Page 43 of Going Viral for Christmas
“Victoria,” I beam. “Are you here to save me?”
Her return smile possesses the warmth of an ice sculpture. “When Renata called about this…arrangement,I deemed it best to oversee the legal framework myself. I don’t trust her–” Victoria’s eyes slide from Renata over to Camille. “–or anyone else to make it solid. No offense,” she says to both of them.
They exchange a nervous glance.
Victoria unzips her briefcase, pulls out her tablet, and produces a neatly tabbed contract the length of a medical textbook. “I’ve taken the liberty of contacting your agent, Mr. Pembry—Matthew, yes? We’ve completed the preliminary negotiations.”
Soren raises a brow. “Negotiations?”
“Yes,” she replies crisply. “The standard terms: image rights, social media deliverables, joint content creation, and public appearance obligations through New Year’s Eve. You’ll find a detailed engagement calendar on page eight, along with travel accommodations and the exclusivity and termination clauses.”
His eyes narrow. “Termination clause?”
Victoria’s sneer sharpens. “In the unlikely event either party choosesto dissolve the arrangement prematurely, there are contingencies for PR mitigation, NDA reinforcement, and reputational damage control.”
“Reputational damage control,” Soren echoes. He seems a tad confused, or maybe disappointed by that. Interesting.
“We don’t want any ShelfSpace drama unless we’re the ones monetizing it.” Victoria swipes the page on her tablet with a softsweep,then her eyes bounce between the two of us. “Any questions?”
“Is there an out?”
“Not unless one of you dies or develops a scandal juicier than this deal.” She checks her perfect manicure. “The internet loves this. So, congratulations, you're officially half of the holiday campaign. Play nice, smile pretty, and for the love of engagement metrics, make it believable.”
Soren’s visibly trying to decide whether he should laugh or bolt. “I’ll have my lawyer review it.”
“He already has,” Victoria replies to him. “You’ll find his notes in red, which is the color I assigned to him. I find it keeps things honest.”
Standing, she turns away to answer a call without a backward glance. “Victoria Hartwell speaking.” Pause. “No, I said exclusive rights, not excuses. Try listening for once—it’s a dying art, believe me, I know."
I exhale, disappointed.
Soren nudges me with his shoulder and whispers, “Your agent scares the shit out of me.”
“She once made a VP at Random House cry with a single sentence.”
His eyes widen, then he lets out a low whistle. “Hot.”
“Smoking,” I agree.
Even though Victoria might legally own my soul, I’m feeling a little more grounded knowing she’s got my back, on paper anyway. She’s terrifying, sure. She’s also the reason I sleep at night. After the first–very large, and almost career-ending–mistake I made in this industry years ago, I promised myself I’d never trust anyone to fight for me who couldn’t take a punch, or throw one.
Cue Victoria.
Sharp teeth. Iron spine. No mercy.
But better.
Eight
SOREN
The second I step back into my suite, I press my back against the door and breathe.
What a fucking day!
Grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchenette, I down half of it, and collapse onto the edge of the bed.
Battle-mages with trust issues got their due, and I somehow survived the onslaught of selfies, swooning, and a very enthusiastic grad student who tried to hand me her annotated thesis, complete with contact info and lipstick kisses. It was a standing-room-only crowd, three people in tears, one guy who fist-pumped at every mention of “shadow-forged vulnerability.” All in all, my lecture was a smashing success.
