Page 90 of Between the Lines

But this wasn’t a text.

It was an email.

Blaise stared at the subject line for a full second before she opened it. Interested in booking you.

She half-expected the message to disappear if she blinked. It didn’t. She opened it and read on.

Hello Ms. Monroe,

My name is Marco Alvarez, and I’m a designer based in Miami. I heard you on a podcast this morning (sent to me by my assistant) and immediately looked up your website, thrilled to see that you are still working. I wanted to reach out personally…

The email continued.

He wrote about her presence. About how she was an icon. Then he explained about his new collection aimed at women who didn’t want to disappear into “age-appropriate” blandness. He asked if she’d be interested in representing his brand in a photoshoot in Miami, dates to be discussed.

Then he’d asked what her rate was.

Her rate. She could actually be on the verge of earning money again. Was this seriously happening? She read the email again, more slowly.

Blaise put the laptop aside gently, like any sudden movement might break something, and pressed her hand to her chest. This was not what she’d expected when she launched the site. Not this soon anyway. Maybe not ever.

“Well,” she said softly to the empty room. “I guess I was wrong.”

Beau shifted in his bed, rolling over to warm his other side.

She took her coffee into the kitchen and poured it over a glass of ice, then leaned on the counter and drank while she thought.

She hadn’t been prepared for this to happen so quickly, but it was a good sign. It had to be. If she could book a few jobs now and then, it might not even matter if she got a book deal.

She took her iced coffee back to the couch and reread the email, this time letting herself really take it in. Miami was doable. She looked Marco Alverez up. He was a legitimate designer, and his brand had a focused point of view. Bright, beachy clothes that were still sophisticated while being very wearable.

His line had a very Palm Beach look. It was definitely something she could feel comfortable doing.

Best of all, this didn’t appear to be a scam. This felt real. And if he was real, then obviously, so was his offer.

Her excitement sharpened into something more practical almost immediately. If this was genuine—and it certainly felt that way—then she needed to respond like a professional. Which meant knowing what to charge.

Which she didn’t, because this wasn’t the ’90s anymore.

Blaise opened a new tab and started researching. Full-day and half-day rates. What photographers charged, what models charged, what established names charged. Then she tried to figure out where she might reasonably fall in that spectrum.

She scribbled notes on the legal pad beside her, numbers circled and crossed out as she adjusted them. Her pulse raced as she looked at the figures, but it wasn’t nerves this time. It was excitement.

She might need Joe to review the contract for her. She’d pay him, of course. This was business, after all. And she’d be able to pay Maude for the website.

The offer was great but it wasn’t the entire point. The idea that she might earn again, this time on her own terms, doing something that she felt like she was in control of—sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with validation and everything to do with possibility.

This could mean a world of difference for her future. The very thought that she might be able to feel comfortable with her finances again seemed almost indulgent. But that was why she’d started this whole thing.

Blaise stared at the screen a moment longer, her mind going in a thousand directions. She shook herself out of it. Time to focus and respond. This was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to miss.

She hit Reply and started typing, keeping it simple.

Hi Marco,

Thank you so much for reaching out. I’m flattered you thought of me for your shoot. I’d love to hear more. Could you let me know the dates you’re considering so I can check my availability? I’d also appreciate a sense of the budget you have in mind.

Best,