“Absolutely.” Eliza hurriedly gestured for the server, announcing as he arrived, “We’re ready for the wine. And a bit of the complimentary bread whenever you’re ready.”
“Bread is out,” Marguerite said when the basket arrived on the table. “I’ve always loved a good hunk of warm gluten, but I’m thinking I might have to abstain soon. Gluten-free is big. What a drag.”
“Tell me about it,” Eliza said, grabbing her newly filled glass of wine and taking a swig, forcing herself not to touch the delicious, steaming basket of bread on the table or the artisan garlic butter. “Speaking of, I have some ideas that I think could be fabulous for your image.”
“Is that so?”
“I have an entire proposal if you’d like to see it.” Eliza removed a binder, placed it tantalizingly on the table. “But I think we should order first. If, of course, there’s something here that works for you?”
Marguerite crooked her eyebrow, leaned forward. “Let’s cut to the chase, Eliza. You and I both know I’d really love to have the rack of ribs, but just in case someone’s watching, I’ve got to stick to my vegan shtick.” She flicked the menu open and scanned it with a frown. “Which of these would look best in a photo?”
Eliza forced a smile, then perused the menu. She pointed out some sort of eggplant parmesan dish that the server assured them was served on a beautiful platter.
“Why don’t I get the zucchini blossom?” Eliza said. “Then you can take a picture with whichever looks better.”
“I like the way you think,” Marguerite said. “Do you like zucchini?”
“Does anyone?”
A gleam entered Marguerite’s eyes. “Color me interested. You know, I was quite shocked when I got the email that you and Harold were parting ways. The rumors are that you were let go.”
“I’m going the road alone.” Eliza dodged the question.
“How does Roman feel about that?”
“He’s supportive.”
“Is he, then?” Marguerite’s eye flicked over to Eliza’s with a deliberate pause. “That’s good.”
“It’s not exactly his choice, seeing as it’s my career.”
“I agree it shouldn’t be his choice. I just wondered how he took the news.”
“I don’t really understand why you seem to dislike Roman so much.”
Eliza’s bluntness surprised even her, but it was a thought that had pricked at her mind for months. Ever since the author had started infusing little comments about Roman into the conversation every chance she could get. While she was embarrassed for blurting it out, Eliza wanted to hear the answer.
“I don’t trust him,” Marguerite said. “I think he’s holding you back.”
“Holding me back from what?”
“Are you happy in your relationship?” Marguerite’s cool blue eyes met Eliza’s. “Is Roman everything to you? Because that’s what you deserve. If he’s not, you have options.”
“Options,” Eliza echoed.
“I can help,” Marguerite said. “After all you’ve done for me, it’s the least I could do in return.”
“No, I—” Eliza shook her head, but her nerves were jangling. What had Marguerite seen in Roman to set her so off-kilter around Eliza’s husband? “Let’s forget about Roman for now.”
“Doll—”
“He’s not my biggest concern—that’s you. I’m opening the doors to Eliza Tate PR, and I’d like you to be my first client. I can assure you that with your next book, we can shoot you higher in ranks than ever before. The New York Times list. The Wall Street Journal.”
“Can you get Be Free on Oprah’s book club?”
“Better,” Eliza gushed, leaning forward. “Reese Witherspoon is in.”
“Tell me more about your proposal. And take the book off the table. Reading makes my eyes ache.”
Eliza removed the binder and stashed it in her bag. “Let me start by saying that you’ve got a great platform, and I’m going to make it better. You’ve roped in the mommy crowd, but I think we can do more. Let’s focus on the younger readers—those twenty-somethings who are perpetually scrolling through Instagram, sharing posts, shouting about their favorite authors, taking pretty photos of books and socks and—”
“Yes.” Marguerite pointed a finger at Eliza. “I love it. You understand me. And I understand you, Eliza. Better than you know.”
“I think I do,” Eliza said diplomatically. “And I’m ready to get started now. Let’s kick off your next project with a launch party.”
As she spoke, Eliza kept a constant watch on Marguerite’s wineglass to ensure it never got too empty. She herself hadn’t had more than a sip—she needed to stay sharp—but Marguerite was two and some glasses in and going steady. A greedy gleam had appeared in Marguerite’s eyes.
“A launch party? When?” Marguerite murmured. “Be Free doesn’t come out for another year.”
Eliza watched with pleasure as Marguerite reached for a hunk of warm bread and buttered it up, popping a slice in her mouth, too distracted by the images of success and fame to care about calories from gluten.
“Eliza Tate PR doesn’t do things like everyone else. We’ll have the social sites buzzing early,” Eliza said. “That’s one of the perks of signing with me. As my first client, you’ll be my absolute top priority. I am throwing all my eggs in your basket, Marguerite.”
“Go on.”
“I believe in you so much that I’m willing to gamble my career on it. I want to help you further your dreams of helping others.”
“How do you plan on helping me help others?”
Eliza cleared her throat, took a delicate sip of wine. Then looked Marguerite in the eye. “By selling a shitload of your books.”
Marguerite sat back in her seat and raised her glass. “Show me where to sign.”
Eliza grinned.
Marguerite tipped her wineglass toward Eliza. “No time to waste. Get out that binder, will you? Take notes. I want to get started. This launch party must be the place to be. I want paparazzi. Influencers. Can we get Reese there? Maybe one of her producers?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Eliza pulled out her binder as instructed, brazenly opening the cover to reveal a sheaf of blank pages three-hole punched and shoved inside. She watched with pleasure as understanding clicked in Marguerite’s eyes.
“Oh, you cocky little bitch.” Marguerite drained her glass. “You didn’t have a plan at all.”
“No, but I have this.” Eliza slipped a single-page document from the back folder of the binder. She slid it over, waiting while Marguerite skimmed the contract that would exclusively hitch Marguerite’s wagon to Eliza’s for the next year. Unabashed, Eliza slid a pen across the table.
Marguerite reached for it. Toying with the pen, she took the cover off and, with a faint click, clipped it on the back end. She eyed Eliza carefully.
“We’re going to do great things together, you and I,” Eliza said. “I can promise—nobody can stop us.”