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

board called, wanting to confirm a few things on the meeting agenda. I sent her to your voicemail.”

Both Molly and I turned to address her at the same time—Molly giving her an excited wave and a thumbs-up while I . . . What are those shoes doing on Glo’s feet? No matter how I tried to tear my eyes away from them, I couldn’t stop staring. In nearly seven years of working with Glo in some capacity or another, I’d never seen her in anything but Birkenstocks or snow boots.

I blinked. “Uh . . . thank you. I’ll call her back in a few minutes.” I definitely had some agenda changes I needed to discuss for the upcoming board meeting.

“Oh, and Jake’s got Alex and Diego in the kitchen using power tools, FYI. They both arrived home from training early. It’s quite the comedy show in there. See you soon I hope, Molly,” Glo said as she turned and clacked away in a pair of black miniature heels.

“I’m sure it is,” I replied absently, still unable to understand what my eyes were seeing.

But then it all made sense. Slowly, I pivoted toward the woman who’d been on the premises for less than three total hours and yet had already managed to hack the closet of my most dedicated staff member. “Those ridiculous shoes are your doing, aren’t they?”

With a full-steam-ahead smile, Molly said, “You’ll have to be more specific. I can honestly say I’ve seen zero pairs of ridiculous shoes today.”

I sighed and ran a hand over my hair. “Never mind. I’ll see you Tuesday evening at five.”

“I’ll be there.”

10

Molly

The instant I sent my latest video off to Val to edit—a compare/contrast of the five most popular, budget-friendly denim brands on the market today—Ethan called me. I quickly saved the file, took a swig of my sparkling water, and answered.

“Molly? You there, babe?”

“Yes, sorry, I was taking a drink. Been a long day.”

“Oh, yeah? Finally working on those posts for The Path?”

I chuckled, ignoring his slight at the word finally. I’d been up since dawn trying to get everything in for my day job so that I could manage my new unpaid job located at Fir Crest Manor. “You mean The Bridge?”

“Oh, right. The Bridge.”

“Not quite yet, no. I’m still working on gathering what I need from them.” Like signed social media releases and permissions from a certain director. “Actually, I really can’t chat long right now.” I glanced at the time on my laptop and made a break for my bedroom down the hallway. I had less than fifty minutes to build the most teacher-worthy outfit I could for my big debut. “I have class tonight.”

“Well, this news will make your charity work feel a whole lot sweeter, because I just secured a killer new campaign for you. And if all goes according to plan, not only will it be the biggest check Makeup Matters with Molly has ever received, but it will also broaden your reach and visibility by a landslide.”

“Oh?” I flung open the door to my walk-in closet and flipped on the light. A rush of endorphins warmed my cheeks as I surveyed the options before me. “Who’s it with?”

“The Fit Glam Kit.”

I paused my perusal of appropriate blouses. “As in the monthly subscription box with the famous personal trainer who does random workouts in cities across the U.S. in random locations like parking lots and bridges and beaches and parks?”

“Yes, Sophia Richards. She has an incredible branding team.”

“Well, that’s, wow. That’s . . . surprising.” Especially considering I was not a personal trainer, nor was I interested in working out till I vomited up a lung. “And her company is wanting me to do what for them, exactly?”

His laugh was light, as if I’d just asked the most obvious question in the world. And perhaps I had, but he also knew how I felt about modeling workout gear, so I sincerely hoped his answer wouldn’t be—

“To model some of their summer workout gear. They’re looking for a fresh new face with a loyal yet trendy audience. I’m still working it all out with their marketing team, but basically, they’ll send me a list of things they want you to promote—specific poses with some of their gear and whatnot. They’re set to offer your viewers the biggest collaboration discount yet for this special box subscription. But they want you to be natural, of course. They know your face and personality are what sells the products.”

I sat back and stretched my neck side to side, wondering what he might be leaving out. He only talked a thousand miles an hour like this when there was something unpleasant he was withholding. I’d overheard several one-sided conversations with his clients while riding shotgun next to him to recognize what this hyperspeed meant.

Before I could ask him the specifics, he hit me with, “Molly, are you hearing me, babe? This deal could be huge. Bigger than huge. As in buy-your-parents-a-houseboat-for-their-retirement kind of huge. Imagine it with me: your face on a box, your quote on a water bottle, your body on a step-by-step guide on how to stay trim and cool in the hot summer sun. This could be a permanent collaboration if we play our cards right. I just sent back their initial offer, and I have high hopes they’ll take my renegotiated price.”

Before I could laugh at the idea of my parents retiring from full-time ministry to live on a fancy houseboat, my attention snagged on his last sentence. “You already renegotiated? But I hardly know anything about this yet.”

“What do you mean? I just told you about it.”

“No, like, I want to know what they expect me to do, what they want me to wear.” Because he knew just how much I loathed active photo shoots that involved jogging in place while wearing stretch pants and a sports bra. It just wasn’t me. And my viewers knew it. I was their go-to girl for makeup trends and fashion alerts and