“How was your Valentine’s weekend, Brent?” Javier began how he intended to go on, as if the two of them were good friends who wanted each other to succeed and would do anything to make that possible.
“It was fine, fine,” Brent said, nodding too much and not quite meeting Javier’s eyes.
Javier wished he hadn’t had that extra crumpet for breakfast that morning. “Did you do anything special for V-Day?” he asked, hanging onto hope and amiability by a thread.
“Yes, my wife and I went out to supper on Saturday night,” Brent answered, his shoulders still tense, even though he tried to smile. “You?”
“I had a relaxed day,” Javier answered. He almost added, “with my boyfriend,” but stopped himself. For the time being, Desmond was his glorious fantasy, and he didn’t want to share too much with anyone.
“I stayed home with my partner and watched cheesy films,” Maisy added.
“Sounds like the perfect way to mark the occasion,” Brent said, then cleared his throat.
In the infinitesimal pause that followed, Brent met Javier’s eyes, and Javier knew it was all over.
“So I wanted to speak to you in person,” Brent said, sitting forward and folding his hands on his desktop.
“I’m glad we could squeeze this meeting into our busy schedule,” Javier blurted, knowing he should have just kept quiet and let the man break it to him gently. He shouldn’t have lied about being busy either, but he had to save face somehow.
Brent smiled tightly. “I’m not sure this partnership is the best thing for both of us,” he said, his smile turning into a wince. “We’ve given it a good try, but it seems as if our goals aren’t aligned.”
Javier swallowed hard, tasting bile. “I hope we can come to some sort of a clearer understanding of each of our needs and move forward together, then,” he said. Every last warm fuzzy from his time with Desmond evaporated then and there, leaving him the same desperate, driven, teetering entrepreneur he’d been a week ago. “I believe that you share my vision fora non-exploitative industry where creators and talent work in collaboration.”
“I do share your ideals, Javier,” Brent said sadly, “I’m just not certain they’re feasible in a world where things have to move fast and where millions of dollars are on the line.”
“Is this about Olivia?” Maisy interrupted. “Because she didn’t like the clothing she was being asked to model?”
“It was a swimsuit shoot,” Brent explained as Javier’s stomach rolled. “There was always going to be skin exposure.”
“Was she comfortable?” Javier asked, wanting to defend his talent, even though he knew Olivia could be a pill about certain things.
“Arthur did his best to accommodate her,” Brent said, “but frankly, some of the clauses you have worked into your contracts aren’t enforceable. It wastes time if my directors are constantly working to make sure your talent feels secure in a business where the clock is ticking and everyone is always uncomfortable.”
Javier’s eyes went wide at that statement. But that was the crux of the problem he’d been fighting so hard to solve with his agency. Models were people, and people needed to feel safe to give their best. He could recall a dozen times in his own past where the director of the shoot or runway he’d walked had made the models feel like meat to be exposed and eaten. He didn’t like it for himself, and he didn’t want it for the talent working for him.
Which meant his partnership with Westferry Media Group was more or less over.
“It looks like we do have a mismatch of values,” he said, fighting to keep a calm, professional demeanor. The bridge was crossed, but it wouldn’t help anyone to burn it down behind him.
“I’m glad you understand,” Brent said. “Let’s talk about how we can untangle ourselves legally. And who knows? Maybe wecan sign you personally for some jobs. People in this industry still want to see your pretty face, you know.”
Javier fought not to wince. Yes, he knew. They wanted to look at him, not to take him seriously. Story of his life.
Half an hour later, Javier and Maisy were back out on the street as the office buildings around them started to empty for lunch, and Javier’s heart was in his feet.
“Well,” Maisy sighed, throwing up her arms in a hopeless gesture, “what do you want to do now, boss?”
If he was honest, Javier wanted to sprint for the river and throw himself in. He wanted to shake his fist at the sky and demand answers to why the world had to be so cold and calculating. He wanted to sit down where he was, bury his face in his hands, and mourn what was beginning to feel like the passing of his dream.
“Honestly,” he said, looking around hopelessly, “I want to call Desmond and see if he’s free for lunch.”
“Ooh!” Maisy brightened as if a bit of romance was more important than the downfall of a dream. “Don’t let me stop you. I can find my way back to the office on my own. I can think of some leads to follow up on to replace Westferry in our client list.”
It was a tiny spark of hope, but not much. “I would be happy with whatever new partners you can find,” he said, reaching into his coat for his phone.
“Don’t you worry, boss,” Maisy said, stepping over and lifting to her toes to kiss Javier’s cheek. “I’ll dig us out of this hole. You go have a good lunch with your man.” She stepped back and turned to walk on, but glanced back over her shoulder. “But don’t discount the idea of asking your new man for money either.”
Javier frowned. He didn’t want that to be the last sight of him that Maisy had as she walked away, but he couldn’t help it. Hewould not ask Desmond for money any more than he would go back to letting people ogle him and assume he was an airhead for a living. As he typed in a text letting Desmond know he was nearby and free for lunch, he was tempted to add that he would pay just so Desmond wouldn’t accidentally infer he wanted anything more than a shoulder to cry on.
