls and liquor. He heard her mutter 'sorry' but couldn't quite figure out who she had said it to. "No need to apologize. I figure we can be good mates considering all of you are probably the only ones in the world who understand what I'm feeling right now."
Katarina took a look at her fellow interviewes, she had heard of a couple but most were unknown to her. However she could tell they were cut from the same cloth even without knowing about them from the news before hands. All of them handsome and trendy, and most of them clearly out of their elements. It wasn't something that effected her opinions of them, they all have been through hell and it took courage to do that. She now figured she should introduce herself to someone now. She noted a cute girl in a flowery skirt sitting on one of the red couch and approached her, sitting down next to her.
Seeing the situation not gaining much light, he pulled out his phone. As he was scrolling through the news, seeing mostly news about world problems, and the celebrity news. He looked up at the girl who responded to him, and he smirked. "It's called sarcasm dear, get used to it."
The car ride to Los Angeles was slow adding to Joelle's anxiety. No one but Jo's trusted, uptight PR Agent, Savannah Rose, spoke the whole 2 and a half hours. Sure, the LA traffic also added to her anxiety making the ride as long as possible. The ride from Santa Barbara to LA could've lasted an hour and a half if they have just left earlier. She wanted nothing but to get out of the car and get the interview done as soon as possible. At the moment she felt trapped as if she couldn't breathe. Nothing but her parents were on her mind. She was never one to worry and was carefree most of the time, but she wasn't sure if she was prepared to speak about it to the world. Jo rolled the window down a bit to let some air in. Instead of some fresh air, she was met by a swarm of flashes from the paparazzi and people calling her name. She should've known. She sighed and rolled the windows back up. They've finally arrived at the World Reports center.
The driver opened the side door of the Bentley revealing a blonde-haired leggy figure to the world. The driver helped Joelle out of the car as the paparazzi scrambled to ask the girl questions. Savannah pushed everyone back as she guided Joelle through the crowd. Jo kept her head down and slipped on a pair of RayBan aviators to shield her eyes from the flashes. Her hand blocked the left side of her face as she shouldered her way through the crowd. There was nothing to do about the paparazzi. You can tell them to leave you alone, but they'll come back the next time you leave a building. She wanted to flip each and everyone of them off, but she knew it would end up all over the tabloids if she did. There were many stories about young starlets getting into fights with the paparazzi since they were't used to their new found fame, but Jo was used all the attention and lack of privacy. She wished she hadn't come. It was too hard to hide how she really felt. She didn't want to seem vulnerable, but her PR Agent insisted.
"This is the chance to show everyone you're okay. 'Kay?" Savannah asked, more like demanded, in her usual calm and professional tone. Jo let Savannah do all the talking.
"You don't have to answer any questions that make you uncomfortable. You've sacrificed a lot to be at this interview. You know we've had to push back that meeting with Anna Wintour for the Vogue cover shoot. She is not an easy lady to get around, so make this interview worth it. Got it? You're lucky you even had a chance to reschedule," Savannah said in a stern voice.
"Now, good luck on the interview!" the PR agent exclaimed in too cheery of a voice. She pushed Joelle into an elevator and closed the door sending her off. Finally, some peace and quiet. She would've had the interview with Vogue today if only her pushy PR Agent didn't force her to do the interview. She wasn't ready to talk about her parents quite yet. She would've fired Savannah already if she hasn't given her family so much for almost 15 years.
Jo watched as the elevator door opened to a lounge full of teens around her age. They were all young and beautiful, like herself, being forced into an interview while they were still mourning over their dead billionaire parents. She saw a lady, the one that would be interviewing them, with a fake smile plastered all over her face. Bitch, she thought rolling her blue eyes behind her RayBans.
She slipped off her sunglasses revealing and enchanting, captivating pair of ocean blue orbs. She strutted into the room with her waist length golden blonde hair flowing behind her. She made her walk look easy, but it took many years of practice to look this majestic. She was a model of course. She took a seat next to some really cute guy. Though she was a flirt, she never made the first move. Jo let the guys come to her. She also wasn't in quite the best mood to flirt due to her anxiety. She bit her lip despite not wanting to let anyone else know how she was feeling. She had always managed to look confident, but she couldn't seem to get it out of her at the moment.
"Americans... Can't call them much else other than strange, or at least her." He jeered, although the whole blinking thing was unrealistic, he could very well imagine someone wanting surgery to stop wrinkles; and she seemed like the perfect candidate. After the other teenager had confirmed his nationality, Floyd felt an odd sense of comfort. If he needed an ally, another Brit would be just dandy.
