Madeleine reddened.

Elena frowned, wondering what she wasn’t anxious to say. “I believe the bet still applies.”

“I told her there was nothing going on between us.”

“And she believed you? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“My earnest face?”

“I see. Now you evade the truth when it suits.”

“I don’t have any romantic interest in Natalii. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

“Why so late home, then?”

Madeleine’s face brightened. “Well, I got caught up in a great story. I’d tell you all about it, but I’m not sure I want to give it to you. I mean the interview took place when I was no longer a Bartell Corp employee. So, really, I could take it anywhere. Make a bundle, too. Especially with the global distribution rights.”

Elena went very, very still. Could she mean…? But how? No. It was impossible. But then again, Madeleine had been talking to her daughter today, so…it was possible.

“Madeleine, are you saying what I think you are? That you have an interview with…” She stared at her, raking her face for evidence of a lie. “You have…”

Madeleine reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She scrolled to a photo of Natalii Duchamp, sitting on the floor, legs straight out in front of her; black, chunky boots sticking up under a glorious, white tulle and taffeta dress. Her famous mother was leaning forward, adjusting the back of it, her half-moon spectacles perched on her nose and a row of pins sticking comically out of her mouth.

“Interview? Yes. Four hours’ worth. And photos. Of the new line. Which I have approval to run in the magazine of my choice.” Madeleine spun the phone all the way around to face Elena. She shot her a cheeky grin. “So, you’d better up your game on that professional wooing. Make it good.”

Elena’s hands had the faintest tremble, as she cradled the phone and stared at the photo. “Are there more?” Her voice was almost a croak.

Madeleine chuckled and swiped to the next one.

Here, Véronique was standing back, admiring another dress on her daughter, while Natalii looked right at the camera, all swagger and charm. It was intimate, yet breathtaking. There was vulnerability there, too. It was unexpected from one normally so guarded.

Elena allowed a faint gasp. “They definitely said you could use these?” She swiped to the next photo, and her eyes widened at what she saw.

“Yep,” Madeleine said. “They loved them. They asked for prints after the story runs. Oh, that one there, that’s Véronique’s favourite.”

The photo showed the designer adjusting the collar on a resplendent, satin women’s pant suit, as her daughter glanced up at her, seeming impressed by the outfit and certainly unaware she was showing so much affection for her mother. It was a candid and powerful portrait.

“What resolution are these?” Elena asked almost fearfully. “What DPI?”

“I had my phone set on maximum. Here.” She tapped a button, and the photo’s properties appeared. “See? That’s okay, right?”

Elena exhaled in relief at the numbers. “Inside, these shots will be fine as they are. As for the cover, it’s right on the edge of acceptable. But have you ever heard the saying ‘black and white hides all sins’?”

“No.”

“Graphic designers have long known that if you turn a colour image to black and white, it looks artistic and interesting, even with flaws, instead of just low quality. Any of these would make a striking cover.” She skipped past the next few shots and tapped the screen with her nail. “These are quite remarkable, Madeleine. Truly. You should be proud of yourself.”

She lowered the phone carefully, her heart beating faster. For thirty years, no one had succeeded in getting this. And now? She slid her gaze over to Madeleine, filled with pride in her. A blinding thought struck, and Elena had to look away as she realised what it meant.

Madeleine, apparently now well used to her every twitch and expression, studied her in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Elena shook her head. “I just had a thought. But not now. Later. All right, I suppose you wish to write the story yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you have never written a feature article for any magazine in your life?”

“Yes.” Madeleine’s tone shifted to cautious.

“And you’ve certainly never written a fashion story.”

“No.”

“And yet you want to write this one, even though you will be on an exceedingly tight deadline?”

“I’m a fast writer.”

“Hmm,” Elena said in her most neutral tone. “You know I could put one of our top writers on it. You’d get full credit as the person Véronique spoke to and prominent photo credits. And you would not have to lift a finger, knowing your story would be in exceptional hands.”

“No! No way. Give away the story of a lifetime? I can’t believe you even asked.”

Elena tried to hide her smile. “Well. To the finer points. You are aware of Style Sydney’s going rate? It’s eighty cents per printed word for an unknown freelancer. I’m prepared to double it.”

Madeleine stared. Incredulity washed over her face.

“Well?” Elena asked archly.

“Elena, I come up with the best fashion scoop in thirty years, which has international syndication potential and photos that even you call remarkable, and you offer me that? If you’re trying to drive me to Emmanuelle Lecoq, this is a brilliant strategy.”

Elena’s jaw tightened at the mention of her arch rival. “Well, what do you suggest?”

Maddie gave her an impish look. “Why don’t we skip the negotiations, and you just tell me what your best offer is—and please try and be brutally honest.”

Elena stared, unable to believe the audacity. Then she smiled. It was her full smile, the one she rarely shared with anyone, and she felt a ridiculous amount of amusement at the confusion that flooded Madeleine’s face.

“Good,” Elena replied, “there’s hope for you yet. Women must never be a pushover in negotiations. Too many devalue their own worth or, worse, try to be people pleasers. Excellent. Come along,” she said as the car came to a stop outside her home. “I believe some professional wooing is in order.”

At Maddie’s still stunned expression and lack of movement, Elena smirked. “Well? Do you want a deal or not?”

CHAPTER 19

Reaching an Understanding

“Oh my God, you weren’t kidding.” Maddie sighed after her first mouthful of double-chocolate fudge cake. Her taste buds did a happy dance. They were in Elena’s kitchen, perched on a pair of facing bar stools at the wide, central island. “When you woo a girl, you really do. This is gorgeous. How did you know I’d like it? God, how is it you even have food this decadent in your house?”