Page 13 of The Spring in My Heart

“Lux, listen. Play hard-ass ball when you go in there. You’re a commodity. If they want to create a brand around you, it is because they recognize your worth, what you bring to the table, and your reach. Make sure you call the shots. You can ask for whatever you want. They won’t say no.”

I smile. “I will, thanks.”

“I’m not just saying that because I’m your brother. I’m saying it because it’s true. Don’t go in there and let these people get the best of you.”

I hang up and go to the bathroom to give myself five minutes to breathe. This is a good thing. No, a great thing. It’s the next level in my career. And I can dictate the rules.

Because they want me, and it has to be on my turf, playing by my rules.

I walk back in the room with my shoulders squared.

“My agent is on her way, and I would like to wait for her to begin the discussion. After, I would like for it to be put in a contract so my lawyers can go over it. I will tell you right off the bat, Baltimore is where I live now, and I’m planning on staying there. Also, I want executive producer credits, and I want input and veto power in all concepts.”

The editor-in-chief smiles in a way that goes as far as her perfect veneers but doesn’t reach her bird-of-prey eyes. “Executive producer credits and veto power? That’s a renegotiation tactic for a proven star.”

I return her you-simple-bitch caliber smile. “Isn’t that why I’m here? Because I have the followers, the selling power, and the status to back it up? I know what I bring to the table, and I know the money you’ll make off me. I won’t be treated any other way.”

The air goes out of the room. Everyone is silent, and Mimi and the editor hold a silent conversation.

A drop of sweat skids down my back. Did I overplay my hand? I can breathe in the tension like August humidity. There’s no way I can back down now. They’ll never take me seriously. So, I push my chest out and dig into the silence like everyone else. I get started on a mental list of my next steps. If they walk away, I can always get started on my own. I have enough followers. I’ll have to do way more organic content. I can even take my followers through my renovation series.

Mimi clears her throat. “I’m sure your agent will be here shortly, and we can begin. Would you like a mimosa in the meantime?”

Lux

After a five-hour meeting with Big Apple, a debrief with my agent, and conversations with the lawyers, I was left with tight muscles and a mound of stress weighing my neck down. I practically ran to the spa. The treatments did the trick with the relaxation, but I just want to be alone in my own space.

I stretch like a cat with my hands above my head, enjoying the liquid feel in every inch of my body. The heated massage bed cocoons me, cradling me like a baby. I don’t want to leave. I want to lie here and nap. The spa would let me stay as long as I want, but I need to get off this bed. I’m going home tonight. I want to lie on my own bed and do nothing.

And see no one.

I need to see if I can catch a late train.

If push comes to shove, I’ll rent a car and drive back. Maybe I’ll go to Cam’s and take one of the spare cars he keeps there. That’s what I’ll do. The drive will get my creative juices going. Now more than ever, I need those to flow so I can have fresh ideas for content since I’ll have a whole new team, and I want to make sure I keep my own authenticity.

Bougie Girl is going to be a brand on its own. The Bougie Life was born today.

I smile and hop off the bed without bothering with the clothes I came in with. Instead, I get more comfortable and trade my heels for flats, my favorite fitted yoga pants, and a long cardigan.

The treatment left me feeling so good that I left my hair down and chose to go with no makeup. I don’t feel like putting in the extra effort when I’m about to drive for over three hours to Maryland.

I add a fat tip in cash for the masseuse. When I get to the checkout, I’m glad I did because they comped my treatments, and they give me a full goody bag.

Love. My. Job.

I make my way to the mirrored doors and grab the handle when I catch the reflection behind me. Like a poltergeist in the mirror, my mother materializes behind me. And yes, it’s like seeing Annabelle the doll or the horror nun staring at me. It roots me to the floor, so I can’t obey my basic instinct to run, run, run. I school my face and brace myself.

Why did I fucking linger? If I had gotten off the massage table just two minutes earlier…

I almost had it.

The metal bar is still ensconced in my hand, and I’m still facing the glass. I take a breath and force my face muscles into something pleasant and not the very human version of the swearing emoji raging inside me.

Because…fuck this. I don’t need this right now.

That’s what makes it so sad. It’s also what pumps twenty-nine years of guilt right through my whole body. She’s my mother. I don’t see her that often.

I turn around and smile. Marilyn is just a few feet away. She’s wearing her signature Manolo Blahniks and Anna Wintour-at-a-clearance-sale type of disdain on her face. She rarely smiles to avoid getting wrinkles, and she’s succeeded. Except that now her face looks rigid. There’s also no joy in her, which scares me to this day. Since I was sixteen and found out who she and Walter really are, I’ve been in fear of turning into her.

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