Contracted

by Marni Mann

  I shook my head. “Scarlett’s more prepared than that. She’s been planning this meeting for weeks. Whatever she has to show us, it’s been well calculated and rehearsed.”

  “Who the fuck knows?” Jack said. “I just wish she’d hurry up. As soon as this is over, Samantha and I are taking Lucy to Jacksonville to catch tonight’s game, and then we’re flying back tomorrow morning.”

  “She’s becoming quite the little agent,” Brett said.

  “Are you kidding me? She’s the best business partner I could ever have. Whenever she’s around one of my athletes, they turn all fucking mushy, and they can’t say no to her. I’m going to start bringing her to every negotiation.” He nodded toward Brett. “You’ll see what I mean very soon.”

  “What?” I chimed in. “James is fucking pregnant?”

  “No, she’s not pregnant,” Jack answered. “At least, not that I’ve heard. But, knowing Brett, he’ll knock her up within a few months of getting hitched, so he can keep her planted in Miami for a while.”

  Brett laughed. “That’s not a bad idea, man. Getting James pregnant is the only way I’ll ever slow her down.”

  What the fuck am I listening to?

  The two of them looked at me just as Jack said, “When the hell are you going to ask Eve to marry you?”

  “Oh, hell no. Go back to the kid talk or whatever it was that you two were discussing. You’re not going to shine your flashlights on me now, motherfuckers.”

  Jack took a long drink from his coffee. “Jesus, you mention one thing about marriage, and he turns into the biggest—”

  “Don’t finish that thought,” Scarlett said as she walked into the room. Holding several folders in her hands, she carried them to the head of the table where she took a seat. “I’m going to get right to it.”

  “We’re good with that,” Brett replied.

  Jack and I nodded.

  She rested her hands on top of the folders, her stare moving around to each of us. “I’ve been approached by a management company. They would like to work with us.”

  A business looking for referrals? That wasn’t what I’d expected.

  But that made this one of the easiest conversations we’d ever have.

  “We already work with several,” I said. “If this one is legit, we’ll have one of the assistants check them out, and I’m sure we’ll be able to add them to our master list of managers.”

  Her eyes settled on me. “We’d be getting rid of our master list, and we’d no longer be referring the business to managers elsewhere. We’d be keeping it in-house.”

  “You’re saying, they want to become business partners?” Jack said.

  She nodded. “That’s right.”

  Partners?

  Several companies had approached us in the past to do the same thing. It wasn’t something we’d ever considered.

  But none of the companies had been management firms either.

  “Who are they?” Brett asked.

  “Entertainment Management Worldwide.”

  My brows rose, as I was surprised by the name she’d just thrown out.

  “I know of them,” I said. “They work with several of my clients.”

  “They work with mine, too,” Jack said.

  “And mine,” Brett agreed. “Why do they want to partner with us?”

  This was where the selling came in, and she was up against the three hardest negotiators in the business.

  Scarlett shifted in her chair and leaned back just a little, a grin spreading across her face the whole time. “We’re the largest agency of our kind on the East Coast. After we expand to LA, within a few years, my forecasts show we’ll be taking over the West Coast as well. Our client list is tremendous, and we’ve expanded into PR, which brings in a whole new segment of clients who can and will be agented at some point. The question is, why wouldn’t they want to work with us?”

  “Of course, because they’d be walking into a sure thing,” Jack said, twisting back and forth in his seat. “They know, if we suggest their management to our clients, most will eventually sign. The department would triple its revenue within the first day.”

  “On the flip side, do you know how many clients we’ll earn for the agency side?” Scarlett asked. When no one answered, she added, “I think you’re underestimating their reach and who’s signed with them.” She pulled out several sheets from the folders and handed one to each of us. “I believe you’ll find a majority of your personal clients listed on that paper.”

  She was right.

  Entertainment Management Worldwide was much larger than I’d thought.

  “In a market like today’s, our talent is stretched thinner than ever,” Scarlett said. “Celebrities are looking for convenience. They want to take the least amount of time to accomplish things. Being able to offer other services makes us more desirable. It also makes it harder for a client to leave us because we’ll have such a large stake of their business.”

  There was one question no one had asked yet.

  And it was the most important.

  I leaned my body into the table and said, “What do the numbers look like?”

  She took out another stack of papers, which turned out to be multiple spreadsheets stapled together, and she handed them to us. Then, she pointed at the first page. “I’ve been going over their books for the first three quarters of last year. They just sent me the fourth quarter last night, which was what I was working on this morning. I’ve calculated every scenario, one that even includes losing thirty percent of their client base upon the merger.”

  “You know we wouldn’t let that happen,” Jack said.

  “I know, but I need to look at every possibility to determine the risk.” She flipped to page six and waited for us to catch up. “Even in that case, the result is in red at the bottom of the page.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Brett sighed. “You’re sure that’s losing, not gaining thirty percent?”

