Page 2 of Wilde Secrets

Harper rolled her eyes. No, Isla was twenty-eight. But because she was shorter than Harper, everyone assumed Isla was the younger sister, not older like she actually was.

“I suppose so.”

“Way too old to still have daddy hanging around pulling the strings. And did you see who she brought with her?”

Harper scowled at the woman’s incredulous tone. She closed her eyes again and willed them to leave.

“Oh yeah, her sister. What does she do, anyway?”

“Apparently she’s the PA, but it’s obvious she’s just mooching off her talented sister.”

Harper forced her jaw to unclench and tried to breathe evenly.

Ignore them. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.

“It’s got to be hard having such a successful sibling.”

If only they knew the truth.

The women’s voices drifted away as they moved into the next room, and Harper sighed with relief. Their comments were not new, and after ten years of being her sister’s PA, she should be used to them. But they still cut.

Because it was Harper—and not Isla—who was the talent behind the songs that skyrocketed her sister to the top of the charts. And nobody could ever know.

It was the way it had to be. Without Isla, her music wouldn’t see the light of day. At least this way people got to enjoy Harper’s songs.

She stood on shaky legs and opened the stall door. Crossing to the row of sinks, she checked her makeup. Thankful for the blessings of waterproof mascara, she lifted her head, squared her shoulders, and turned to leave.

“Don’t let them get to you,” a woman said from the other end of the row of stalls.

Harper squeaked and put a hand to her chest. “You scared me. I thought I was alone.”

The other woman stepped forward. She was short and plump, with red-painted lips and brown hair cut in a sleek bob. Harper had the vaguely uneasy feeling that she recognized her from somewhere.

“I was waiting for them to go, too.” She walked toward Harper slowly, an oddly predatory mien to her gait. “It must be hard to hear them talk about you like that.”

Harper snorted and turned away, busying herself with her evening bag. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Yeah, but they’re stupid if they don’t realize you’re the brains behind it all.”

Harper froze, her hand buried in her evening bag. “What?” Surely, she hadn’t said what she thought she said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The woman shrugged and turned to the mirror, pulling out her lipstick and touching up the already perfectly applied red. “Everyone knows Isla doesn’t write her own songs.”

Harper could barely hear over the rushing of blood in her ears. She staggered to one of the velvet chairs and sank onto it. Her stomach twisted, threatening to upend. She pressed a hand to her middle, willing her dinner to stay down.

The woman continued, oblivious to Harper’s roiling stomach. “A girl like her? Singing about being an outcast? Misunderstood? The last one chosen?”

Harper forced a laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t I?” The woman turned from the mirror, replacing the cap on the tube of lipstick with a decisive snap. “Let’s just say there’s more than one person jealous of her success who's willing to speak up.”

“Who told you?” Harper whispered.

The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart. Anyone with half a brain could figure it out.” She walked over to Harper and cocked her hip, smirking down at her. “And as for who told me? You just did. This is just the story I’ve been waiting for.”

Harper gaped, trying to process what had just happened, as the woman pulled out her smartphone and snapped a picture of her.

“Thanks for the scoop, Harper,” she said cheerily, as if she hadn’t just destroyed not only Harper’s life but that of her sister in the space of under five minutes.

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