Page 117 of Famous for a Living

“Shipping you off here before you imploded your entire image. And I realized something. I like organizing other people’s lives.”

She counts on her fingers with her glossy My Life in Red nails.

“I like encouraging them when they need an emotional lift. I like finding and negotiating brand deals. You wouldn’t believe some of the parties I went to, to get you things. I even like doing damage control. Gabby, for the record, is really pulling back together. I like being a manager.”

She drops her hands. “Now, take as long as you need. We all know you’ve learned to get a lawyer to read a contract over, but I hope you—”

I slap the paper on the table. “Serena. You didn’t need to pull all this together to convince me. You’re hired. Pick your percentage. I’m in.”

She halts. Whatever she was about to say in this grand pitch of hers stalled. “Good,” she says after a minute, picks up the folder, and slips it back into her coat. I understand why she might’ve gone to such lengths as to fly out here to ask. I know what this means for her; the standard 15 percent commission on all deals plus the portfolio of attaching herself to my name, well . . . she’s starting her career out on top.

But then, I can’t think of anyone better suited to the job.

She slips her coat back on. “Murphy wants to see you as soon as possible to go over everything. I picked up our flight tickets already and brought three dresses from Lucy Liu, dying for you to wear them off the plane. They want exclusivity, but I have the Kate Spade team wanting to throw in a handbag that would be perfect, so we’ll see if we can get them to give. And Prada wants to see if you could make an appearance for their spring show on Thursday. First, though, I want to wake Mina up and ask about her cozies. I have a fantastic opportunity with Elle Décor she’s going to die over.”

“I . . .” I hesitate, my eyes flickering toward Zaiah. “I’m not sure. Murphy needs me there as soon as possible?”

“As soon as possible. Then—” She hesitates, her brow furrowing as she glances to Zaiah, then back to me as if to say, “We’re not serious here, right, Cat? This whole mountain man date thing was just for fun?” When I don’t respond right away she finishes, “I suppose . . . you can come back after to tie up your loose ends.”

“Yeah,” I breathe, saying the word but feeling a million miles away. My thoughts are flying in a thousand directions. Jobs. People. Lawsuits. Apartments. Careers.

Zaiah.

As Serena moves off to terrorize Mina, hovering over her bed with promises of fortune and fame, I turn to Zaiah, my mouth agape at the whirlwind of news in the past ten minutes. It’s hard to grasp. My body can’t even keep up. It’s shivering.

Zaiah looks at my trembling fingers as they still clasp Serena’s mug. He comes over and takes the mug out of my hands. Sets it down. Returns to hold them, still them, in his own.

“Well.” He exhales, looking deep into my eyes. “Congratulations, Cat. You must be so relieved.”

“I am,” I say, nodding. Nod again. “Yes. I am.”

There’s a monumental pause between us.

No sound but the scream of Mina waking up to Serena in her room.

“It’s going to take me a while to process this,” I say. Then I laugh a little, a bit of adrenaline that’s pent up inside me seeking a way out.

“Of course.” He hesitates. “I’m sure.”

“It’s not that I necessarily want to go yet, but she’s already bought the tickets. And I’m sure there will be lots of paperwork—”

He squeezes my hands. Strong. Reassuring. “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Cat. I understand. I’m . . . happy for you.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes as he holds on to my hands for a few more seconds. Then slowly relinquishes them. Steps away toward the kitchen. “You have a long night, and day, ahead. I’ll get you some more coffee.”

And I should’ve said no then.

I should’ve said, “I don’t need any more coffee. I’m going to stay right here in this job in a folding chair in the corner, writing newsletters about frog season and watching Peggy and Uncle Terry complain about the rising cost of gas at Uncle Buck’s.”

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Because staying here, in this life, doing that job, just isn’t what I want for myself.

I love the people. I like the mountains. But I also very much want to get back a part of my life that was perfectly sculpted for me. That is . . . also . . . me.

And honestly, what can a pair of golden suede and crystal heels do here? Really?