Page 55 of Je T'aime, Actually
“I’m just tired,” she said finally, quieter now. “I builtLa Fée du Livrefrom nothing. Years of work, of putting people first, of doing things properly. And then these suits stroll in and tell me my staff are too expensive. Like they’re numbers, not people.”
Monroe reached across the gearstick, resting her hand gently on Chloé’s leg. “They don’t see what you’ve built. They only see what they can take from it.”
Chloé looked down at Monroe’s hand and felt comforted by it. “Maybe I was naïve to think I could sell and keep it all intact.”
“That’s not naïve, that’s principled.” Monroe glanced at her. “You said it yourself; you gave them your word. You don’t break promises. It’s why people trust you.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Chloé’s mouth, weary but grateful. “You make it sound noble.”
“It is.” Monroe’s thumb brushed over Chloé’s knuckles. “You are.”
Chloé let out a breath, leaning back again. The silence settled for a moment, softer this time.
“You know,” Chloé said, turning slightly in her seat, “I wish you’d been in that room with me. I appreciate the way you support me.”
Monroe smiled, eyes on the road as she navigated Chloé’s car with easy confidence. “I was thinking… Would you let me take a look at your figures?”
“Of course. But I don’t think it’ll make any difference.”
“You let me be the judge of that,” Monroe replied, glancing over briefly. “This is my domain. I’m a figures girl.”
forty-four
While Chloé moved about the kitchen, putting together their dinner and opening a bottle of wine to breathe, Monroe pulled up the financial files forLa Fée du Livreand began scrolling through them, jotting down notes.
“A glass of wine while you work?” Chloé offered, leaning in to kiss the top of Monroe’s head as she set the drink down beside the laptop.
“Thank you,” Monroe said, lifting it to her lips for a sip. “Mm, that’s good.”
“It might at least alleviate the boredom,” Chloé smiled. “Anything of interest so far?”
“Welllll…” Monroe drew the word out, eyes still on the screen. “Not going to lie—it doesn’t look great. Profits over expenses are miles apart.”
“Hm. So a lost cause,” Chloé muttered, taking a deeper glug of wine as if to atone for it.
“I didn’t say that…”
Chloé’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t want to get your hopes up. There are a lot of things I need to check and re-check, but— Okay, look,” she pointed at the screen, “here’s the breakdown: each genre, each author, each sale.”
Chloé watched as the cursor darted across the screen; clicking, copying, reshuffling figures. It all moved too quickly for her to follow.
“Okay…” she said cautiously, trying to make sense of it.
“So, what I’m seeing is a lot of money being spent on things that just don’t generate enough in return. I’m sure poetry has its niche, but sales-wise…not so much.”
“Of course, but it’s not about the money when it comes to language and words,” Chloé countered.
Monroe stared at her for a beat.
“Okay, go on.” Chloé sighed.
“Alright, hear me out.” Monroe grinned. “I was looking at sales figures for Shutler Fitch. They’re sky-high in three areas: Fantasy, Crime, and Romance.” She flipped to another page, pulling up comparative charts. “But what they don’t have is diversity.”
“Okay…”
“Which is why they wanted your company.Youhave that niche.”
