A/N: For reference on Sam's dress earlier on in the chapter, go on the website Mod-Cloth and look up the Pin-up, Up, and Away dress. And for her shoes, look up the Patent Trending Heel.
Rain: You've got two to read now lol but I'm glad you liked the lines!
Guest: Aw, you're so sweet. Hope you continue to be obsessed with this story!
There's only two types of people in the world
Ones that entertain and the ones that observe
Well, baby, I'm a put-on-a-show kinda girl
Don't like the backseat, gotta be first
I'm like the ringleader, I call the shots
I'm like a firecracker, I make it hot
When I put on the show
I feel the adrenaline moving through my veins
Spotlight on me and I'm ready to break
Britney Spears — Circus
Sam stared at her reflection in the mirror, smoothing her hands over her flat stomach as she took in every angle of the form-fitting high-waisted black pencil skirt. Her friend Carla had come over early to help her pick out her outfit for the meeting with the investors and go through her vocals for the studio tomorrow when she recorded Collide. She wound her dark hair in a low pony-tail over left shoulder and stared at her reflection.
This wasn't her. It was like pulling teeth to get the real Sam to wear a skirt (besides a cheerleading skirt because those were as comfortable as sweatpants) or high heels. And when she was in Lima she wore heels and a freaking dress to a play opening. It wasn't her.
She was a tomboy to the core; if she wanted those investors to see the real her, she would wear jeans and a T-shirt.
Of course, then Mikey would shoot her out of embarrassment. They expected her to look nice, so nice she would give them in a look that was far more her. A knee-length pencil skirt in LA's stifling weather was torturous. She unzipped it and shook her hips to step out, hanging it back up on the hanger.
The skin-tight strap-less white bodysuit she wore under the skirt had black roses printed on it and made her look five pounds thinner. Strictly something to wear under a skirt or a pair of trousers.
Or a pair of really nice jeans. Once again, she would get shot if she showed up to work in a pair of jeans when they told her to dress nice. Her gaze fell on the black tuxedo-coat style dress she wore to Lima to see Grease. The Balmain Kurt frothed over. Her eyebrow arched as she buttoned up the dress. With the bodysuit instead of her bare skin, she actually looked professional.
But definitely not like her. With a shake of her head, she hung it back up in her closet. She slipped out of the bodysuit and hung it back up.
Her gaze raked over her closet until she found a dress she had bought online when they paid her for signing a contract. It had only cost about thirty-five dollars, but it was a nice indulgence. She zipped it up and tied the neck, examining her reflection now. This looked better and would actually keep her cool for the day. It was a blue and white halter-neck pin-up style body-con dress with tiny red polka dots on the white bust and three red buttons. The hem-line ended a few inches above her knee and emphasized her natural curves. All in all, it looked like something from the sixties, which she loved about it. The blue skirt began just under the bust and a thin red fake leather belt went through the little belt loops. She slid on a pair of red pumps to wear with it, adjusting the buckle.
After scraping her hair up in a tight, high pony-tail reminiscent of her time as a Cheerio and applying a coat of red lipstick, she was almost ready to go. Thank God she remembered a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and a pair of Converses to bring with her to change into afterward. She glanced at the screen of her laptop and ran her fingers over the track-pad to wake it up. Skype was open and she could see two contacts online.
Finn Hudson and C.J. Fuentes.
Shit.
She tried to ignore it as she applied a thin line of black liquid eyeliner on her upper lid but she found herself continuing to glance at it. Yearning began to spread in her stomach. There wasn't anyone who could calm her nerves except Finn.
Dammit, she was weak. Sam reached for her iPhone and dialed his number before she lost her nerve. Her eyes squeezed shut as the phone began to ring on the other line, heart racing in her chest and leaping into her throat. It continued to ring.
Just when she thought it would go to voice-mail, there was that husky male voice.
"Hello? Hello? Sam? I think you butt-dialed me."
Dammit, Samantha Renée Devine, grow a pair of balls and speak! Talk to him! she berated herself.
"N-No, I didn't butt-dial you. I...I have an iPhone, remember?" she said before mentally kicking herself. Way to go, moron, now he thinks you're the biggest dork alive!
"...Oh. Did you...did you need something?" he asked.
Mostly you. Forever works for me, how about you? she wanted to say.
She licked her lips and let her eyes flutter open. "I have a meeting with the investors of the label today to show them my song. They decide whether I stay on or not and...I don't know, I guess I need a good luck about now," she said. She couldn't think of anyone else to call. "I don't know why I called you...I mean, I meant to keep up the no-contact thing, it's just..."
"I know," he said softly. Tears filled her eyes again, threatening to ruin her make-up.
"I just...I can't stop thinking about you," she confessed. Her voice cracked and her throat thickened. She wasn't sure if it was the lack of sleep or not. "I...I'm coming back to Lima after I finish laying down the song and I'm leaving in January again."
He was quiet on the other line and she bit her lip hard.
"I can't stop thinking about you either," he admitted. Her alarm on her phone beeped and she rolled her eyes. She had to go. "Look, I screwed you over last year and I get that. We're trying to move past that, aren't we?"
"Yeah," she replied softly. "Can...can I see you when I come home to visit?"
"I'd like that. Sam...I meant what I said when I said I was proud of you. You deserve this more than anyone else I know. You've overcome so much and you're still the toughest person I know," he said.
"So much for keeping my makeup looking good," she commented with a dry chuckle, wiping her eyes. "I have to go and see whether I'm cut out for this or not, but I'll call you later."
"I'll keep my fingers crossed," he told her. Then the line went dead. Sam walked out of her room and took her keys off the ring. With a shaky breath, she walked out of her house and locked the door behind her.
