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“It’s not a film,” Odele said. “It’s a weight-loss commercial.”
Chiara’s jaw dropped. “But I’m not overweight!”
Odele’s eyes gleamed. “You could be.”
Chiara threw her hands up. “Odele, you’re ruthless.”
“It’s what makes me good at what I do. Slender You is looking for a new celebrity weight-loss spokesperson. The goodwill with fans alone is worth the pounds, but Slender You is willing to pay millions to the right person. If you land this contract, your DBI score will go up, and you’ll be more likely to land other endorsement deals.”
“No.” Her manager was all about Q scores and DBIs and any other rating that claimed to measure a celebrity’s appeal to the public. “Next you’ll be suggesting a reality show.”
Odele shook her head. “No, I only recommend it to clients who haven’t had a big acting job in at least five years. That’s not you, sweetie.”
For which Chiara would be forever grateful. She was having a hard enough time being the star of her own life without adding the artifice of a reality show to it.
“How about writing a book?” Odele asked, tilting her head.
“On what?”
“Anything! We’ll let your ghostwriter decide.”
“No, thanks. If I have a ghost, I won’t really be writing, will I?” Chiara responded tartly.
“You’re too honest for your own good, you know.” Odele sighed, and then suddenly brightened. “What about a fragrance?”
“I thought Dior just picked a new face for the brand.”
“They did. I’m talking about developing your own scent. Very lucrative these days.”
“You mean like Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds?”
“Right, right.” Odele warmed up. “We could call it Chiara. Or, wait, wait, Chiara Lucida! The name suggests a bright star.”
“How much is an Oscar worth?” Chiara joked, because her idea of becoming a big star involved winning a golden statuette.
“Of course, an Academy Award has value, but we want to monetize all income streams, sweetie. We want to grow and protect your brand.”
Chiara sighed, leaning against the walnut-paneled built-in cabinet behind her. There’d been a time when movie stars were just, well, movie stars. Now everyone was a brand. “There’s nothing wrong with my brand.”
“Yes, of course.” Odele paused for a beat. “Well, except for the teeny-weeny problem of your father popping up in the headlines from time to time.”
“Right.” How could she forget? How could anyone fail to remember when the tabloids followed the story breathlessly?
“How about a lifestyle brand like Gwyneth Paltrow or Jessica Alba has?” Odele offered.
“Maybe when I win an Academy Award or I have kids.” Both Alba and Paltrow had had children when they’d started their companies.
At the thought of kids, Chiara had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was thirty-two. She had an expiration date in Hollywood and a ticking clock for getting pregnant without spending thousands of dollars for chancy medical intervention. Unfortunately the two trains were on a collision course. If she was going to avert disaster, she needed to have a well-established career—er, Oscar—before she caved in to the public clamor for her to get a happily-ever-after with marriage and children.
Of course, she wanted kids. It was the husband or boyfriend part that she had a problem with. Michael Feran hadn’t set a sterling example for his only child. At least she thought she was his only child.
Ugh. Her family—or what remained of it—was so complicated. It wouldn’t even qualify as a Lifetime movie because there was no happy ending.
Still, the thought of a child of her own brought a pang. She’d have someone to love unconditionally, and who would love and need her in return. She’d avoid the mistakes that her parents had made. And she’d have something real—pure love—to hold on to in the maelstrom of celebrity.
“So,” Odele said pleasantly, “your other options aren’t too appealing. Let me know when you’re ready to consider dating Rick Serenghetti.”
Chiara stared at her manager. She had the sneaking suspicion that Odele had known all along where their conversation was heading. In all probability, her manager had been set on showing her the error of her ways and her earlier agreeableness had just been a feint. “You’re a shark, Odele.”
