Page 23 of My Lucky Star
“If Epic doesn’t want me, I’ll take another job. One of the localdizis.”
Emir massaged his temples, his exhalation heavy. “The local studios pay us in Lira and you know it’s nose diving. Inflation is insane. We can’t afford to work with them, not with our current outgoings. Epic will pay you in American dollars. It’s the only option that makes sense.”
I could feel his headache transferring to me. If I didn’t get paid in American dollars, Emir wouldn’t get paid. Dad wouldn’t get his treatments. There was no way out.
Chapter 10
Aria
IFOUGHT THE URGE TOgoogle ‘Turkey inflation’, but I didn’t need the stats to see how bad it was. I could see it on their faces and feel it in the defeated silence that blanketed us. This wasn’t a morally questionable PR ploy we could try for kicks. This was the Hail Mary of all PR campaigns.
I already knew I’d agree to it, even before the words left my mouth. A moment ago, I’d had no leverage, but this plan put me back in the driver’s seat. I could see a way forward.
“We have no time to waste.” Emir stared at us from under his dark brow. He would make an amazing grim reaper. “We need a nice, secluded location, a nondescript car, clothes for Aria... what else?”
“Clothes,” I repeated, tempted to point out that I wasn’t actually naked. The green dress I’d chosen this morning was one of my favorites. It was also my only dress, but they didn’t need to know that.
“He means we need to dress you to look more like Burcu,” Cem explained, handing me his phone.
My gaze fell on a candid photo of him with a long-haired woman, her face nearly hidden from view as she looked away from the camera, leaning on his chest. “Her hair’s lighter than mine.”
“We can use a hat or a scarf.” Cem grabbed the phone from me and found another pic.
As he passed the phone back to me, the light touch of his fingers lingered, raising a trail of goosebumps along my arm. It disoriented me for a second, until my eyes focused on a new photo, a close-up of Cem and Burcu, posing side-by-side in a restaurant, fairy lights twinkling around them.
I brought the screen closer, spreading my fingers to zoom in. So, that’s what I’d look like if I were gorgeous? To my huge surprise, I could see the resemblance, like looking at myself through one of those TikTok filters. It was me, yet it wasn’t. I noted the smoky eye makeup, plump, rosy lips, and shiny hair that fell across her shoulders like a caramel fountain. The glamour version of me, the one I could have been if I’d ever been discovered. If my acting career had ever taken off.
Blindsided by the pain, my other hand gripped the edge of the kitchen island. “She looks like me. Or I look like her, I mean.”
She was the big deal. I was the lookalike.
I’d never thought of myself as incredibly unique. There were plenty of pretty, dark-haired women in the film industry, but nobody had ever looked this much like me. Nobody had made me feel like a carbon copy of someone else. Someone famous.
“Are you okay?” Cem’s soft voice brought me back to the present.
I placed his phone on the table, but my eyes didn’t let go, studying the golden belt buckle holding up Burcu’s high-waisted jeans, perfectly accentuating her tiny, black top. It was one of those revealing corset tops that sat somewhere between a tank top and underwear – an outfit with zero comfort. She was probably wearing icepick heels, too, somewhere outside the tightly framed shot.