The investors couldn't be a lot older than her, slightly younger than Mikey, which told her they were overseeing for their fathers. If they liked her music, then they would continue to fund the label.
And all three were freakishly gorgeous. Annabel Stewart was a tall, willowy girl with the palest blonde hair, massive sea-foam green eyes, and the most flawless fair skin Sam had ever seen. She was impeccably dressed in a conservative garnet-red pantsuit and a pair of white lace ballet flats. Maria Salazar was the anti-Annabel, a petite brunette with gorgeous dark brown eyes and gorgeous skin, dressed in a shimmering gold jumpsuit that fell to mid-thigh and a pair of sky-high stilettos, showing off a pair of enviously toned legs. And then there was Luke Dawson. His tousled brown hair had sun-bleached streaks, his pale blue eyes shone with mischief and he had a cute, crooked, and dimpled smile that he constantly had on his boyish face.
He had a way of making eye contact with people and it made Sam feel like he was staring right through her. It unnerved her a little, but she forced a smile and shook each of their hands.
"Well, let's get this show on the road. You're apparently one of the best acts they have," Luke commented. Sam led the way into the studio and faced it, sighing deeply. This was the now or never moment in her life. She turned the knob and walked into the studio. It looked like any old studio; brown egg-crate-like walls, microphone descending from the ceiling, the dimmed lights.
She pulled the headphones over her ears and looked through the sound proof glass at Mikey, giving him a thumbs-up. The intro of Collide began to play through the headphones and she waited for her cue. The red light flicked on, signalling the recording.
Something had to change, weighing on your mind
Something I don't know, that I can't describe
We're slipping, we're falling, we're fading fast, so fast
And everything's a mess, don't know where to start
Everything we knew almost broken apart
I'm willing to take it, to put it in the past
So, don't leave, still a light inside
Telling me all we need is time
Just breathe, put your hand in mine
Look into my eyes, let it all collide, collide, collide
Put your hand in mine, look into my eyes
All we need is time
A promise that we made underneath the sky
To never sleep alone, to never say goodbye
Remember forever is worth a fight, that's right
And so I'll take the pain and you're the reason why
I'm never giving up on how I live my life, a life with you, oh, oh
So, don't leave, still a light inside
Telling me all we need is time
Just breathe, put your hand in mine
Look into my eyes, let it all collide, collide, collide
Put your hand in mine, look into my eyes
All we need is time
With the instrumental break, she felt wholly in her element. This was what she was meant to do.
So, don't leave, still a light inside
Telling me all we need is time
Just breathe, put your hand in mine
Look into my eyes, let it all collide, collide, collide
Put your hand in mine, look into my eyes
All we need is time
Don't leave, still a light inside
Telling me all we need is time
Just breathe, put your hand in mine
Look into my eyes, let it all collide, collide, collide
Put your hand in mine, look into my eyes
All we need is time
Sam waited until the light went off before taking off the headphones. She looked through the glass and saw Mikey applauding. He turned on the intercom.
"And that, kids, is why we want to pay that girl the big bucks. Great job on the song, Sam, take five," he said. She set the headphones back on the stand and made her way out of the studio.
For once, she felt confident. She knew she could do this.
All she had to do now was get through the business dinner with Liam Dawson and she would be golden; her career would be safe.
"If I were you, Sam, I wouldn't go through with the dinner," Carla commented, her ruby-red lips pursed, her indigo eyes somber. "He's got a rep for playing, if you know what I mean."
"It's just dinner and if he tries anything, I'll let him know I'm not interested," Sam assured her, glancing at the pretty redhead leaning against the bathroom counter. "Right now, I just have to win him over with my charm." She fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously. "Besides, I have a sort-of boyfriend and he's a dirty old man."
"Just keep that in mind and keep in mind that he's a dirty old man partially in charge of your career," Carla warned. Sam finished brushing out her long, newly straight dark hair and flipped it over her shoulder.
"I'm a professional. He is, too. No one's worth compromising my values over," she replied as she walked out of the bathroom. If Liam Dawson was a dirty old man like Carla feared, then Sam would let him know she wasn't going to play.
"Keep that in mind. Do you have a contingency plan if he decides to can you after all?" Carla inquired as she climbed on the bed and sat Indian-style.
"I go back to Ohio, recuperate, then come back to LA with my guns a-blazing. I'd hate to walk away from Mikey, but I've had other offers from other labels. He wasn't the only one to approach me that night, you know. Besides, it gives me more time to spend with the kids in Glee," Sam responded. She took off her teal sweatpants and white tank top to pull on the dress. It was a modest, conservative black lace mini-dress that ended a good few inches above the knee, but cut high enough to look classy instead of slutty. "Zip me up, would you, Carl?"
Carla obeyed and spun her around. "I still think this dinner is a bad idea. What does Puck have to say?" she asked.
Oh, Puck was most likely the last person Sam would ever tell about a dinner. Even Mercedes thought it was a bad idea. One of the girls on her label had been pressured to 'put out' and had either gotten kicked off for not doing it or feeling guilty for selling out.
"He doesn't know," Carla stated in surprise. Sam slipped on her Mary-Jane style black heels and buckled them, standing up straight. "You tell him and Mercedes everything."
I used to tell Rachel everything, now look at us. We're just now talking for the first time in a year, she thought wistfully. Her head lifted when she heard a honk outside.
"Wish me luck, girl," she told Carla and hugged her tightly. "Lock up when you leave and let Shasta back in. Thanks, you're a doll."
"Just be careful, Sammie. I'd hate to see this get ugly," was Carla's reply.
