CHAPTER TWELVE #2
“I don’t know.”
“Is the photograph on social media?”
Nat opened the publication’s account. The gallery had been posted theprevious evening. The photograph of them beneath the awning appearedthird in the sequence and had already received hundreds of reactions.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell the photographer we were engaged?”
“I didn’t know there was a photographer outside. Simone must haveprovided the caption information.”
Michael read it again. “The statement that we recreated the encounter isfalse even within the false account.”
“I’m glad we’ve identified the accuracy threshold.”
“This could reach Mrs. Gable.”
“The caption agrees with what she believes.”
“That is not the primary concern.”
Nat knew that. The public version of their engagement could reachMichael’s employer, his father, her parents, Langford Press, sponsors,friends, and readers. Every person who saw it would believe somethingabout their lives that was not true.
“I’ll call Simone,” she said.
Michael looked at his watch. “I need to leave in seven minutes.”
“Go. I’ll handle it.”
“I should be involved.”
“You didn’t create the caption.”
“It concerns both of us.”
“And you have a meeting at nine.”
“That is not more important.”
Nat looked at him. Two weeks earlier, nothing would have displaced ascheduled meeting from Michael’s morning. She appreciated the changewithout wanting to become the reason he disregarded obligations hevalued.
“Go to work,” she said. “I’ll ask them to change fiancé to guest andremove the sentence about how we met. That corrects the publicinformation without explaining the apartment.”
Michael remained uncertain.
“I’ll send you the exact request before I make it.”
“You do not need my approval.”
“No, but I need your agreement.”
That distinction reached him. He nodded. “Send it.”
Simone answered on the second ring and apologized before Nat finishedexplaining.
“I told the photographer you were engaged because you introducedMichael that way,” she said. “I didn’t give them the story about therain.”
“Chef Baird heard us mention it.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Our fiction was collaborative.”
“I’ll contact the editor immediately. What should the caption say?”
“Natalie Tremaine and guest Michael Conroy shelter from the rain afterLinden’s opening.”
“Guest sounds cold.”
“It is accurate.”
“Boyfriend?”
Nat paused.
The word felt unexpectedly intimate after fiancé had become a publicproblem.
“Yes,” she said. “Boyfriend is accurate.”
She sent the wording to Michael.
His answer came thirty seconds later.
Agreed.
By nine, the caption had been changed. The publication replaced fiancéwith boyfriend and removed the romantic-history sentence. Simonepromised the social posts would update, although shared copies andscreenshots could not be recalled.
Nat spent the remainder of the morning preparing for the Langfordmeeting.
She reviewed the proposal, organized her answers, and placedthe notebook from Harrow & Page beside the laptop.
At two fifty-five,Grace joined the video call.
The Langford editor appeared at three,accompanied by a marketing director and an editorial assistant whoseemed young enough to regard cookbooks with uncreased spines ashistorical objects.
The first twenty minutes went well. They discussed the structure of theweeknight book, the balance between narrative and instruction, andwhether the recipes should be organized by cooking time or principalingredient.
Nat explained why readers chose dinner according to energybefore they chose it according to protein.
“Some nights, a person can manage three pans and active seasoning,” shesaid. “Other nights, success means eating something that did not arrivethrough a car window. The book should recognize both people, becausethey’re usually the same person on different Tuesdays.”
The editor smiled. “That sentence belongs in the introduction.”
Nat wrote it down.
Then the marketing director mentioned the photograph.
“We saw the Linden gallery,” she said. “Congratulations.”
Nat’s attention sharpened. “Thank you, although the original caption wasincorrect. Michael and I are dating, but we’re not engaged.”
The editor glanced toward the marketing director. The clarificationappeared minor to them, but Nat saw Grace become very still in hercorner of the screen.
“I’m glad you mentioned that,” the marketing director said. “We werediscussing whether the relationship might become part of the platform.Cooking for two performs extremely well in short-form video, especiallywhen there is genuine chemistry.”
“The relationship is new,” Nat said.
“Of course. Nothing formal. But readers respond to a sense of home. Yourproposal already has that warmth, and the photograph gives it a face.”
Two faces, Nat thought. Only one of them had agreed to publish recipes.
“I’m comfortable writing about food and the ways people share it,” shesaid carefully. “I’m not comfortable making Michael part of themarketing plan.”
The editor stepped in. “That would not be a condition of the offer.”
“Good.”
Grace smiled faintly.
The marketing director nodded, but Nat could see the idea being movedrather than abandoned. “We can revisit personal content after the bookdevelops.”
“I would rather you didn’t plan around it.”
The direct answer produced a brief silence.
Nat resisted the instinct to soften it with humor. Michael had taughther that clear information could be a form of care. She was not goingto let the excitement of the offer turn a private relationship into anasset someone else believed they had acquired.
The editor closed the subject and moved to photography. By the end ofthe meeting, Nat had agreed to send a revised sample chapter, threeadditional recipes, and a preliminary photography budget. Grace wouldhandle the contract language.
“You did well,” Grace said after the Langford team disconnected.
“I told their marketing director not to use the most marketable thingthat has happened to me.”
“You established a boundary before it became an expectation.”
“Was I too blunt?”
“No. You were clear. There is a difference.”
Nat looked at the frozen image where the marketing director’s face hadbeen moments earlier. “Do you think it hurt the offer?”
“No. The offer is based on your work. If that changes, I will deal withit.”
After the call, Nat sent Michael a message.
The meeting went well. They saw the photograph and suggested turning youinto content. I declined to monetize your face without permission.
His reply came quickly.
Thank you.
She smiled.
Then another message appeared.
My father saw the photograph.
Nat’s smile vanished.
She called him.
Michael answered from what sounded like an empty office. “Hello.”
“What did he say?”