Money Mella Goes Hollywood

This is purely a work of fiction, and I do not in any way own Ariana Grande or Carmella, or any other properties involving the two real women behind the characters depicted in my story.

Also, this story/series is a spin-off to my other series, "Money Mella Makes Her Mark". Anything that happens here IS NOT cannon to the events of that story, and will not reflect future chapters there. However, future chapters of the main series may lead to events that happen in future chapters here. I hope that makes sense. Enjoy!

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September, 2017

***

Busy, busy, busy! Regular, everyday people struggle with the "workaholic" mindset, that idiosyncratic obsession with keeping occupied. Some fill their schedules with various activities and hobbies. Others spend their days on the grind, tirelessly working for one reason or another. Naturally, when you're the biggest pop-superstar in the world, you rarely find time for anything but the latter.

Such is the case for Ariana Grande, large by name but not in stature. The petite pop and R&B princess's schedule was hectic and grueling, especially during world tours. Days, weeks....MONTHS of performing every night, sleeping on buses that drive up and down the road until it was time to catch a flight to the next country or continent and do it all over again. Brutal, well and truly brutal. But, tours weren't meant to last forever, and luckily, little Ari found herself at the end of her most recent.

Finally, after months of living on the road, Ariana found her latest string of concerts coming to a close. What began in Los Angeles and spun off to Tokyo and London and everywhere in between now brought Grande to Orlando, Florida, the final stop of her Dangerous Woman Tour. At long last, she'd get some well-deserved time off. Ariana couldn't wait! She was so excited, she even asked her agent to book her the fanciest, most expensive hotel room in the city.

Before long, Ariana's performance had come to an end. A beyond capacity-crowd inside the Amway Center chanted and cheered before, during, and after the three sets that Ari graciously sang for her adoring fans. She gave the performance of a lifetime, a maximum effort show, so when all was said and done, she felt absolutely no shame in grabbing her things, rushing out of the arena, hopping into a limousine, and booking it to the hotel. Unfortunately, Ariana left so quickly, she didn't even bother to tell her agent, or any of her security team for that matter.

Ari didn't get too far before her phone started to ring, her agent's name "Jen" lighting up the screen. With a sigh, Ariana answered the phone.

"Ugh, what do you want, Jen?" Ari opened the conversation, her bad attitude soaking every syllable.

"Sorry to bother you, Miss Grande...I know you hate it when I call you..." Jen apologized on the other side of the phone.

Ari sighed again and groaned, "So why do it?"

"It's just..." Jen began to explain. "I know you were looking forward to that alone time now that the tour is over. But...I kinda set up a meet and greet for you. Please don't be mad."

Jen was a bit concerned, as several long seconds passed before her boss finally responded. Naturally, her concern proved more than justified.

"You did WHAT, Jen!?"

"I just, you know...kinda, sorta set-up a meet and greet for you," Jen answered weakly.

"Well, I don't care. Tell them I'm sick or something! There's no fucking way I'm doing it!" Ariana cockily assured, taking a sip of wine straight from the bottle, one of the many luxuries of being a multi-millionaire who can afford to ride in limos.

"It pays $100,000," Jen revealed, forcing Ari to spit out her sip, the wine spraying the mirroring seats.

"One-hundred grand for one little appearance? And I don't even have to sing, right? Who the fuck would pay that much?"

"Umm..." Jen stammered, seemingly attempting to pick her words very carefully. "I was told not to tell you. They wanted it to remain a secret but, I can say that it's just one person, and I've already taken the proper precautions to ensure that you'll be safe around them, too. There's just...uh, a few little caveats."

"Like?" Ari cautiously asked, taking a few more swigs.

"Like the meeting is tonight. And also like it's happening inside of your hotel room," Jen revealed to another round of coarse silence.

"Jen, I'm gonna stress this next question as much as HUMANLY possible. Did you, and I mean seriously, DID YOU... book me an escort gig? 'Cause if you did, you're fired!"

"No, no, I swear! Just somebody with the means and the money to make a one-on-one with you happen, I promise!" Jen scrambled to a chorus of unenthused Ari noises before adding, "Please don't fire me again."

"I'm gonna have to rethink our contract, Jen. This is fucking ridiculous!" Ari snapped, once again going to town on the bottle in her hand.

"I know, I'm sorry, Miss Grande. I just thought-"

"You know what, Jen? I don't pay you think! I pay you to do all of the shit I'm too talented to do!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Grande," Jen apologized again.