Introducing himself as Barton Edwards, he also pinned Floyd as a Rosathain. He wasn't sure whether be impressed or surprised, but it felt good to get some recognition nontheless. "First name's Floyd. And yeah, I'm a Rosathain. Pretty quick to figure that one out... If you're a Barton, your dad is the guy with his name in the credits of some of my favourite movies then!"
Tense seemed to kick him in the stomach for just a moment, shaming him. He flicked his green eyes downwards to the shiny marble floor. "My father and I really liked the latest one..." He added quickly and quietly. "Really my genre..."
He wondered what he was saying, but tried not to dwell on it, as a girl wearing a black dress a tad too skimpy for his tastes strutted into the room like she owned the damn place, before taking a seat next to him. He held his tongue.
Holland was attempting to keep to himself, his assistants warning in the back of his head. His head was starting to throb and the constant chit chatting was only encouraging his hang over. From beneath his ultra-dark RayBans, he caught sight of a chic looking blonde making her way towards the lounging area. He immediately set down his ridiculous script and lit up his face with his signature smile. "Hell", he thought to himself, "If i'm going to be stuck here for the next 45 minutes I should at least have a little fun."
He held out his hand to the girl, who was seated on the bright red couch opposite to him, and smoothly introduced himself. "My name's Holland Kingston, son of Ethan Kingston. You look a bit familiar, I assume you've been in and out of the magazines quite a bit?". Only then did he realize how full the little lounge had become. Through his dark shades, he counted roughly eleven other guests. His cheeks reddened as he realized that they could all hear his little attempt at flirting. He prayed no one had been paying attention.
Barton was proud of himself for recognizing Floyd, although it wasn't unusual for him to know the identity of someone connected to the fashion world. His mother's admiration of the Rosathains clothing line had led to closets (his parents and his own) filled with the label. He wondered if their parents had ever met at a social event. It seemed highly likely.
Hearing someone say that they liked his father's movies never failed to make Barton smile. He had just met Floyd but he could tell that they would get along. "I can't believe we've never run into each other, Floyd. And I may be biased but some of my favorite movies were directed by my father. I'm still not sure how to feel about the latest one, but I was on the set quite a bit. It was a fun set."
His eyes wandered to the new arrival, a blonde that had a particular strut. The walk of a model. He nodded in approval, it took work to perfect a walk. Working on his had been an awful experience. Barton wasn't familiar with her, though he wasn't familiar with most Americans. A male in dark shades held out his hand to the girl and spoke. The male's flirting made Barton crack a smile but he didn't comment. There was no shame in flirting with an attractive girl.
Joelle was on her iPhone the last couple of minutes texting back and forth with her PR Agent. Of course, Savannah had stollen her coffee again. She was always holding her cup of coffee for her, and 'coincidentally' Savannah always chose just the best times to not hand it to her. Whenever Jo was somewhat distracted, she ended up not having her caffeine for the day. This, of course, completely sucked since she really needed it at the moment. She's been sobbing in the corner of her room for the past couple of days and was totally energy drained. Jo needed some help to at least get through the interview, but she didn't have coffee or tea.
A voice interrupted Jo from her texting spree with Savannah. She looked up seeing an attractive brunette male sitting across from her. Instantly, a smile came across her face. Maybe she could get some fun out of this. Through years of experience, she could tell what his intentions were. It was a bit obvious he was trying to flirt, but it was cute. She assumed they were all a bit rusty. She didn't think any of the teens have been out of the house much in the past couple of days.
"Maybe you've seen me in a few magazines. I believe I've seen you around somewhere. I'm Joelle Steele by the way. Feel free to call me Jo," she giggled and bit her lip flirtatiously. Her voice was smooth as silk and could easily send shivers down someones spine. It has been one of her key tools to picking up guys.
Jo noticed the pair of sunglasses Holland wore. They were indoors which meant he didn't need them. This was interesting, maybe he was pulling off some sort of Anna Wintour kind of thing? She imagined a pair of soft brown eyes underneath the sunglasses, so she took that opportunity to flirt.
"You know, it'd be great if I could actually see your eyes," she said with a smirk. She reached over to pull off his sunglasses to reveal a black eye that seemed to be swollen. Should've asked first...
"Sorry... for not asking," she said wincing a bit. "Are you okay?" Jo asked placing the aviators back in Holland's hand brushing it slightly. She was right, his eyes were brown like a puppies, but one of them was beat up.
