We say good night and go to our rooms. Now that we have real beds, it makes our living conditions less bad. The downside? I have to share a room with Gavin.
“Since when are you busy tomorrow?” Gavin asks, not even a minute after we settle into our beds.
“Why do you care?” I sneer at him.
He hesitates. “You’re not going to, you know,pull an Elena, are you?”
The offense is palpable. I want to challenge him to see if he even knows whatpull an Elenameans. Does he mean to take charge of my life? To turn something people consider worthless into something worthy? To capitalize on my popularity in the media by building a business off my image?
But he won’t get it. So I say, “I just don’t want to go. Is that a crime?”
He sighs. “I get that living here is beneath you, but couldn’t you at least try? You’re not the only one who’s lost everything.”
“Youhaven’t lost everything;Ihave,” I correct him. “I’ve lost the social clout I need to get booked for paid events.”
Gavin snorts.
“I don’t expect you to understand. Someone who’s had their future handed to them on a silver platter.” I must have struck a chord with him, because the smug smirk is gone from his face.
“Says the pot calling the kettle black,” he retorts.
“Just saying, while Dad took you under his wing, I was left to fend for myself,” I counter. “Unlike you, I’ve had to work for everything I have.”
“Was it hard jet-setting to luxury international resorts on private planes? The one-star Michelin restaurants weren’t good enough for you? You needed two or more to be satisfied?” He mock-cries, then abruptly stops. “News flash: No one feels sorry for you,” he deadpans.
My cheeks flare, and I taste bile. If he thinks I’m taking our privilege for granted, he’ssowrong.
I know what it seemed like on the outside. My life was a series ofCarolina, take Elena shopping. Carolina, take Elena to Cabo.It’s some people’s dream to be waited on hand and foot, but it wasn’t like that for me. I could tell what my parents were doing. In the aftermath of theVoguearticle, my parents treated me like the idiot child they were burdened with. They were keeping me busy so that I wouldn’t be in the way while they poured all their attention over Gavin. The one who would take over the business after Dad. The one who mattered.
If anyone is taking anything for granted, it’s Gavin. Because once this ordeal is over and It’s Ok! is up and running again, he will go back to being Dad’s protégé while I’ll have to find a way to rebuild everything I’ve created. After this I’ll have to pay to attend parties instead of the other way around.
I’m sure a therapist will have a field day unpacking what kind of lifelong impact it had on me to be the only one not included in the family business, but that’s for future me to worry about. Right now I have to figure out a way of getting in the public eye again so I can become financially independent in my own right.
Chapter 11
When I wake up the next morning, Mom and Dad have already left to meet with Mr.Ahn, and Gavin is at the observatory for a tour. Taking advantage of the empty home, I don’t waste a second. I grab the corded phone and dial the number I know by heart with renewed determination. Once the appeal is over, the first thing I’m going to do is ensure that I don’t have to live under the same roof as my family again. That means I have to make sure I’ll have enough paid public appearances to support my independent lifestyle. If anyone can get me back in the public eye, it’s Kiki Klineman, manager to the biggest names splashed across the society pages and tabloids. I’m sure she’ll know how to keep me relevant during my media hiatus. If only I could get through to her.
As the phone rings, my heartbeat races. I begin to worry Kiki won’t pick up because I’m calling from an unknown number. Just as I’m thinking this, however, she surprises me by picking up the call.
“Kiki Klineman,” she answers in her signature no-nonsense way. As a lifelong Manhattanite, she’s direct, cuts to the chase, and has one goal in mind: to maximize her clients’ earning potential.
“Thank God you picked up,” I say breathlessly. I was beginning to lose hope.
“Elena?” The disappointment in her tone is notable. “I was going to call you.”
“You were? Because I left you a bunch of messages. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.” I let out a nervous laugh. Kiki doesn’t laugh.
“Elena, sweetie,” she says icily. “I’m not avoiding you. I no longer represent you.”
“You’re dropping me?” The words come out like a shriek.
“Hon, I’m not dropping you, but the payment for your last invoice was declined.”
“Invoice?” I don’t recall paying her for her services directly. “Aren’t you paid on commission?”
“That’s correct. I get fifteen percent of all earnings from events booked through me. But with all your bookings canceled this month, fifteen percent of nothing is nothing. And as the contract states, if the commission fails to cover my fee, I need a minimum of twenty-five hundred dollars a month to retain my services. Bottom line: If I don’t get paid, then I can no longer work for you.”
A sound like a dying animal escapes my lips. I know she doesn’t mince her words, but her tough love feels extra hurtful today. Then again, I’ve never failed to make a payment on anything before. So maybe this is warranted.