  She nodded again. “I’m positive.”

  These figures were impressive as fuck.

  So, they didn’t just have a client list that shocked the hell out of me. They had more profit than I ever would have guessed. No debt, no receivables, just one sexy-looking bottom line.

  “I need to know more,” I told her. “This looks too good to be true.”

  “They have two offices—LA and Manhattan,” Scarlett said. “Two hundred managers in New York and one fifty in LA. There are three partners, all our age. They met in LA after college, worked PA jobs for a bunch of actors while they learned the business, and then they started with a small client load. Slowly, it grew from there.”

  “Their story isn’t that far off from ours,” Brett said.

  “It’s not,” she agreed. She sat closer to the table, leaning over it as she glanced at the three of us. “They’re hungry. They’re fighters. They have the same drive that wakes each one of us up at five in the morning, forcing our asses to get to work and gain one more point of the market. They’re us, I’m telling you.”

  Scarlett wasn’t a bullshitter.

  She also wasn’t a salesperson.

  She was all about numbers, and all she stated was facts.

  Therefore, I believed everything she was saying.

  I just didn’t know if this move was right for us.

  “Do you have a copy of the contract?” I asked.

  She removed the last stack of papers and handed them around the table. The contract was over forty pages long. It would take some time to read through it and decide if, legally and financially, this was something worth pursuing.

  “Just in case, I sent a copy to our in-house counsel this morning. He’ll be reading it with you and available to answer any questions,” she told us.

  “I need some time,” Jack said. “To study this, to think about it. I don’t want to be rushed.”

  “You won’t be.” She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and showed us her calendar. “I’ve already scheduled another
time for all of us to get together again and chat about your thoughts.” She pulled the folders into her arms and held them against her chest.

  “Any other surprises?” Brett asked her.

  “No.” She smiled. “I’m done torturing you for today.”

  The four of us stood from the table and moved toward the door. We said nothing as we walked through it, and the silence wasn’t broken until we reached Brett’s office.

  “Three more bosses?”

  It was just the two of us. Jack had gone to his office, and Scarlett had gone to hers.

  “I’m worried about that, too,” I admitted. “But we could keep them in LA and Manhattan and leave Miami for us. And it would certainly solve the issue as to who’d be running LA.”

  “That’s a good point.” He looked down the hall toward the section of desks that were occupied by his team. “You think this is a good idea?”

  I really considered his question before I said, “Scarlett knows her shit. She knows what we want out of this industry. If she didn’t think we could dominate the management world, she never would have presented it to us.”

  He shook his head. “You know, this might bring us one step closer to the top.”

  I smiled. “Don’t get too excited yet. This isn’t going to be fucking cheap.”

  He patted my shoulder, and I continued moving down the hall until I reached my door. Once I was inside my office, I checked my phone.

  Eve still hadn’t replied to the goddamn text I sent her last night.

  That wasn’t like her.

  Even if her answer was short, she always wrote something back.

  I hit the screen and started typing.

  Me: Good morning, baby.

  Nineteen

  Eve

  James: Have you spoken to Max?

  Me: I have my meeting with Horse Feathers in a few minutes, so I haven’t reached out to him yet.

  James: OMG, I completely forgot that was today. You need to call me right after and tell me all the details.

  Me: Okay.

  James: Eve, you’re going to be all right. Go kick ass. Love you.

  I sat in my car outside the restaurant, holding my phone in my hand, staring at James’s texts.

  You’re going to be all right.

  Last night, I wouldn’t have agreed with that statement.

  My emotions had turned so dark while I was in the tub, and they’d lasted up until four o’clock this morning when I passed out. It had been too much to process all at once and trying to had caused me to break down.

  The first bottle of wine hadn’t helped.

  Neither had the second.

  And, if this meeting with Horse Feathers hadn’t been scheduled for lunchtime, I probably would have missed it from my hangover being so severe. But, since I’d had a few hours to rally, I’d had time to put some food in my stomach to settle it, drink some strong coffee, and down a mix of vitamins that were overdosing me with electrolytes.

  Remembering the night I’d just experienced was the reason I didn’t check the other messages that had come through my phone. I knew at least one was from Max. I wasn’t ready for his words, especially not when I was still this raw.

  So, instead of reading them, I tossed my phone in my bag, turned off the car, and walked inside the restaurant. I gave my name to the hostess, and she led me through the main dining room.

  “I’m taking you to a private room in the back where you’ll meet your other guests,” she said over her shoulder.

  I hadn’t expected private.

  I hadn’t expected to feel this nervous either, but that energy was growing more with each step I took.

  “Thank you,” I responded, and I continued to follow her.

  When we reached the back of the restaurant, she stopped just to the side of the only open door. “Go ahead in. I’ll shut the door behind you to give you some privacy.”

  I nodded and kept moving, and the sound of my heels instantly caught the attention of the people in the room.

