Page 15 of Fierce Love
Someone hovers at Posey’s shoulder, clearly waiting their turn, and I try to place them before another awkward conversation starts. “I’ll see you tonight,” I say as Posey steps back and the other person steps forward.
“I like her,” Kinsley whispers before we fall into more introductions and reminiscing about the past.
Chapter Seven
Hollyn
I’ve met enough rich clients to recognize when I’m being wined and dined, when someone is trying to win me over for some reason, which is the impression Posey is giving me without doing any of the rich-people moves I’d typically expect.
The mom-and-pop diner she’s taken us to is in the middle of Tucker’s Town—a tourist-heavy area and likely extraordinarily expensive for rent. But the prices in the place aren’t outrageous, and the staff doesn’t look stressed or run-down despite how busy it is in here, even at seven at night on a weekday. It’s like she somehow found a little pocket of happiness in the almost nonexistent middle class.
If my aunt and I had ever been able to afford to eat out, this would have been the type of place we’d have gone to.
Kinsley stares around in wonder, and when she looks at me, there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. “It feels like home in here. Isn’t that weird?”
“Part of the charm,” Posey says with a wink. “It’s like magic. Everyone who walks into the place never wants to leave. It helps that the coffee is always hot and the food is always exceptional. I love eating.” She opens the menu.
I scan her figure, and I can’t help questioning her claim. She looks like a dancer, not someone who gorges on gourmet food. Me, on the other hand? My thin days are long gone, and for the most part, I’m not even upset about it. I’ve escaped the ache of starvation, the need to hide my hunger so my aunt didn’t spend more money on groceries when we had other bills to pay. And if I’ve gone a bit too far in the other direction, so what? I’m not going to begrudge my body storing some fat in case there’s another famine. My body and my mind both understand how unpredictable life can be.
The waitress takes our orders, and with the menus gone, Posey plants her elbows on the table and grins. “I have a good feeling about you.”
“Thank you?” I can’t help a confused answering smile.
“I’ll cut to the chase about why I wanted to meet with you. King Alexander and the Advisory Council of Bellerive have decided they want to invest in Bellerive television productions. As you probably know, most of what’s on TV now is foreign made. This shift, for me, is a dream come true.” One of her hands presses against her chest while the other tucks stray strands of hair behind her ears. “One of those productions is being calledRedesigning Home. The premise is that two interior designers compete to transform a home for a couple or family who is down on their luck—essentially a lower-income property. Each host uses the space and budget in a different way. The family picks the winning design, and then the two hosts work together to create the fairytale for that family.”
“Okay,” I say, my brain already clicking over all the various areas and families in Bellerive who would have benefitted fromthis concept when I was younger. “I’m not sure I understand why you’d want to meet with me about that? I don’t live here.”
“The producers really want someone who grew up here. Someone who is familiar with all aspects of Bellerive,” Posey says.
“They want someone who grew up poor,” I say, the pieces clicking at the same time the words are coming out of my mouth.
“Disadvantaged, yes,” Posey says. “The great part about the job—well, there are lots of great parts, I think—but the best part is a real work-life balance.”
“Sounds like a great opportunity for you,” I say as the waitress drops off our drinks. Kinsley elbows me, but I ignore her. I know how these shows work, and it’s not something I want any part of, even if that is what Posey is trying to offer.
“I’d like it to be a great opportunity foryou, actually.” Posey picks up her latte and takes a long sip.
“I have a job.”
“I know Reyes and Cruz. It’s impressive that you’ve managed to make a career there while raising your sister, but I can’t even imagine the sacrifices you’ve had to make. They’re all commission based, right? This show is good money. Really good money, even by Bellerive standards.”
“But then what?” I ask, even as I can feel Kinsley’s eyes boring a hole into the side of my head. “In a few months when the show is done filming, I no longer have any clients in New York, and a hard job becomes an impossible one again.”
“You’d have enough clout on the island that you could easily start up here, if you wanted.”
“I don’t want to live on the island.” It’s a knee-jerk reaction, and I take a minute to examine it before deciding itistrue. When I left, I never intended to come back.
The food arrives, and we eat in silence for a moment before Kinsley says, “Hollyn, would just get the job? You’re offering her the job?”
“It’s not reallymineto offer,” Posey says. “We’d have to do a chemistry test in front of producers. Make sure the two of us are compatible on screen. But I wasn’t lying. I have a good feeling about this partnership. Everyone else they’ve tried to put me with has been a bust.”
“I think you should try,” Kinsley says, pushing her food around her plate with her fork. “I want you to try.”
“Even if I wanted the job,” I say, “I don’t like how these shows operate. The people, in this case, poor people, have to pay for everything—every design choice costs them money.”
“Remember when I said there were lots of great parts to this job?” Posey says, a twinkle in her eye. “The show is one hundred percent funded. From our salaries to design choices to on-set catering—it’s all taken care of. Show participants pay nothing.”
“How?” I ask.
