All That Really Matters by Nicole Deese (new books to read TXT) 📕

well have been written in hieroglyphics: my contract with The Fit Glam Kit and my agency contract with Cobalt Group. If I did find a way out of this mess, what would that even mean for me? And . . . oh gosh. What would it mean for Mr. Greggorio’s Dream Big Scholarship offer? My gut twisted to the point I could be sick. I was currently living out the plot of a bad TV drama titled Why You Never Date Your Talent Manager.

Only a lawyer could understand the vocabulary in either of these contracts.

I threw myself back against my desk chair and rolled to the far side of the empty studio space, careful not to bump the expensive camera set up behind me. And then I had what could be my worst idea ever. I breathed out a shaky breath and scrolled through my contacts to find The Duke of Fir Crest Manor.

Molly

Does passing the bar exam mean you might be able to offer me some legal advice?

I sent it off, then immediately regretted it. What was I doing? I couldn’t involve Silas. First of all, he had enough responsibilities to attend to for The Bridge. Second of all, it’s not like I could ever tell him about the whole Girls Gone Tubee incident at Sophia Richards’s house. And third of all, he was Silas. S-i-l-a-s!

Just as I contemplated sending him a just kidding with a laughing face emoji, he responded.

The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

You need help?

Why did his response make my throat burn? I hadn’t even told him the issue yet, and his first thought was to ask if I needed help? It was difficult not to do a mental compare and contrast of Ethan and Silas. I wouldn’t even need to create a social media poll for that one. The answer to Who’s the better man? was shockingly clear.

Molly

What if I told you I’d just robbed a supermarket?

The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

I’d ask if you used your hair accessories as weapons.

I pressed my lips into a flat smile, returning to my laptop again and sobering quickly at the reality staring me in the face.

Molly

I’m concerned I might be in breach of contract, and I’m not sure what all that entails. I know you’re busy, so there’s no obligation to help me. But if you had a minute, I would gladly pay you for your time.

This time his answer came slower.

The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

Can I call you in ten minutes? Do you have the contract with you?

Molly

Yes and yes.

The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

Do you feel comfortable sending it to me?

Heat flushed my cheeks. The real answer? No. I wasn’t comfortable sending anything I didn’t understand. Especially when it involved my brand and my body.

The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

Would you rather meet in person?

Oh gosh. I stood up, paced several steps away from my desk, and then sat back down. Why did an in-person meeting with Silas seem a lot more serious? Because this is serious. Potentially, this could be very, very serious. Truth was, I didn’t know how much trouble I was in or how much liability I could pin on Ethan and Cobalt. My final words to him had been spoken out of sheer desperation and a teensy bit of hope.

Molly

I could meet you, but I don’t live close to Fir Crest.

The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

I’m just leaving my parents’ house, actually. I’m in Harper.

Harper was only ten minutes from my house.

Molly

Do you know the old Western Burger House on 7th and Applewood? I could meet you there in fifteen minutes?

The Duke of Fir Crest Manor

I’ll be there.

Molly

Thank you.

His back was to me as he walked through the old ranch style restaurant, but even if it wasn’t, I could have pointed Silas out of a crowd anywhere and anytime. And that had little to do with the striking shade of his skin or his midnight-black hair.

Though he was dressed in the most casual outfit I’d seen him in yet—army green cargo shorts and a black cotton tee—he could just as easily have been wearing an Armani suit. Silas carried himself the way royalty did: with a posture of unmistakable authority and confidence.

I gave a small wave as he turned toward the back of the dining area, and something flipped in my abdomen the instant he registered me. Self-consciousness heated my body from the inside out. Though I’d zipped up my navy Adidas jogging jacket to my chin and tugged the sleeves down to cover my entire speckled hand, I was under no false illusions about my hideous appearance.

I looked like I had a bad case of freckled jaundice.

The two swipes of mascara I’d added to my top lashes, along with a squeeze of lip gloss on my lips, weren’t nearly enough to distract from my radioactive glow. But when faced with a time frame of only a few minutes to get legal advice for a possible breach of contract or apply a full face of makeup . . . my contour compact did not have a chance at winning. Well, maybe a small chance. But still. This meeting took priority.

Silas pulled out his wooden chair, sat, and looked me over. I prepared for his first words to be one of the following: Did you contract a tropical skin disease since last we spoke? Or If you create videos about makeup, then why aren’t you wearing any?

I didn’t expect his quiet yet contemplative, “Are you okay?”

Again, something in my stomach flipped. This time, for a very different reason.

“I had a self-tanning faux pas.”

He said nothing as he kept his questioning gaze steady on mine.

“It’s why my skin looks like this,” I continued nervously. “You see, the solution reacts to intense heat and sweating, and I did both within the first twenty-four hours. The heat and the sweating part, I mean. At the same time. It was a rookie mistake. Anyway, that’s why I’m orange in case you’re wondering.”

The slowest of nods, followed by,