Chapter 2
chapter two
MARISOL
“Nutella?”
I scoff as I lean back in my chair. “Nutella?” I repeat. “Seriously?”
Eva, my new agent, sits across the table from me, eyes apologetic as she shrugs. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I mean, you could make the best out of it. Some people become known from brand deals like this.”
“I was known already, Eva.” I sigh, my heart feeling like it’s falling in my chest. Again. “I shouldn’t have to be begging for deals with spread companies.”
“I’m sorry, Marisol.” Eva sighs, rubbing a hand over her brow. “I’m doing the best I can, reaching out to as many companies as possible, but—”
“But no one wants me.” I slump back in my chair.
I know I sound demanding or stuck up, but a year ago, I was one of the most well-known models in the country, and now…
well, now I’m back to square one. All thanks to my dickweasel of an ex-boyfriend/agent, Jack Evans, who tanked my entire reputation with the simple swoosh of an email leaving his inbox.
I always had this sixth sense about Jack, this hunch that something was slightly off, but I put it down to our cultural differences—me being Italian and him being British.
Besides, Jack was one of the first people to believe in me and my career, and once he officially became my agent, the doors he was able to open for me were unmatched.
Now, the only door I can seem to squeeze through is the one that leads to hazelnutty, chocolatey breakfast spreads.
And well, it turns out that hunch wasn’t wrong, because when I found Jack trying to hit on my brother’s now girlfriend last year in a club, I also discovered he’d been cheating on me throughout our entire relationship.
They say to follow your instincts, and maybe I should’ve tried harder to do that, but my instincts also told me that I didn’t want to fuck around with a man like Jack, and they were spot on.
You wouldn’t think that one email could ruin someone’s entire career. Wrong.
He told the media that I was the one who had been cheating for years, how I treated him like the help unless he was in my bed, and that I was the most self-centered, entitled bitch he’d ever worked with.
He discredited my work with the multiple charities I’ve partnered with over the years, saying it was all an act, that I gave him a chunk of money and said, ‘Go find some people that will make me look good.’
I think out of everything, that hurt the most. These are organizations that I believe in, missions that I want to support because they mean something to me, and now…
well, now some of them have cut ties with me, taking his lies for gospel, no matter how many times I tried to make them understand it wasn’t true.
Part of me wishes I’d made a media statement of my own, just sat down in front of my phone and let everyone know the truth.
But I don’t need an agent or a PR firm to tell me how damaging that would be for my brand—even if it barely exists anymore.
So I let them believe it. What else could I do?
If I tried to defend myself, Jack would come straight back like a viper, ready to strike, and I don’t want to be the girl who’s having an online feud with the man who ‘outed her for who she really is’ on the internet.
“So that’s a no on Nutella?” Eva asks through squinted eyes.
“No for Nutella,” I say.
“Okay.” She nods, drawing a sharp line across her notepad.
Eva has been my agent for just over a month now.
It took me that long to find someone I genuinely like and trust to work with—not that there was an abundance of applicants.
Not many people want to represent the lying, cheating, stuck-up bitch that I have been labeled as, only those who are desperate.
But Eva didn’t seem desperate. She didn’t talk to me like I was a problem that needed to be fixed or a charity case.
She had her shoulders back, her short blonde hair styled into the perfect pixie cut, and an extra-large cup of coffee in her grasp when she walked into our meeting, and as soon as she shook my hand, I had a good feeling.
I didn’t doubt my instincts that time. I signed with Regina Models that week.
But as much as I love Eva, and I know she’s working day and night, we still haven’t found any good gigs.
She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. “I’ll keep looking.”
I nod, hoping that a miracle appears on the table between us, otherwise, before I know it, I’ll be posing with a jar of Nutella for a little pocket money.