Mikayla’s manager walked into her trailer, shaking her head as she saw the state of her face. She pulled out a tissue, wiping away at least the worst of the cake smeared around her mouth, and picked up the plate with a disgusted look on her face, poking at Mikayla’s belly, already slightly wider from her recent indulgence, while Mikayla licked the last of the chocolate and cream from her lips, a few more crumbs running down onto her shirt.
“Keep this up and you’ll have to go on a diet,” she said, shaking her head again. “We’ve got to think about your image, and this sure isn’t it. “She looked at her watch, then added, “Try and get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be sending in your stylist in an hour, and don’t forget you’ve got that interview later this afternoon.” As she stalked out, taking the plate and the last of the cake with her, Mikayla fumed, then reached into her fridge for a milkshake, popping open the bottle and taking a deep swig.
“She works for me,” Mikayla muttered. “If I want cake, I should get cake.” With the milkshake and the cake, she started to feel drowsy, and as she began to nap, her last thought was, “I love cake.”
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