Page 73 of Wingwoman
Grinning, I read over them.
Most of her changes, I didn’t mind.
I grinned where at the bottom of the contract, she had added an addendum:The payments made to Hope Marcoux-Evans from Josh Gabriel are not in exchange for sexual favors of any sort.
Cracking my knuckles, I added to that addendum:However, if any sexual advances are made, it is understood these acts will be consensual and in no way tied to the payment.
Of course, I would need my lawyer to look over the legalese of that statement, but the essence was there. Hope was not a whore. There was zero expectation of sex as my muse.
But if sex happened, then it was something outside of a business deal.
I could live with that.
I sent that in an email to her first to gauge her reaction.
She responded only with one word:Fine.
The response made it sound reluctant and yet, I think there was more to it than that. The door was open for a physical relationship, even if she wasn’t ready to admit that herself yet.
With that little victory, I got to work on the other issues she had and exed out some of her notes. Namely, she didn’t want to allow a social media photographer to stage photos and videos of us for Instagram and TikTok. She didn’t want to accept a clothing budget. And she wanted my staff to be banned from entering the house for the duration of her stay here.
I exed out the first two. They were non-negotiable.
In my email, I detailed my reasons why they were such an important piece of the contract. She clearly knew fashion and with the events she’d be attending with me, I needed her fashion to be on par with the other celebrities in attendance. That meant Jimmy Choo. Versace. Gucci. And while I didn’t say this in the email… that clothing budget added up very quickly. Her salary for these six-weeks could easily be blown on clothing alone.
Then, as extra measure, I hit her with the gut-punch.
If your goal is to make your ex jealous, then being seen on my arm at events is only part of it. You’re making him jealous of a lifestyle. And that lifestyle includes designer brands. It includes us showing this life we’re supposedly building together on social media. It’s the only way to make this believable.
I leaned back, considering the final strikethrough in her notes: my staff not being allowed into the house. On one hand, she had a point. The more people who came in and out meant the more people who could potentially see this was fake. That she was sleeping in a separate bedroom. That it was all an act.
On the other hand, not letting staff into my house in itself was a red flag.
As for the staffing issue, I typed.I can send my chef on vacation. He’s used to me getting whims and wanting to cook for myself for weeks at a time.
I need my ranch hands to help keep the horse rescue up and running, but they have never been allowed to come inside my house. Occasionally, they knock on the door if they need me, but they have their own quarters and break rooms near the stables. So they will only see us if we’re outside with the horses.
Jamilla, my housekeeper, is another story. She’s like a mother to me and sending her away will be a red flag. Not to mention, this is an eight bedroom, one-hundred-year-old ranch house that she cares for on my behalf. She cleans, does laundry, and keeps the house in an order that I could never achieve. If you want me to spend my time writing this album so we can effectively end this agreement in the aforementioned six-week time period, I need her here. However, rest assured, she has signed an ironclad NDA.
Do you accept these terms?
It took ten minutes before she responded with two words:I do.
Attached to that email was the signed contract.
There were so many logistics to arrange, not only for tonight, but for the days leading up to the unveiling of Hope at the rodeo. How much did I want to reveal tomorrow night to the public? How much should we tease the relationship? Should we stage a kiss? Maybe some snuggling and close talking over dinner? Should I hire a photographer to snap the pics so I could control the narrative, but run the risk of getting caught orchestrating them? Or did I allow the media to just do what they do best and find us out and about on their own?
With a groan, I rubbed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. I had a lot to do today.
But for the moment, I wanted to relish in the victory lap.
Victory Lap.
There’s a victory lap inside us all. That victory lap will make us fall…
The song trailed in my mind, notes and lyrics weaving and braiding through me.
I yanked open the top of my desk drawer and pulled out a notebook, jotting down the lyric ideas as well as the chord progression that popped into my head.