"Whatever. You're just lucky that this little meeting you set up pays well," Ari dismissed before asking, "When should I expect this whoever the fuck, anyway?"

"If the timing is right, it should be shortly after you arrive at the hotel room. I wasn't given an exact time. I would just be ready, Miss Grande," Jen recommended.

Ariana took another drink from the bottle and assured, "Oh, I'll be ready alright," and promptly hung up the phone.

*****

Sure enough, hardly ten minutes had passed following Ariana's arrival at the hotel before she received a call from the front desk, asking if she was "expecting company", a standard practice when dealing with a star the magnitude of the biggest pop idol in the United States. For the first time ever, Ariana had to admit that she was, and was quickly assured that her "guest" would be up momentarily. Luckily, the alcohol she'd consumed on the ride over and during the wait helped calm her nerves considerably. Considering her small frame, it also brought her a lot closer to her limit than she would've liked to be, though it hardly mattered when the inevitable fat or ugly or old dude came waltzing up in just a few moments.

That being said, wearing the same outfit she performed in earlier still irked Miss Grande, anyway. The outfit in question was a long-sleeved, jet black top, matching belt and impossibly short skirt, so miniscule in length that it managed to leave a pretty sizable amount of her delicious thighs visible, despite the fact that her leather boots came well above her knees, and lastly, a pearl-diamond combo necklace. Naturally, to top off her attire, Ari's hair was done-up in her signature high ponytail. Though it bothered her that she couldn't change, she knew it wouldn't matter to whoever sludged their way up to that door. They were paying very, very good money to meet their Goddess; hell, at least she was giving them a genuine Ariana outfit, she could've been wearing sweats.

Momentarily evolved into another ten minutes of wining as Ariana waited for her guest to knock. Ten whole minutes, enough for The Pop Princess to down another quarter-bottle. By the time that knock finally came, Ari was as loosey-goosey as it gets, a little tipsy to say the least but, ultimately, in a far better mood than she had been before. At least, until she heard the sound:

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Three knocks in succession; her guest had arrived.

Ariana, bottle-in-hand, made her way to the door. She took another swig before setting the bottle down on a nearby console table before sighing, throwing on her "famous" face, and opening the door. Though, much to her surprise, Ari's guest wasn't exactly who or what she'd been expecting. In place of the fat, old, goblin Grande was anticipating was a woman. A very pretty blonde woman, though Ari would hardly suggest the mystery woman was as pretty as she was. That being said, she was much taller and far more muscular than Ariana, herself. Also notable was the woman's attire, far more casual than Ariana, a simple blue mini-dress and, of course, matching Air Jordan 13 Retro sneakers. Peculiar though, was what she held in her hand. A white briefcase with gold trim that read "Money in the Bank".

With a bright, bold smile, the mystery woman said, "Hi, Ariana. Nice to meet you. I assume you've been expecting me?"

Stunned, Ariana replied, "Well, I was certainly expecting somebody." Ari threw on the fakest warm smile she could muster, though it was obvious to her guest that The Pop Princess was quite surprised.

"You weren't exactly expecting me, were you?" The briefcase-bearing woman asked and Ari nodded in agreement, stepping aside and disingenuously welcoming her guest in. "Yeah, I'll bet. Considering the type of people I see at shows and in airports begging for autographs, I can basically picture the exact fanboy you were anticipating."

Ari furrowed her brows. "Shows?"

Those questions lead to her guest doing a little brow-furrowing of her own. "Yeah, shows. I do them all the time," She responded.

"What are you, some kind of model or something?" Ari asked, still unsure of who the woman was or what she did, but it was quite clear that those were apparently details she should've already known.

"Well thank you, but no. I mean...it should be quite obvious," the woman said, holding up her briefcase, still failing to ring a bell. It was only when the woman pointed to the big logo emblazoned on the corner of the case did Ariana begin to piece the puzzle together.

"WWE? Oh, you must be one of those wrestlers...cool," Ari tried her best to sound enthused but, honestly, it was hard. Wrestling was far from cool, and, let's face it, the wrestlers themselves weren't half as talented as the diminutive diva. Have they ever sold out stadiums single-handedly? Could they do consecutive triple encores in a row? Didn't think so.

"I am...I'm honestly a little surprised. You really don't recognize me?"