  I took a quick glance at all three faces and locked eyes with the man who was standing to greet me.

  “Miss Kennedy,” he said, reaching for my hand. “I’m Alberto Romano.”

  I was startled by how attractive he was. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, and he had eyes that were positively piercing and olive skin that was perfectly sun-kissed.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, feeling him gently squeeze my hand.

  “It’s an honor.” He smiled, and the lines around his mouth and the ones to the sides of his eyes deepened. “Please let me introduce you to my team.”

  I broke eye contact to glance at the man and woman sitting at the table. They were at least ten years younger than Alberto, somewhere in their thirties, and they were just as attractive, both bearing grins that immediately caused me to return the gesture.

  “This is Maria, our lead designer for women’s apparel,” Alberto said, and I shook her hand. “And this is Enzo, our lead designer for women’s accessories.”

  My fingers then moved to Enzo’s grip.

  “Please sit,” Alberto said, pointing to the chair closest to me.

  I draped my bag over the corner of the wood and sat on the leather cushion.

  “Miss Kennedy—”

  “Eve, please,” I interrupted and took a deep breath, hoping it would calm me.

  “Eve,” Alberto started again. “Thank you so much for meeting with us. We’ve really been looking forward to this.”

  “Me, too.”

  Curiosity had picked away at me during the last few days, and I still couldn’t imagine what this whole thing was about.

  “Like I said in my email,” Alberto said, “Horse Feathers has now been in business for a little over three years. In that short period of time, we’ve had an incredible amount of success. Our clothes are now sold across the globe, and because of people like you, we’ve had some of the biggest-named celebrities wear our designs.”

  “We’re blessed,” Maria said as she put her hand over her heart.

  Enzo nodded. “It’s been a dream.”

  Alberto took a drink from his water and then said, “Our designs are influenced by mood. We feel our surroundings and translate them into emotions. Each piece is part of that mood, like a tiny branch that’s weaved together into a collection or a nest.” I heard the air exhaled through his nose as his fingers raked across his thick beard. “The practice has served us well, but it’s not enough. We need more.”

  I still couldn’t figure out how I fit into all of this, and nothing he’d said was giving me any clues. But it wasn’t time to ask those questions yet because I could tell he wasn’t done talking.

  When his hand dropped onto the table, he smiled again and said, “Something is missing from our business—a factor that we hadn’t taken into consideration until now. You see, our typical client doesn’t walk into a store and purchase our clothing. Most transactions take place with a stylist or personal shopper. Then, you’re the ones responsible for putting the outfit together. So, don’t you see, Eve? You’re the missing link.”

  I waited for a deeper explanation. When I didn’t get one, I said, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “You know what a piece of clothing is going to look like on a body, you know how it should be presented to make it more appealing to a certain audience, you know what it should be paired with. And you know what our audience is looking for. That right there is a vision, and it’s one we don’t have. That’s why we want you to be a part of designing our brand.”

  I blinked several times as I took in what he’d just said.

  “I’m still not sure I understand,” I said, using the softest voice I had.

  “Miss Kenn—Eve, we want you to help design our summer collection, which will debut on the runways of New York, Paris, and Rome a year from now.”

  He wanted me to help design.

  An entire line.

  That would be walking down runways in top fas
hion markets of the world.

  I die.

  “Before you say anything,” he continued, “let’s go over the logistics, so you understand your role a little bit better.”

  “Okay.”

  I wanted to say so much more, but I couldn’t.

  I was too shocked.

  Too consumed.

  Too overwhelmed.

  “The position would require you to move to Milan and live there for six months. We will provide housing and everything you’ll need while you’re there. At the end of your contract, you’ll have a few different options; you can renew and stay in Italy, work remotely back in the States and fly in quarterly, or not work with us at all.”

  Alberto nodded toward Maria, and she cleared her throat and took over. “During the six months, you’ll work with us in our design center. Because we understand what we’re asking from you, we’ll only require you to be in our office three hours a day, five days a week. You’re free to do whatever you want during the rest of the time, such as continuing to work on your company, which we know is vital for running a business as successful as yours.”

  “Now, onto the pay,” Alberto said.

  He reached behind him into a briefcase that was on the floor, pulled out some papers, and set them in front of me. It was a contract. On the first page, just after my contact information, were the terms.

  Six months in Milan.

  One million dollars.

  I stared at the number, waiting for it to change, expecting one of them to rip the sheet of paper out from under my hands and say the figure was a mistake and that they’d offered way too much. Because they certainly couldn’t think my time was worth one million dollars.

  I slowly looked up at Alberto, knowing I would never catch my breath again.

  “We know this is something you need to think about,” Alberto said. “We don’t expect you to make a decision right now, but we’re hoping you’ll give us one within a week.”

  A week?

  So, within the next seven days, I had to come up with an answer to a question I still couldn’t wrap my head around.

  “I can do that,” I said, hoping it wasn’t a lie.