All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

interviews; she didn’t fail at anything. “Nothing some caffeine won’t fix as soon as I’m done here.” I smiled bigger, hoping the internal shadow lurking within wasn’t as obvious to an onlooker. While my makeup artist had been fantastic, masking the dark moons under my eyes and giving me just the right amount of color to lift my cheekbones, she wasn’t a magician.

“I’m sorry the delivery service got your order wrong this morning. I even double-checked it all before I submitted the address. I’m still not sure how a triple shot unsweetened coconut milk latte with one pump vanilla translated to an extra hot Americano. If I could deliver the right drink to you myself, I would.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Besides, technically, according to the anti-inflammatory cleanse I’m on, I’m not supposed to have anything but hot water or green tea until after the shoot. But if you ever decide to personally deliver me a drink, I’d drink whatever you bring me. Promise.” She laughed at this, though she had to know I meant it by now. I’d been hinting around for a reason for Val to visit the lower forty-eight—as she called it—since she became my assistant full-time nearly three years ago. But apparently when you’re four generations deep in Skagway, Alaska, a single parent to the only grandchild her parents have, and have a crippling fear of flying, there isn’t a lot of motivation to leave home. Which is exactly why I’d been promising her I’d take a trip there to Alaska for . . . well, awhile now. I really needed to get that on my calendar. Again.

Thankfully, though, Val was as savvy with technology as she was with current fashion trends, and we rarely went a day without speaking, much less video chatting. Bottom line: I never wanted to do Makeup Matters without her by my side.

“You know what I was thinking about yesterday?” she asked. “That first tinted lip balm company that reached out to us. Remember? We were absolutely giddy at the thought of your lips being on a sponsored campaign ad.”

I laughed, and the action seemed to loosen some of the tightness in my chest. That call felt like ages ago. A different lifetime, really, back when I was paying Val an hourly wage I could barely afford. “I never knew how badly lips could hurt from practicing a pout hold for days on end. But at least I didn’t have to do a cleanse.” My stomach grumbled at the thought of the burrito Ethan was picking up for me later.

“True, but look where you are now. The Fashion Emporium.” Val said it with the awe and wonder of a tour guide showing the Grand Canyon to people who’d just regained their sight. “The opportunities you’ve had this last year since signing on with the Cobalt Group have been nothing short of incredible. And I couldn’t be more excited about what’s to come.”

“The opportunities we’ve had, you mean.” One of my stipulations for signing with Ethan was making sure Val was taken care of—and she had been. She was still my assistant, but she was on Cobalt’s payroll, since they were able to offer her the benefit package she needed as a single mom. It had been a perfect union in every way.

“Right,” she said. “Yes.” Her voice wavered, though—enough to make my eyes flick back to her face.

“What?” I asked, scrutinizing her uneasy expression in my phone. “What’s that look for?”

By the sound of her sigh, I knew whatever it was, it wasn’t something flippant. Val didn’t have time to worry about frivolous things. Nor was she prone to creating drama. Quite the opposite, actually.

“I’ve been debating mentioning something to you all morning, but I certainly didn’t want to bring it up before your shoot. It can wait.”

“Which means you absolutely should mention it and that it can’t wait. Now is as good a time as any. What’s up?” I bent down to buckle the ankle strap of my heels, then began collecting the empty hangers.

“I saw something I don’t think I was supposed to see . . . an email thread between Ethan and his assistant and a few other staff members at Cobalt. I’m fairly certain I was copied by mistake.”

I stopped with the hangers. “What kind of emails?”

“They mostly pertained to building up your brand, networking with bigger-name celebrities, and the possibility of hiring a ghost poster for your account.”

“No way. I don’t need a ghost poster.” It was a subject Ethan and I had hashed out multiple times before. Though I could see the time-saving benefit of someone else posting still shots for me on sponsored products or informal fashion polls, I didn’t need someone else pretending to be me when I was more than capable of meeting the responsibilities of my brand head on.

There was only one Molly needed for Makeup Matters with Molly. And that was me.

“I know how you feel about ghost posting, but that wasn’t all. Ethan also mentioned he was considering re-staffing your marketing team with more widely known professionals in the industry. He said he thinks your current team is holding you back.”

“What? No way. That’s insane. I’d never agree to that. Ethan knows how important you are to me. I’m sure that can’t be what he meant.”

“It’s just,” she went on, clearly not assured at all, “this job has meant the world for me and Tucker. To lose it would be—”

“Val, listen. Please. Whatever you read, whatever unfortunate brainstorming was discussed on that email thread, you being replaced is not ever going to happen. Ethan is just hyped-up right now because of this next big opportunity with the makeover show. He has a lot on the line—”

“But so do you, Molly.” She studied me through the phone screen, the same way she’d done for the past three years. “I realize your career has grown beyond what we ever hoped it would, and I want to be realistic about that. I want you to be realistic