"Sorry," Ari tried to make the apology sound genuine but, again, what was she really apologizing for? For not knowing who this nobody is? Get real.

Nevertheless, the "nobody" in question looked quite upset as she finally introduced herself. "Well, I'm Carmella. I'm relatively new but I'm makin' some waves. Only been on the main shows for about a year now, but pretty soon, this little baby right here's gonna take me all the way to the top," The woman, WWE's moon-walkin', trash-talkin' Princess of Staten Island Carmella assured, patting her briefcase.

"That's funny. I would've assumed that all that case was good for is holding my money. Some of it, at least," Ariana slyly remarked as she traveled over to the kitchen, shooting out a quick, "Would you like a drink?"

Mella agreed, finding her way over to the couch before explaining, "The real value of this briefcase isn't what it can hold, but instead what I can exchange it for. Any time I want, anywhere I want it, I can get a championship match of my choosing."

Ari returned with two glasses in hand, both filled with red wine. She passed one to Carmella and kept one for herself, naturally refusing to hesitate in sipping her own as Money Mella did the same. After another drink, Ariana asked, "A championship match? Is that like...something exciting? Or important?"

Carmella looked back at The Dangerous Woman with confusion; obviously to those in her profession, very few things were bigger than a chance to become a world champion. "Well yeah. Being a champ in WWE is huge. We get to represent the company. We make more money, and I love money! There's a bunch of other benefits, too."

Ariana still wasn't sold.

"I can see that but...it's all fake, right? So does winning actually mean anything?"

Immediately, Carmella's tone changed. Ari kept sipping from her cup, completely oblivious to the dramatically different mood her guest developed. That was, until Mella stayed a little too silent for a little too long, turning an already awkward conversation even more sour.

Looking to cut the tension, Ari changed the subject, asking, "So, Carmella, was it? You must be a big fan, yeah? Were you at the concert tonight? I was great, right?"

"I was, and I'll admit that you were. But I'm not," Mella stated bluntly, setting her glass down.

With a confused look adorning her immaculate visage, Ariana asked, "Not what?"

Mella shrugged and admitted, "Not a fan."

"Of who? Me?" Ari asked with a giggle. "Haha...um, how could that be possible?"

"I'm not sure what you mean by that," Mella informed, now just as confused as Grande.

"Well...let's say, by some weird, unexplainable phenomena that you, by chance, were the only person on Earth that doesn't love me. Why would you spend $100 grand to meet me? That's an awful lot of money from someone like you."

Officially, Carmella looked offended.

"Someone like me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Mella snapped, standing up as she went off, showing every bit of that New York fire burning deep within her soul. "I'm a fuckin' millionaire, hun. A hundred grand is chump change to Money Mella, capiche? I get paid very well to do what I do!"

"Fake fighting pays that well, huh?" Ari chirped, only furthering Carmella's fury; for someone so pint-sized, The Pop Princess sure did have a mouth on her. Perhaps it was just the wine talking, or maybe she really believed that The Staten Island Stunner was all bark and no bite. Either way, Mella was and very much is money, and nobody who said or thought otherwise would go unpunished.

"Ain't shit about what I do is fake, sweetie! That's a guarantee!"

"Yeah, sure. C'mon, you don't have to keep up the charade with me, you know? I'm not some little girl in the crowd. I know it's fake," Ari assured, even standing up to prove that no matter how certain Carmella was, she wasn't backing down. Of course, physical confrontation wasn't exactly Ariana Grande's element. All five measly feet of her looked small and pathetic next to Money Mella, even if her high-heeled boots brought them eye to eye. Ironically, she looked just like the little girl she'd described, and Carmella looked like a grown woman.

Ariana stood her ground, even as Mella drew in closer, getting right in her face. "Do you really think what I do is fake?" Mella asked, no doubt a loaded question that a loaded Ari couldn't help but answer improperly.

"I do," Ariana answered honestly. "Sorry not sorry."

Mella grinned an annoyed, sadistic expression as she suggested, "Would you like to test that theory?"

The definition of liquid confidence, Ari agreed, "Sure, why not?", and began swaggering over to an empty, furniture-free spot. "Try one of those 'real' 'techniques' of yours."

Carmella, at this point, couldn't help but roll her eyes at the bratty popstar. But at this point, you may as well humor the little bitch, right? Especially since Mella knew she wouldn't feel so confident when the inevitable occurs. Money Mella strutted her Jordans over to Ari, who cockily waited, her hands firmly on her hips for maximum sassiness.

