Page 64 of Marisol Acts the Part
“Holy shit,” Jamila mutters under her breath.
“Eli Rowan. Sorry we’re late,” they say with a polite smile, offering their hand up to Annaleigh to shake before returning to Esther’s side. “We hit some traffic on the way.”
I stifle a laugh as I watch the cogs in Jamila’s brain work overtime to process everything in front of us. It shouldn’t be surprising that Esther and Eli know each other—Esther did say that she worked onThe Limit’s first season. But what is surprising is Eli sliding their fingers through Esther’s, pressing a quick, subtle kiss to her knuckles.
Esther definitely leftthatpart out of the story.
“Thank you so much for joining us,” Annaleigh replies, gesturing for Eli and Esther to take a seat at the table. Fatima eagerly pulls out their chairs, offering them water and snacks, which they both politely decline. She returns to her corner of the room, not bothering to hide her elation, practically vibrating in her seat as we get back to business.
“So, Eli, you’re willing to be a second source for the article?” Annaleigh asks with a raised brow.
“For sure. Working with that prick was one of the worst experiences of my life,” they say without a care in the world, and I wish I could be even an ounce as cool as them.
Annaleigh smirks, glancing back down at the proposal. “And you’re willing to be a named source?”
Eli nods. “Fuck that guy and his NDAs.”
My heart swells, every part of me vibrating with excitement as Jamila reaches for my hand, gripping it so tight it feels like the bones could snap, but I don’t care because we’re doing the damn thing. When I meet her gaze, tears glossing her vision, it takes every ounce of strength I have not to kiss her then and there.
“Fabulous,” Annaleigh says with a grin, flipping the folder shut and pulling a laptop toward her instead, typing at top speed. “We’ll have our production management team reach out to coordinate interview times—we’re happy to do it either here in our office, or we can come to you. Whichever you prefer. We haven’t discussed this at our assignments weekly yet, but I’m sure several of our senior writers would be interested in tackling this piece.”
“Actually,” I interject before Annaleigh can continue, “I want Fatima to be assigned to the article.”
We knew they’d pull something like this—take Fatima’s work and pass it off to a more seasoned writer instead. She’d even prepared me before we submitted the proposal that I’d have to speak with one of the senior writers instead of her, assuring me that they were top-notch journalists, and I shouldn’t worry about trusting them. But it’s not a matter of trust; I’ll gladly tell my story to anyone who’ll listen. It’s about fairness. Fatima is the entire reason we’re here. Fatima’s the one who stayed up until three in the morning helping us put together this proposal.
Fatima deserves to be credited for this interview.
Annaleigh is frozen for several seconds before she finally speaks again. “We don’t typically allow interns full-scale pieceslike this,” she says carefully, keeping her tone controlled, but not covering up the passive-aggressive bite.
“This piece was Fatima’s idea,” I continue, ignoring the concerned looks both Jamila and Fatima are sending my way. “And I only feel comfortable talking to someone I trust.”
Not technically true, but whatever I have to say to make sure Fatima gets the job she deserves.
Eli does a terrible job of hiding their snort behind their hand, and Esther nudges them playfully in the ribs.
“Fine,” Annaleigh says through gritted teeth. “But she has to work closely with a senior writer who will be present at every interview and oversee all drafts before she submits them to me.”
“Deal,” I reply eagerly before she can take back the offer, shooting a smile at Fatima as we shake on the agreement.
“Thank you,” she mouths as she clutches her clipboard to her chest. I settle back in my seat, tuning out Annaleigh as she continues going over the logistics, and reach out to take Jamila’s hand, running my thumb over her knuckles.
I’m the one who should be thanking them.
Chapter 25
I’ve done hundreds of photo shoots over the years, but none has ever made me feel as terrified as this one. Not even the time I was dangled twenty feet in the air over a dam in Vancouver forTeen Vogue.
As far as shoots go, it’s pretty straightforward. Annaleigh insisted on a shoot so we’d have a set of photos to go along with the piece—a cover feature, she assured me. A modest crew is assembled on the roof of the loft in Brooklyn they’ve rented for the day, fluttering around the cramped space while I readjust the pink cotton sundress I’ve chosen for the occasion.
“Stop it.” Jamila bats playfully at my hands while I readjust the bow holding the bodice top together yet again. “You look perfect,” she reassures me, pushing the glossy curtain of my hair over my shoulder, exposing my mostly bare shoulder.
One silver lining of no longer being under Rune’s rule, aside from being able to relax for the first time in months, is nolonger having to abide by his wardrobe rules. Within days of my firing, I went straight back to the salon that made me platinum and had them restore the life to my hair that Rune sucked dry. It’s not a perfect match to my original rich brunette, but it’s close enough to make me feel like myself again. Along with finally getting to break out the pinks and buttercream-yellow ensembles I’d shoved to the back of my closet, and spritzing Coco Mademoiselle on my wrists and neck, I’m finally starting to feel like myself again.
My phone buzzes with a new text as I’m double-checking my makeup in the selfie camera.
Lily
You’re going to crush it today!!!
