“Who is her present employer?” I ask.
“I’m not certain if she’s on an independent contract or if she’s a full-time employee of The Riot Creative, but they are her primary employer—not the COE.”
“That’ll make things easier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Set it up.”
“Do you want me to set up a meeting between the two of you in private first, or move directly into a contract buyout with The Riot Creative CEO?”
I sit up and make a frustrated sound. The backs of my hands crackle with blue energy. “I want to meet with Mr. Singkham and Ms. Theriot first.”
“Of course,” she says, not batting an eye even though that was not one of her two suggestions.
“And I want you”—I point at Simon—“to set up meetings with the next three PR directors on Simone’s list. The short list, not the red one,” I say, disgusted.
“Done.”
“Go.” I wave my fingers at Simone and Simon and, as they leave, lean back in my seat. I pull up Monika Neumann’s social media, finding it surprisingly sparse of any personal content. It’s mostly photographs advertising her gallery; each of them has thousands of likes.
There’s the occasional shot of her posing in her gallery alongside others—posts that were clearly a collaboration. I find something off-putting about her as I swipe through one of the few self-portraits I find, though I’m not sure why. It’s not her looks, which are predictably human and, in that, unexceptional.
She has dark-brown skin and evidence in her features of an East Asian heritage. Her hair is cut short, straight across at her chin and fallsthere in waves. She’s got bangs, round cheeks, narrowed eyes, puffy lips, and a wide nose. A bigger girl, her tits and thighs are thick, and she’s got a waist. In the self-portrait I’m staring at, she’s wearing a short dress that hugs her body from cleavage to mid-thigh.
I don’t see many curvy girls online dressing sexy, I realize with a frown. The few that pop up in my feed, which is dominated by news—news aboutme—are usually expertly dressed and covering up all their soft bits. But not Monika. She’s not hiding. She’sconfident. More confident than I want her to be, given the conversation I’d like to have with her.
Returning to her self-portrait, I see that it’s a brand deal she has with Nikon advertising some model of camera. The caption readsOut from behind the lens, and the first picture is of her, seated sideways on a fluffy ottoman so that her profile is visible. It’s a black-and-white photograph, and she’s looking into the distance at something that’s got her smiling.
I roll my eyes. I mean, what’s she possibly smiling at? Her horde of cats? She’s gotcat ladywritten all over her. The rest of the pictures in that gallery are all the same: annoyingly sentimental, making her look unusually confident, content, and evensweet. As if she likes the life she has and has the life she likes. I can’t stand her already.
I’m about to exit the irritating app when I notice a single image that’snota photograph, but looks more like a flyer. Monika’s face appears on the front, surrounded by a frame that is made to look like paper lanterns. I click on it.
Bridging Cultures and Celebrating Success: Jinju Lantern Festival Kicks Off at the South Korean Embassy October 5th
I am so excited to be joining Ambassador Min-hyuk at the Korean Embassy to celebrate the Jinju Lantern Festival kickoff this fall! I still can’t believe I’ve beencounted among the guests of honor alongside some of the most influential South Koreans living in the US—including one of my personal icons, Elizabeth Cho, who founded the Gallery Reconstruction Project to provide space, and funding, for emerging artists to get their start. I am a personal recipient of one of Cho’s grants and can honestly say that I don’t know where I’d be without them ...
Yada yada.
As well as supermodel Grier Kim-young, one of the first biracial Black Koreans I ever met, outside of my own family oc, and who I had the pleasure of photographing almost a decade ago now.
Americans and Koreans and all are welcome! Come see me! I will be displaying some of my photographs as part of the South Korean Embassy’s Bridging Cultures series ...
“Simon!” I shout, forgetting that I already dismissed him. I angrily send him a text, which he takes two full minutes to reply to. I frown. Simone would have been faster.
He calls me instead of texting. I pick up the phone, hostility clogging my throat, which diminishes only somewhat when he begins speaking in response to my text right away. “Yes, Taranis. I spoke with PR and there was an invitation sent to our team for the event, but they declined as it doesn’t serve our interests.”
Our.Our, our, our. Who the fuck isour?
“Would you like me to have them go back and accept?”
“Yes ... no. No, actually. Don’t change anything.” My mind is working. I scroll back through her feed to the picture where she looks so happy, staring at her cats. “Check for me if Monika Neumann is single.”
“She is.”
“How do you know? Did you check?”
“Oh, I am ... I, um ... Well, you see ... the thing is that I kinda asked her out when she was photographing you and the other Champions for the Forty-Eight Hour Festival shoot, and she, uh ... she said she doesn’t date.”