"Go on, try it. Either I'm right and it's fake and I can get out, or you're right and I'll be trapped! Only one way to find out. So, go ahead, tough girl! Beat me up!" Ariana coaxed, so ballsy and so confident that she even dared to stick her arm out as a means to tempt the "supposed" fighter. Anything to prove herself right, especially under the influence, with her stubborn dial turned up past its peak. And truthfully, Mella should've stayed professional, should've taken another route to get to her end goal. To cash-in on the REAL reason why she'd drop $100,000 on a meet-and-greet with a popstar she's not particularly fond of musically. But, she didn't. Instead, she took the little bitch up on her offer.

Carmella seized Ari's tiny arm, hooking it and sneaking behind to apply a chicken wing hold. Ariana flopped and flailed, but it did little to help; she was, quite obviously, far too weak to fight out of Mella's grip. Lucky for her, Carmella wasn't exactly the most qualified WWE Superstar to be defending the company's honor with the application of her hold, nor was she really trying to hurt the popstar, either. Just enough to rough her up and teach her a lesson.

"C'mon, brat! Get out of it! I'm so fake, right? Wrestlers are fake, so you can definitely get out, right, bitch?" Carmella suggested, increasing the pressure a bit and, simultaneously forcing little Ari to struggle even more.

"Ugh...you bitch!" Ari groaned, pulling and shoving to no avail. Nothing worked, no matter how hard she tried. Even after she gave up the struggle and instead tried a cheap shot, an elbow to Carmella's side, she couldn't escape, The Fabulous One adjusting her grip to block the attack and lock up that arm, as well.

With both arms hooked, Ariana Grande was truly out of options, a fact Carmella was keen on reminding her prey. "You know, I could do whatever I want to you right now? And guess what? There's not a damn thing you can do about it."

"Ahh...so what?" Ariana foolishly asked, returning to her tried and true struggling and flailing. "S-Still doesn't prove anything!"

"No?" Mella asked, tightening her grip, relishing the sound of Ari squealing in pain.

"Ah- no!"

"Well, you're just a stubborn little thing, aren't you, Ari? Perhaps we should do something about that?" Mella suggested and, with that, began walking them back over to the couch. Maintaining her lock of both of Ariana's arms and upon arriving at the couch, Mella turned and sat, proceeding then to pull Grande down, laying her across her lap.

"W-Wait, what are you doing?" Ariana asked, worried, but her question fell on relatively deaf ears. Instead, Mella decided to take the conversation in a different direction.

"You know, Ari...ever since I've got here, you've been nothing but rude to me. You've offended me a number of ways but of course, insulting my profession? My livelihood? Well...that just takes the fuckin' cake, doesn't it, sweetie?"

"W-Well I'm sorry, okay? Is that w-what you want t-to hear?" Ariana squealed, but it was too late.

"It's certainly a start. But, words aren't how I'm going to make you apologize to me."

"Huh?"

Carmella smiled and revealed, "You've been a real bitch, Ariana. So I'm gonna show you what I do to little bitches like you in my locker room when they fuckin' cross the most FABULOUS chick in WWE!" With that, Mella let one of Ari's arms free, but as you can imagine, her torment was far from over. In fact, it was only just beginning.

To keep the bitch in line, Mella kept her other arm compromised, and with a free hand, now had access to the apple of her eye, the reason why she'd drop so much cheddar to meet Ariana Grande in the first place. Ari's free hand flailed, but nothing could stop Mella from reaching over and pulling that short leather skirt up, revealing that tight little butt, unfortunately covered up by the same material as her shirt; apparently, it was a body suit.

Material or not, bare or otherwise, that didn't stop Mella from slapping that perky little peach as hard as physically possible. Her hand crashed down with the force of a thousand crackheads, sending shockwaves of pain throughout Ari's tiny body, the popstar using that magical voice of hers not to sing or harmonize, but to squeal and scream.

"Oww! What the fuck...did you just...did you just spank me?" Ari asked, reaching back to rub her ass with her free hand, only to have it shoved aside so Carmella could slap that booty again.

"Wow, aren't you bright?" Mella sarcastically remarked. "I don't know, did it feel like I spanked you, Ari?"

Wincing, Ariana replied, "Well...yeah?!"

"Like this, right?" Mella asked, slapping that butt again, reveling in the hollers of the prime, pompous popstar.