Page 106 of Valentine Nook
Coffee appears in front of me, placed purposely between a fresh copy of the contract and a tray of pastel macarons displayed so beautifully I want to take a photo to send to Pierre.
We sip and commence with the preamble of more polite chatter, I’m given instruction on the best places to visit during my trip here, and they tell me how much they like New York, butonlyNew York. Not America, obviously.
I get the impression that in the period before I arrived, Marcy has played hardball to the point where they no longer want to acknowledge her. Or they’re only acknowledging her because I’m present because when we finally get around to starting the meeting, they’re studiously ignoring her.
“Allors, let’s talk scheduling,” Marie-Thérèse says with a flip through a thick notebook. “We have a camera test booked for tomorrow, where we’ll assess your skin tone, hair type, what works best, what doesn’t. And these initial shots will be used to announce our partnership in January?—”
I nod.
“Your agent tells us you have press junkets in November,and you have some films scheduled for next year we must work around, which is no problem?—”
I pause. My jaw grits tight as I stare at Marcy, willing her to look at me so she can see I’m absolutely fuming.
“That’s not necessary. And nothing’s confirmed next year, so we can schedule what you need.”
Several pairs of eyebrows shoot up, and I try not to grit my teeth.
“D’accord.” Marie-Thérèse leans across the table, fingers steepled. “Holiday, we see this as a partnership between Hollywood’s sweetheart and the world’s biggest beauty company. We want to collaborate, we want you to be part of our family, and we believe we will have a great future together.”
“Thank you.” I smile around the room, and for the first time since I arrived in Paris, I completely relax (don’t tell Lando). “I’m so grateful to you for the invitation and the warmest of welcomes. I’m excited to join you all on our journey together.”
The final page of notes flicks closed.
All that’s left to do is sign the thing, and then I remember . . .
“I’m working with a new charity. It belongs to my . . . er . . . friend.”Friend.That doesn’t sound right. It sounds cold and distant even though none of my friends are either of those things. But referring to Lando as one of them doesn’t sit well with me, not after what he just did to me. Not after the past few weeks. “I’d like to offer them a prize that money can’t buy, and I’m hoping you can help. A trip to a shoot or the opportunity to spend a day with the makeup artists perhaps? Anything along those lines?”
“Holiday—” Marcy starts, only to be interrupted by Marie-Thérèse.
“Oui, we can do that.”
“Thank you.” I smile and suck in a deep breath. “Then I guess that’s everything.”
I glance at Marcy to see if she has anything to add, but her pursed lips stay clamped shut.
Everyone else in the room watches me, waiting for me to pick up the pen and sign at the bottom of each page of the freshly drawn-up contract. Which I do.
There’s a collective sigh of relief, none more so than mine.
I’ve done it. I’ve fucking done it.
I’ve signed the biggest contract of my career, and after we shake hands and get through another ten minutes of chatter and exit the boardroom, not one part of me is surprised—and relieved—to see Lando waiting.
I fight the urge to run into his arms, but before I get the chance to even say a word, Marcy guides me into another meeting room. Her bag drops on the table with a thud.
“Well done, honey. Great work. This will be a phenomenal stepping stone for you. Play your cards right, and they could keep you in moisturizer for life.” Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she taps the skin under her chin.
“Thank you,” I reply, and I mean it.
She might be overbearing and exhausting, but she’s always fought for the best deals.
“You’re welcome. My pleasure.” She turns back to me, confident in the six million she’s just earned herself. Her diamond stud earrings glint in the light as she opens her bag. “Now let’s talk about the next eighteen months, and what happened in there.”
“Marcy—”
“I’m not happy about it. After the junkets, we have award season. This first movie deal?—”
I step in front of her, place both hands on her shoulders, and look her dead in the eye. “Marcy, I’m not ready to go back to movies. I don’t want those offers.”
