Page 39 of Beneath the Hood

“They’rewilling to pay you two hundred and fifty thousand for the first month,” my lawyer, Andrew, says through the speakerphone. I scrunch my nose, leaning over to look at the contract while Sierra sits next to me crunching on a piece of celery with peanut butter.

“And I’m expected to post every day?” I look to Sierra.

She nods. “Every day with cross posts on your other social media. It’s a video platform, so they’ll be ten to sixty second videos.”

“What kind of videos? Do we even have time to make them?”

Sierra shrugs. “I think if we block out a day to film content for the week, we can make it happen.” She pauses, setting down her half-eaten celery stick. “Idothink you’ll be leaving less time for your other commitments which could affect your bottom line. Two hundred and fifty K looks pretty on paper, but it isn’t really enough to make up the difference.”

“Hmm...” I lean back, crossing my arms as I think about what she’s saying. She’s not wrong. If we’re blocking out an entire day, that’s twenty-four hours we lose. I could do multiple branded shoots in that time. “Andrew, does it say anything about exclusivity?”

“There’s a non-compete agreement in place for six months after the contract ends.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s not gonna happen. How long does the contract last?”

“This one is for three months with the option for renegotiation or extension at the end of the terms.”

Raising my arms above my head as I sigh, my muscles stretch, a satisfying pain radiating down the tissue and making me bite back a groan. After last night’s marathon workout, I’m so sore it hurts to breathe. It makes satisfaction drip through me with every motion.

That combined with doing my favorite part of this job—negotiating contracts and running a meeting where I call all the shots—has me feeling more like myself than I have in weeks. A skewed puzzle piece slotting back in place.

“How many appearances do we have lined up this next month?” I ask, grabbing a piece of celery for myself, my eyes taking inventory of what’s left on the plate.

Three pieces left. That’s six total with a tbsp of peanut butter, which is ninety-four calories and three point five grams of protein.

Gratification sinks into my bones as I mentally calculate, relieved to be at home where I can eat things I know the stats of by heart. Where I won’t have to waste my energy worrying over what will be offered or how I’ll explain away not eating like everyone else.

Having to constantly explain my lifestyle gives me a headache.

Sierra pulls up my calendar. “You have six club appearances and an opening at a new restaurant downtown this afternoon.”

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Do I have to do that?”

Sierra smirks. “Yes.”

Making a gagging motion, I flip the page of the contract, debating whether or not I want to accept the terms or renegotiate. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I list out the pros and cons in my mind, crossing them off mentally and allowing the contentment of coming to a decision flow through me.

I push the papers away, leaning over my phone. “Andrew, tell them for that price, I’ll post three times a week for one month. Or they can do a three-month contract for five hundred with daily posting. Either way, I’ll only sign a noncompete for the duration of the contract. If I’m no longer with them, I want the freedom to go somewhere else.”

Chewing my lip, I run over everything I just said. “Oh, and make sure I’m able to terminate the contract easily if needed.”

“Got it. I’ll write it up and send it over.”

A grin breaks across my face, pleasure trickling through my insides at the feeling of success. Of running my business and knowing I’m doing it well.

I end the call, noticing a text message blinking on my phone.

Jackson: Free tonight,princess?

Nerves erupt in my stomach, sending blood rushing to my cheeks. I school my features as quickly as possible, glancing at Sierra and hoping she didn’t notice the way my face lit up.

She watches me with a brow raised as she munches on her food.

Clearing my throat, I place my phone in my pocket, picking up my uneaten celery stick and pointing it in the air as I angle it toward her. “Cheers.” I smile wide, my stomach tightening at her inquisitive stare.

The last thing I want is to have to explain things, especially when I’m not even sure what’s going on myself.

“What?” I ask, taking a huge bite to try and stem the nerves.

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