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

I clicked out of my email inbox for the twentieth time since I’d woken up and tightened my high ponytail, letting the ends of my hair hang over my right shoulder. No matter what kind of emotional tug-of-war I was in, today was a work day.

Val had slated the Fresh Summer Faces tutorial to go live later this week, which meant I needed to do my part and actually film the compare/contrast of this year’s trending tinted moisturizers and top blemish balms—BB creams—and get it uploaded to her by the end of the day. Tomorrow would need to be reserved for selecting a dozen or so professional outfit options for another session of “Dress for Success” at The Bridge . . . as well as a brainstorming session with Silas on the upcoming fundraiser. Pulling together such an important event by the end of August and working a full-time job would be tight. Then again, I didn’t have to do any of it alone. There were twenty-four able-bodied residents I could recruit for help, plus my secret weapon—Val, the most resourceful woman I knew when it came to finding deals and generating fresh ideas on a budget.

I switched the camera remote to record, thankful the special exfoliant I’d concocted had removed every last trace of my self-tanner, and lifted the first foundation toward the red blinking light. While my mouth chatted away about the pros and cons of each product, my mind continually drifted to questions not even my subconscious wanted to face: What kind of woman dated a guy for nearly a year and didn’t feel much of anything when it was over? I definitely would not be googling such a question. The last thing I needed was for my social feeds to be consumed by sympathy offerings for a broken heart. Or worse, the unwanted encouragement to engage in risky behaviors. Like bang cutting. When would the world learn that hasty haircuts never solved anything?

After a solid first take, I squared my chin and smiled before signing off with a promise to be back soon with more from Makeup Matters with Molly. And I would be back. Because I didn’t need a manager like Ethan to be successful. And I certainly didn’t need a boyfriend like him to be happy. I’d learned how to make a living—meager as it was—before he’d ever come along on his flashy corporate horse and swept me into a world of wealthy campaigns and celebrity connections.

All I needed to do now was play my cards right where he was concerned. I’d push through these contracted months ahead the same way I pushed through every challenging hurdle in my life: by powering through and working hard.

Ethan might own a piece of my brand, but he didn’t own my face or my personality. He didn’t own me.

As soon as I plugged the camera in to my laptop to start the upload of the raw footage to Val, I saw a notification on my phone. New email from Ethan Carrington @ the Cobalt Group.

My stomach twisted at the thought of reading his reply. Only the email wasn’t addressed to me at all. It wasn’t a personal reply, but a group message. An interoffice memo.

Immediately the blood in my hands, arms, and torso cooled to a temperature that should be impossible midsummer. I zoomed in on the message, as if the words would make better sense if only they could be viewed in a larger font.

I was wrong.

Subject: Announcement: New assistant and editorial manager for Makeup Matters with Molly!

Let’s all congratulate Rosalyn Bronswick and her team members on this well-deserved promotion. Rosalyn comes with years of experience and glowing referrals from her past clientele. As you all know, Cobalt strives to acquire only the best and most reputable staff today’s marketing industry has to offer. Please accept our warmest Cobalt welcome to you, Rosalyn!

-Ethan

My hands shook as I fumbled to click out of the email screen and into my contacts. How dare he do this to me—to Val! I slid my finger down to Ethan’s name, making a mental note to change his contact name to something far more sinister once I had a moment to think.

After only half a ring, his voicemail cut in. “You have reached the voicemail of Ethan Carrington, vice president of the Cobalt Group. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as I can. Ciao.”

“Ethan, what exactly do you think you’re . . .” I clamped my teeth together until my jaw throbbed, realizing I was breaking the first rule of the new boundaries I’d set for our new business-partners-only status. Despite his juvenile behavior, I was a professional. And I had to act like it. For Val’s sake. As well as my own.

I couldn’t afford to lose at whatever game he was playing with my career.

I released a static-filled breath and cleared my throat. “Hello, this is Molly McKenzie. I just received notice of a staff change that pertains to my editorial team. As I’ve expressed before, I am not in need of a new personal assistant, as Val has both impeccable work ethic and creative ability. So if you’d kindly redirect your hiring of Ms. Bronswick to another influencer seeking her qualifications within Cobalt, I’d greatly appreciate it. Thank you.”

I hung up the phone, wanting nothing more than to smash something breakable into a thousand pieces, because I knew, I knew, there wouldn’t be any sort of contractual discrepancy that could clear this matter up. No, this could only be cleared up by a change of heart. And seeing as I was starting to think Ethan was void of that particular vital organ, that outcome seemed less than feasible at the moment.

On a long exhale, I held my eyes closed, remembering how I’d pushed Cobalt into hiring Val as a Cobalt employee as part of my initial representation negotiations with them. At the time, the idea had made the most sense. They had the big bucks after all,