“They’ll put it on when I screw up. It will be all over the Internet.”
Exasperated, Michael said, “You’re not going to screw up.”
She stood, then sat again. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to do now.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do I get undressed now and then get dressed after makeup and hair, or do I get dressed first?” she asked, trying with all her might to sound composed and in control. “And I also wonder...”
“Yes?”
She leapt to her feet. “What in God’s name am I doing?” Her voice escalated to a near-hysterical shout. “I can’t go onstage and sing. I should never have...”
“You’re going to be great,” Alec promised her.
Regan nodded. “You’ll sing your songs and everyone will cheer. You already have millions of followers on the Internet,” she reminded. “Think of it, Isabel. Millions,” she exclaimed dramatically. “You’re a sensation, and everyone in The Garden is going to love you.”
Isabel was frantically shaking her head. “I don’t think I can do it. Twenty thousand people will be there, and I... I just can’t.” Panic was grabbing hold in a big way.
Both Regan and Alec tried to talk her down, but Michael went another way.
“Snap out of it, Isabel,” he ordered.
Apparently Michael wasn’t one to coddle.
“Oh, that’s comforting,” she muttered.
“You want comforting? Go to my mother. She’ll comfort the hell out of you.”
“Yeah, she will,” Alec agreed.
They were serious. The idiots weren’t joking. Isabel looked at Regan and then both of them began to laugh. Isabel was still laughing when she went into the bedroom and closed the French doors.
For the next two hours, the professionals transformed Isabel into a superstar. At least that’s what Regan kept telling her they were doing every time Isabel tried to get the stylists to hurry up and finish.
Michael interrupted when he knocked on the door. “Detective Samuel is on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”
Isabel, wrapped in a robe, ran to the door and opened it. “I can’t go to the station for another interview now. Make him understand, Michael. I can’t imagine what other questions he has. Surely he can wait until...” She finally noticed that Michael was shaking his head. “What is it?”
“He wants to ask a favor.”
She took Michael’s phone but held it against her chest as she whispered, “Did you tell him I can’t go to the station?”
“Yes. I told him.”
Frowning at Michael, she answered the phone. “Hello, Detective Samuel. What can I do for you?”
The detective hemmed and hawed, and she could hear what sounded like excited teenagers screaming in the background.
“I just found out that you will be performing with XO tonight. Is that correct?”
She automatically straightened her shoulders at the sound of his voice. “Yes,” she answered, wondering how he had heard.
“I really hate to ask, but my daughters are big fans of yours, and when they heard that you will be singing with XO... Hold on,” he said.
She could tell he’d cupped his hand over the phone because his voice was muffled, but she could still hear him ordering his daughters to quiet down.
“Are you there, Isabel?”