Chapter 48
It’s unfortunate that Camila had to call while Ingrid was sitting right next to Maggie. But to be honest, she didn’t care if Maggie overheard. The girl should know not to mistake her generosity for weakness. Ingrid can open doors. But she can just as quickly close those doors.
Charlie’s already at Louká in Beverly Hills when they arrive.
As Maggie slides into the space next to Charlie, Ingrid’s eyes do a double take.
For the first time, she notices Maggie’s blazer hanging delicately off her shoulders.
Not only are her shoes and clothes the same as Ingrid’s, her lipstick’s the same shade, too.
Even the way she’s styled her hair is the same.
How long has the girl been copying her style?
“Maggie Wang. It’s so good to meet you!” Maggie says, shaking his hand.
“Charlie Cooper, and likewise!” Charlie says, smiling. “So glad you could meet. Ingrid tells me you’re a novelist?”
“Yes!” Maggie says. “I’m working on my first book. And I’ve been helping Ingrid out with Summer Rain.”
Ingrid sits down. “She was there with me when I pitched it to Rebecca,” she tells Charlie.
Charlie swivels a finger between them.
“How did you two meet?” he asks.
Ingrid and Maggie exchange a look. “She…queried me!” Ingrid announces.
Charlie looks amused. He gives his drink a stir with his straw.
“Wow,” Charlie says. “Must have been some pitch!”
Maggie’s eyes twinkle. “Like the character of Isabella, I don’t wait for things to happen. I just kind of go for them! In fact, I have some ideas if you want to…” She starts reaching into her bag for some papers. What are you doing? Ingrid laughs nervously and gestures with her hand, Put that away.
“I don’t think Charlie has time to read anything at this meeting…”
“Oh, no, I have time!” Charlie says, leaning in.
“Great!” Maggie says, handing him the pages. “These are just preliminary ideas. And we can totally change any of this! But I just thought I’d write them out—”
Ingrid locks eyes with Maggie. Have you lost your mind?
“These are great!” Charlie says, reading quickly. He points to something on the page. “I like how you’re giving Isabella agency. And I agree, she should have some funny job in Europe. Something totally random.”
Maggie’s eyes widen. “Maybe she’s a DJ!” Ingrid almost chokes on her water. “For like, really sappy American songs they don’t really understand over there. Nineties love songs.”
To Ingrid’s surprise, Charlie is into it.
“Love that!” he says.
“And maybe she interviews people on her show, and they’re all these couples and they’re really unhappy!”
Ingrid is now full-on gawking at Maggie.
She told the girl not to get into specifics!
And here she is, spewing every little idea that pops into her head like it’s all confetti, the more the merrier, instead of a land mine that can get both of them killed if Charlie doesn’t like any part of what he hears.
It’s so hard to watch that Ingrid gets up and excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
Once there, she splashes cold water on her face, holding on to the edge of the sink as she stares at her reflection. She wills herself to get it together, march back into the dining room, and control her protégée, when she suddenly feels a gush of warm liquid between her thighs.
What the fuck?
She looks down at her white pants. There’s bright red blood seeping through them.
Mortified, she dives into a bathroom stall.
Is she getting her period? As she sits on the toilet and tries to mop up the mess of red with toilet paper, she curses herself for not bringing her purse in.
She’d packed tampons for just this occasion, but of course, she never thought it would really happen.
When at last her pants seem relatively dry, she sticks her head out of the stall.
There’s no maxi pad or tampon dispenser in the restaurant bathroom.
Cringing, she collects a thick ball of toilet paper and sticks it in her underwear.
She ties her blazer around her waist and creeps out of the bathroom like an embarrassed seventh grader. That’s when she hears her name.
“Ingrid?” a confused voice asks.
She turns around, only to see it’s Alec. What luck, to bump into him here, in the middle of a crowded restaurant, with a toilet paper snowball in her crotch.
“It is you!” he says.
Ingrid catches Maggie’s curious glance at the two of them, and Ingrid tries to hide her face.
“Listen, I feel bad about the other day,” Alec says, putting his hand on her arm. She stares at it. The hell is he doing? This place is crawling with industry people!
“Sorry, wrong person,” she says, twisting free and walking quickly back to her table.
Once back, she practically dunks her whole face in the bread basket, and she hears Charlie say, “Wow, that sounds incredible. I can’t wait to read it. Ingrid, why didn’t you tell me you were sitting on this insane memoir?”
Ingrid peeks up. “What?”
“Maggie’s book!” Charlie grins. “The one you optioned!”
“It’s a novel, not a memoir, actually,” the girl says brightly. “I just feel like there’s more room for truth in fiction?”
It takes every ounce of restraint for Ingrid not to yell STOP. What is Maggie doing? She hasn’t even gotten this job yet and she’s pitching him another project?
“I couldn’t agree more!” Charlie turns to Ingrid.
“Watch out, this one’s a firecracker! I can see why you’re excited about her.
” Before she can say anything, he leans over and whispers, “By the way, Camila’s out.
” Ingrid’s eyes light up with hope. Are you sure?
“Just heard from her agent; she’s pulling out. Whatever you did—”
“Is not important,” Ingrid immediately says.
Charlie smiles at Ingrid and turns back to Maggie to ask her for more details about her book.
—
“Well, that went well!” Maggie says in the car.
Ingrid nods. It did, miraculously. But it could have gone so horribly wrong, and the girl has no idea. “Don’t ever pitch the studio something again without running it by me first. Do you understand?”
“I’m so sorry, I was just—”
“You know the arms I had to twist to get you in?” Ingrid jerks her body, putting the car in reverse.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. He was asking me what else I was writing and I just got excited—”
“I don’t care how excited you got,” Ingrid says. “You run it by me first. That was wildly unprofessional.” As she puts the car into Drive, Ingrid grips her steering wheel, her knuckles white. Neither of them says a word when Charlie’s texts pop up on her car’s display.
Oh my God, I love her! You want to give her a shot, fine by me!
She can feel the heat of the girl’s excitement emanating from the passenger seat.
She leans toward Ingrid, satin-rose lips parted, legs bouncing, restless, dying to say something, to celebrate together.
But Ingrid keeps quiet. She needs Maggie to sit with the discomfort a little longer. To know none of this is by chance.
Charlie owed Ingrid a favor, and Ingrid chose to spend it on Maggie. She needs the girl to feel it in her bones—Ingrid can make and break her.