Chapter 6 #2
She didn’t retract or soften them; he wasn’t a parent, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t understand how all-consuming it could be. She changed the subject instead, flipping the spotlight onto him.
“Was following in your father’s footsteps always your long-term plan?”
“Not exactly. Not at all, in fact.” He sighed, putting his water down in favor of his wineglass. “Life doesn’t always go to plan, though, does it? My father was very much a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy. I’m trying his approach on for size.”
The guarded expression on his face suggested there was a lot more to that conversation he didn’t feel inclined to share.
“Right. And how’s that going for you?”
“Up and down.”
“It sounds as if we’ve both found ourselves traveling down unexpected tracks,” she said, offering him an in if he wanted one. Finding out what made Charlie Francisco tick was high on her priority list, because earning her trust had gotten a whole lot harder since the Richard debacle.
He raised his glass and touched it to hers, awareness of her subtle attempts at digging reflected in his dark eyes.
“And now you’re all alone at sea, clutching a metaphorical door and hoping for rescue,” he said, seesawing the emphasis right back onto her.
“Fiona must think I’m a loose cannon,” she said.
“The connection between my brain and my mouth goes on the blink sometimes, words come out of their own accord.” His fork stilled midway to his mouth and she jumped in before he could ask the obvious question hovering on his lips.
“In unscripted situations, I mean. It never happened when I was acting, obviously. I’d like to plan for all possible Kate Dalloway conversations in advance, so I’m prepped and ready for anything. ”
“Dalloway?”
She’d said it so often in her own head as to not remember she hadn’t floated it officially. “What do you think?” She helped herself to spring greens and creamy mash.
“Kate Dalloway…” he said. “Let me think on it? It needs to feel natural, almost invisible, given the circumstances.”
Would it have killed him to just say yes?
“You really don’t remind me of your father very much at all,” she said, laying her cutlery down.
He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”
Ideas and energy had crackled in the air around Jojo Francisco. He was a morning sunrise to his son’s midnight sky. If there were stars in that sky, Charlie was doing a good job of obscuring them.
“Neither, it’s just an observation.”
“They’re big shoes to fill,” he conceded, then after a beat added, “or maybe you’re remembering him through rose-colored glasses. Your opinion of him might have been different now you’re…older.”
Ouch. “Old enough to realize Kate was totally right to let Leo float away from that door, if that’s what you mean,” she said, snarkily.
The corner of his mouth twitched as he refilled their glasses. “Knowing when to let go is no bad thing.”
“Sometimes you have no choice.” Kate reached for her glass, because the conversation felt something like picking her way over an active minefield.
“Do you have any siblings?” she asked, wading toward safer ground.
She hoped he did for his sake, because she could imagine that being Jojo’s child must have been quite an intense experience.
Charlie shook his head. “Just me.”
Kate flinched; she didn’t want to think of a life without Liv.
“I lean on my sister more than I should, probably,” she said, touching the silver bangles around her wrist. “I honestly don’t know how I’d have gotten through the breakup of my marriage without her.”
Charlie sighed, his dark eyes melancholy. “Alcohol and bad decisions, if you’re anything like me, which I’m sure you’re not.”
The starkness of his unexpected reply caught her off guard. “Experience in the divorce trenches?”
Charlie made a sound somewhere between a cynical laugh and a groan. “The trenches sounds about right. One too many skirmishes. No winners in that particular war.”
Liv’s gossip-hungry L.A. contacts had Charlie down as a walking red flag, enough to keep her guard up around him. Not enough to make her walk away from the job opportunity, though—she was getting into business with him, not into bed.
“Except the lawyers,” she said. Her credit card would probably never recover from the shock.
They fell silent, both aware they’d strayed from professional to personal.
“Anyway,” Charlie said, clearing his throat and the heavy mood, “I have a draft offer for you to look over.” He slid a slim document from the black leather folder on the table beside him.
“We’ve been back and forth with the publisher a fair few times because of the slightly unusual arrangement.
They suggested a flat fee given the unknowns involved, but we’ve pushed back for a signing fee plus traditional royalty percentage.
Lower than the usual percentage, of course, as the author themself needs to get paid, but enough to give you some skin in the game if it sells well. ”
In truth, the details went over Kate’s head, and she wasn’t sure if she should read the offer right there at the table or wait until she was alone on the train home. Curiosity won out and she flipped the front sheet, skimming the numbers.
“The signing fee is relatively modest,” Charlie said, watching her face. “But given the quality of the book and a decent marketing plan, I’m confident the percentage cut will work in your favor.”
Kate nodded, running her fingertip over the paperwork. The signing fee wasn’t especially modest given her current financially precarious position; it offered her a much-needed level of security to cover her bills and life expenses for the next six months or so, if she was cautious.
“Have you got a pen?” she said.
“You don’t need to sign it right away,” he said. “Take it home, look it over.”
“Is there anything in there designed to catch me out?”
“Kate, it’s my job to make sure no one tries to catch you out.”
“Then I guess we need to trust each other,” she said. “Pen?”
He passed his hand over his face, scrubbing his eyes. “Can I say something before you sign it?”
She took the pen he held out, then sat back a little in her chair, waiting.
“You already know that being a talent agent was never my life plan. Things had gone very badly for me over the last couple of years. Working with my father was the backup plan I didn’t see coming.
And then he died and, cards on the table, a lot of his clients either left the agency or were poached.
My list is pretty small right now—a couple of big names who stayed out of loyalty because the work comes to them, and a handful of lesser-known faces.
And now you, if you sign this contract. You’re not signing up with Jojo Francisco, and all of the associated razzamatazz that went along with his name.
You’re signing with me, Charlie, the guy left holding the reins. ”
Kate nodded slowly. “Well, now I’ve heard your soliloquy too, so we’re even.” Clicking the pen, she flipped to the back page of the contract and signed it with a flourish. “There, all done,” she said. “So what happens next?”
Charlie slid the contract back into his file. “Now the fun starts.”
He held her gaze, then cleared his throat and signaled for the bill.
—
Charlie watched her pick her way through the tables, auburn curls bouncing, not noticing the heads turned in her direction or the second glances over shoulders.
We need to trust each other. She couldn’t know how impactful her words had been.
Sighing, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.
As expected, a flurry of voice messages from Fi, because why would she type when she could just shout into her mobile?
An email from the author’s editor, Prue, too, checking he’d tied things up with the actor and outlining a barrage of ideas the PR team were excited to discuss.
He placed his phone face down and poured the last of the wine into his glass with a sense of unease.
He wished he’d been blessed with his father’s infamous gut instinct; he seemed to spend too much time questioning his own decisions these days.
He wasn’t Jojo Francisco, yet here he was attempting to walk in his daily-polished brown-leather brogues, sitting at his worn-smooth-by-deals desk and living in his outdated house.
Every decision he made was governed by the question of what would Jojo do, say, think.
This was his father’s furrow, his father’s life.
He finished the wine, unable to shake the thought that just as Kate was a ghost author, he was a ghost agent.