Glitter on the Web by Ginger Voight Read Free Book Online

acted as if Rhonda hadn’t completely blown his cover apart, instead doubling down on his lie that he would fuck any of the girls in that front row. He romanced, flirted, and seduced with his words and with his eyes until they openly swooned in front of him.
    I also noted that, probably thanks to our make-out sesh in the car, he now sported a little wood, no doubt to swiftly and completely dispel all those “needle dick” rumors. I was no stranger to the art of “fluffing,” though I myself had never been a contributing party.
    Either way it all seemed to work. His fans responded with their typical enthusiasm, which drew a crowd in the open area just under a big neon guitar. I kept my eye on social media, where everyone in the front row—his trusted street team—uploaded photo after photo on every website possible. He was still trending by six o’clock, when the sun had started to dip low on the western horizon, but positive tweets and updates now outnumbered the negative ones.
    All that was perfectly fine by me. We did the job we set out to do. It was distasteful as hell, but the horses were all neatly corralled once more.
    What was far more disturbing was the fact “Who’s Carly?” was now trending worldwide. PING not only posed the question but ran the photo of Eli and I stepping out of the limo, capturing forever that startled look I wore with my makeup askew and his victorious mile-wide grin.
    After his concert, he focused on the fans. He was positively gentlemanly to every girl who stopped at the table for an autograph, he didn’t even charge as he gave away picture after picture. All he wanted was a kiss on the cheek, and—lucky me—I got to be the lucky photographer for all the single gals who shyly made their way up to the table. The heavier they were, the nicer he was, making every single one of these new fans fall head over heels in love with him.
    I probably didn’t hide my disdain very well, but that didn’t stop Eli from smirking and winking at me, like he was trying to keep me engaged.
    We stayed there for three long hours as he indulged every single one of them. We sold every CD and gave away every photo. He signed their clothes and their bodies after that, several of whom proclaimed they were heading right to a tattoo parlor to have that signature turned into a permanent fixture on their bodies.
    “You better send me a picture, gorgeous,” he would tell them with that phony smile I detested.
    It was nearly nine o’clock by the time we headed back to the car. “You must be hungry. Want to grab something to eat?”
    I glared at him. “I must be hungry because I’m… what was the word you used? Zaftig?”
    He chuckled, which only made me madder. Worse, he both seemed to know it and like it. We climbed into the limo and he closed the door behind us. “I already told you. I don’t care what label you use. I just figured I’m hungry… you must be hungry. We worked really hard today.”
    I practically snarled. “We didn’t do anything but dupe everybody. Again.”
    He shrugged. “People believe what they want to believe. Those girls want to believe a guy like me can love them just the way they are. What’s the harm in letting them have a fantasy?”
    My eyes met his. “Because when you take it away again, because you have no intention to fulfill it, you make them feel like shit. I’ve seen it. When you come on to their thinner sisters or friends, but treat them like they’re invisible, it cuts them to the core.”
    Again he shrugged. “Maybe it will motivate them to change. Let’s face it. Fat is voluntary.”
    “So is being a jerk,” I shot back.
    “Touché,” he agreed with that smirk of his. “So what do you say? Dinner? My treat. Fancy restaurant,” he offered, before adding, “Something intimate back at my place?” in a low voice.
    “Not for a million dollars,” I snapped before I scooted away from him.
    Again he laughed. “Whatever you say. Carly.”
    To make my