Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Wednesday morning had played out the way Blaise adored. All of the important things were done and the rest of the day stretched out before her, full of promise and potential.
She’d walked the beach with Brick and Beau earlier. Beau had been his usual rambunctious self. Brick had shared more good news about Holland, who continued to recover nicely, now that he was home.
The sun had been warm, the tide low, the waves gentle, and the beach quiet, so basically a perfect morning. After their walk, Brick had headed off to run errands, and Blaise had come home, done a short workout of body weight exercises, showered, and eaten breakfast.
Of course, she’d fed Beau, too. He was asleep in his bed, a shaft of sunlight warming him into oblivion. She’d claimed her spot on the couch and had her laptop balanced comfortably across her thighs.
She was deep into a new chapter now. The good kind of deep. The kind where the words came easily and the scene unfolded the same way it did in her memories. It was like watching a movie of her memories and transcribing it.
Her fingers moved steadily over the keys, her last cup of coffee cooling on the table beside her. Probably time to pour it over ice and finish it that way.
She glanced at Beau. One of his paws twitched now and then, making her smile. And making her think about Essie. Blaise hoped Maple was settling in all right. Maybe she’d send Essie a text and check in.
She decided to send it to the Queen Bees text group so they could all stay in the loop. Just wanted to know how things were going with Maple, Essie. Give us an update when you have a chance.
She was about to put her phone down when it buzzed in her hand.
She glanced down. There was no way Essie had answered that quickly, but then Blaise saw Cece’s name in the group text.
Well, I did it, my friends. The podcast is live.
Then a second message popped up. Cece had sent a link. If anyone wants to check it out, there it is.
Blaise let out a soft, delighted laugh and started typing. That’s incredible. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.
She added a second message before setting the phone down. I’m listening and subscribing as soon as I finish this paragraph.
She meant it. Cece had worked too hard. She deserved their support.
The rest of the women responded in kind, their messages arriving one after the other.
Cece responded once more. Thank you all! I’m excited. I actually published the first episode last night, but I’m officially announcing it on my social media today, so I consider this my launch. Although, believe it or not, I’ve already had some listens! Crazy, right?
Not crazy, Paige answered. You had a phenomenal first guest. Who wouldn’t listen to two smart women sharing some real truth?
With a smile, Blaise returned to her laptop, reread the last sentence she’d written, adjusted the wording slightly, tweaked one detail, then hit Save. She leaned back against the cushions, satisfied, just as her phone chimed again.
She reached for it, assuming it was the Queen Bees thread again.
But this wasn’t a text.
It was an email.
Blaise stared at the subject line for a full second before she opened it. Interested in booking you.
She half-expected the message to disappear if she blinked. It didn’t. She opened it and read on.
Hello Ms. Monroe,
My name is Marco Alvarez, and I’m a designer based in Miami. I heard you on a podcast this morning (sent to me by my assistant) and immediately looked up your website, thrilled to see that you are still working. I wanted to reach out personally…
The email continued.
He wrote about her presence. About how she was an icon. Then he explained about his new collection aimed at women who didn’t want to disappear into “age-appropriate” blandness. He asked if she’d be interested in representing his brand in a photoshoot in Miami, dates to be discussed.
Then he’d asked what her rate was.
Her rate. She could actually be on the verge of earning money again. Was this seriously happening? She read the email again, more slowly.
Blaise put the laptop aside gently, like any sudden movement might break something, and pressed her hand to her chest. This was not what she’d expected when she launched the site. Not this soon anyway. Maybe not ever.
“Well,” she said softly to the empty room. “I guess I was wrong.”
Beau shifted in his bed, rolling over to warm his other side.
She took her coffee into the kitchen and poured it over a glass of ice, then leaned on the counter and drank while she thought.
She hadn’t been prepared for this to happen so quickly, but it was a good sign. It had to be. If she could book a few jobs now and then, it might not even matter if she got a book deal.
She took her iced coffee back to the couch and reread the email, this time letting herself really take it in.
Miami was doable. She looked Marco Alverez up.
He was a legitimate designer, and his brand had a focused point of view.
Bright, beachy clothes that were still sophisticated while being very wearable.
His line had a very Palm Beach look. It was definitely something she could feel comfortable doing.
Best of all, this didn’t appear to be a scam. This felt real. And if he was real, then obviously, so was his offer.
Her excitement sharpened into something more practical almost immediately. If this was genuine—and it certainly felt that way—then she needed to respond like a professional. Which meant knowing what to charge.
Which she didn’t, because this wasn’t the ’90s anymore.
Blaise opened a new tab and started researching. Full-day and half-day rates. What photographers charged, what models charged, what established names charged. Then she tried to figure out where she might reasonably fall in that spectrum.
She scribbled notes on the legal pad beside her, numbers circled and crossed out as she adjusted them. Her pulse raced as she looked at the figures, but it wasn’t nerves this time. It was excitement.
She might need Joe to review the contract for her. She’d pay him, of course. This was business, after all. And she’d be able to pay Maude for the website.
The offer was great but it wasn’t the entire point. The idea that she might earn again, this time on her own terms, doing something that she felt like she was in control of—sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with validation and everything to do with possibility.
This could mean a world of difference for her future. The very thought that she might be able to feel comfortable with her finances again seemed almost indulgent. But that was why she’d started this whole thing.
Blaise stared at the screen a moment longer, her mind going in a thousand directions. She shook herself out of it. Time to focus and respond. This was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to miss.
She hit Reply and started typing, keeping it simple.
Hi Marco,
Thank you so much for reaching out. I’m flattered you thought of me for your shoot. I’d love to hear more. Could you let me know the dates you’re considering so I can check my availability? I’d also appreciate a sense of the budget you have in mind.
Best,
Blaise
She read it once, then again. It was polite and professional. Not a hint of overeagerness that she could detect. Satisfied, she hit Send.
Almost immediately, a flicker of doubt crept in. Maybe she should have waited. Maybe she should have done more research first. Maybe answering so quickly would make her seem desperate. Wouldn’t take much for him to figure out she hadn’t worked in a long time.
Although, if he’d listened to the podcast like he’d said, he already knew she was just getting back into things. She set the laptop aside, then, realizing she still had writing to do, picked it up again.
She read what she’d last written and put her fingers on the keyboard.
Her phone chimed before she had the second paragraph finished.
She blinked, then laughed under her breath when she saw the notification. An email. Already.
She opened it.
Hi Blaise,
Thank you so much for getting back to me.
We’re looking at a one-day shoot as soon as we can make it happen.
We’re flexible where that’s concerned, but sooner would be better.
Our budget for talent is in the mid-four figures, with full usage details outlined beforehand.
Happy to talk through specifics. Let me know what dates might work for you.
Regards,
Marco
Blaise sat back against the couch, phone still in her hand, a slow smile spreading across her face.
Mid-four figures. That was…good. That was very good. This could be the start of something major. Of her not worrying over every cent. She blew out a breath, blinking back tears. She sniffed and Beau woke up, looking at her.
She smiled. “Hey, baby. Everything’s okay. Everything’s better than okay, actually.”
She had the unmistakable sense that something wonderful was happening. Even better, she hadn’t responded too quickly after all.
She’d responded right on time.