Jo looked around nervously hoping no one had noticed Holland's black eye. He was wearing sunglasses for a reason, and she'd totally ruined his cover up. Great, that was smooth, she thought to herself. She looked behind her hearing traces of a British accent. She's been obsessed with the accent since David Beckham and James Bond. She's even dated some members of British boy bands lately. To try to distract from the black eye, she flashed the British guys one of her award-winning smiles.
A smile broadened on her face with all the talk about this seemingly lifeless woman. Probably the first real smile she had in days. Melora followed it up with a light nod towards the guy who'd responded to her 'Sorry', she didn't even think anyone had heard that, which caused her to go red slightly in the face. To avoid any attention, she quickly diverted her gaze to the floor.
To distract herself from... well, everything, at the moment, Mel used her fingers to drum a light beat on her leg, and was humming along to it. The tune happened to be one of the first songs she had written herself. But, she was quickly interrupted from another girl coming and seating herself next to Mel. Glancing up, she swore she had seen this girl's face somewhere, most likely in the tabloids at some point, but couldn't pin-point her name.
"Ah, yeah... somewhat. Melora Kentley, you can call me Mel. I don't mind. And you are?" Mel swiftly replied, in a sweet tone. She focused on the girl she was chatting to, mainly because the other people in the room seemed way too... above her level, or too good for her. Especially after the blonde girl strutted in, owning the room. Mel simply attempted to shut out her perfection.
"Oh, and how are you? Nervous...?" she added, forgetting to return the... sort of friendly question. Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she quickly checked it. Yet another text from Jordan telling her that if the interview was too much for her, she could turn back now. Mel put her phone back, lightly rolling her eyes. Jordan was the one who told her this would be a great idea to go to in the first place. Realising how rude she had just been, she redirected her undivided attention to the other girl. "Sorry about that..." she muttered.
"Da, a little... Not a topic, very nice to speak off." Katarina said with a slight sigh, speaking with the a think Russian accent. She than looked back on the girl and forced a wide sweet smile. "I have long russian name, i know you wont remember. Shot of it is Katarina or Kate if you prefer." She said sitting back on the couch trying to get comfortable and get a better look at Melora." Melora... Nice name. Very exotic." She chuckled
"Do not worry about interview." She said after moment silence." It is not harm you. People just want information not to poke fun. Speak like you would speak to a friend about subject and know you don't have to say what you don't want to, even if they poke you to say more." She advices having done a couple of interview in the past about minor things.
Luna could only entertain herself with her Instagram feed for so long. She had seen the same selfies for three times now. The past few weeks she wasn't on social media as much. The amount of condolences she was recieving was starting to get on her nerves. Just when she began to feel better there would be another twenty comments on her Instagram or messages on Twitter, the thought of sending out a message asking for people to calm down about it crossed her mind multiple times but she knew that would just make the situation worse. Social media can be so uncontrollable sometimes.
Eventually she glanced back up at her surroundings, she hadn't noticed the group around her begin to increase. She didn't want to butt in half way through an existing conversation so she crossed one leg over the other and looked around the room as patiently as she could. Connor noticed she seemed to be bored or perhaps even beginning to worry. He knelt down beside her.
"Do you need anything Miss? A hot chocolate?" He offered; part of him hoping she would ask to go home. Its not that he didn't have faith in her that she was confident enough but he didn't want her pushing herself. After her parents had gone he took it upon himself to keep a closer eye on her.
"Connor I'm fine." She reassured him with a half smile, turning her head to face him.
"But Miss-"
"Connor, please trust me."
With hesitation Connor slowly nodded his head and stood back up his full height of 6'2 with his arms placed behind his back, always on high alert. Keeping his eye out for just about anything.
With a sigh Luna turned back to the group and scanned the people around her. One thing for sure they all had inherited good looks, and by the looks of it a good fashion sense as well. She had seen a few faces before. Mainly the blonde who had just walked in. She knew instantly she was a model; as Luna was one herself. The amount of flirting, even if it were subtle caused Luna to roll her eyes. Its not that she didn't like flirting but more she wasn't interested in it at that current moment. However, she did want to make friendships. Or try to at least.
Noticing a bright red head sat close to her Luna turned to her with a smile. Here goes.. She thought.
"How are you feeling?" She asked trying to start a conversation. This usually came natural to Luna but the circumstance and venue was a little new and off putting to her.