Maddie hesitated. “I would be a fool not to consider all options. You taught me that, Elena.”
Elena pursed her lips but didn’t disagree.
“What would you have done if I had I sold it to her, though?”
Elena’s eyes narrowed. “You should be glad you’ll never find out.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very.”
“So you’d have blacklisted me? Just for taking a more competitive offer?” A surge of hurt and anger flooded her.
“Madeleine, I didn’t say that.” Elena shook her head. “This is business. I’m not nearly as petty as you clearly believe me to be. But I would have remembered where your loyalty lay, and that might sway my decisions at a later time. Do you understand?”
Maddie considered the vague threat of thwarted future opportunities. “I understand that you’re a valuable ally to have.”
“Then we understand each other perfectly.” Elena gleamed with satisfaction.
“But,” Maddie added, “that cuts both ways.”
Surprise crossed Elena’s face. “Oh?”
“At this hypothetical later date, I want you to remember who I chose to give this story to. I am also a valuable ally to have. Maybe not right at this moment, but we both know that’s about to change.”
A feline smile curled Elena’s mouth. “Well now, look who’s learned a few things.”
Maddie’s irritation rose. She was not some child to be mocked.
“No.” Elena offered an aggrieved sigh. “Whatever insult you took from that was unintended. I agree, we might be useful to each other in the future. Now, shall we move on? Can we tell Jonas that you approve his layout? Or do you have changes you wish to make?”
“No changes,” Maddie said, chastened. “It looks amazing.”
“Good.” Elena looked up. “I see Victor wants us to come over. Let’s find out what his evil, red editor’s pen has found in your copy. A word of warning about this process, thin skins are for fish only.”
Maddie gulped.
* * *
Hours later, Maddie felt like a filleted and processed sea bass. Every line, every word had been scrutinised to within an inch of its existence. And Elena’s insistence on fact-checking everything Véronique had said against what was known about her, to make sure dates and places lined up, was exhausting.
It turned out the fastidious designer was equally fastidious with her retelling, because there were no apparent errors or discrepancies. Nonetheless, come ten that evening, Maddie was worn out—an exhausted, sprawled lump of ex-assistant poured onto Elena’s fancy, white sofa, while the media juggernaut powered on around her.
Maddie had learned the hard way that evening that the definition of a professional writer was nothing to do with being the best or most skilled wordsmith. It was the person who could take criticism on the chin, learn from it, and move on. Defensiveness and plaintive pleas to reconsider a change were greeted with an incredulous glance—and that was just from Victor. Elena would give her a cool look and tell her to stop being precious, that the writer’s ego was irrelevant.
“You have to be willing to kill your babies,” Victor said kindly, after Elena and her withering commentary left the room. “Those great snippets in a story that we writers think are genius? Sometimes, you must take a leap of faith that there’s a reason why the expert is changing your words. You have to just be a pro and accept it. Let go.”
So, Maddie let it go. She’d learned a lot. The experience was invaluable. But right now, she was thoroughly wrung out.
Her contribution to any part of the process had long finished. Copy editors in the next room were just checking for final typos now, while Elena was stalking the house, barking down the phone about overtime agreements for printing-plant workers at Style’s presses. She’d even threatened the plant manager with a lawsuit if he left early, buck’s night or not.
Maddie suspected he was one best man who’d be missing his bachelor party, given the way Elena’s eyes glowed with satisfaction when she ended the call.
Elena turned to Maddie in the lounge, where she lay flopped, semi-comatose, her brain nine-tenths mush, and her socked feet curled up under her.
“Honestly,” Elena said with a smirk, “he made it sound like a night of ritualistic debauchery was somehow important. As though people don’t get married all the time.” Her eyes tightened, and the amusement fell away.
Maddie, so tired she could not see straight, let alone remember how to censor her words, said, “He never deserved you.”
Elena froze. “Excuse me?”
Maddie stared up at her and saw veiled anger along with exhaustion. She felt immediate regret. Now was not the time. The media mogul had been up half the night drowning her sorrows, on top of handling the adrenaline of the exclusive. She’d have to be down to emotional vapours herself. Maddie shouldn’t be going anywhere near her sore points right now.
“Sorry,” she said with as much sincerity as she could muster and closed her eyes, hoping Elena would take the opportunity to end the conversation.
“So am I,” Elena said. “About a lot of things. But that’s what I have lawyers and certain other people of questionable standing to correct for me.”
“Ah.” Maddie flickered her drooping eyes back open. She wondered idly just how spectacularly Elena was going to screw over her slimy ex-to-be.
“Mm. By the way, it’s done,” Elena said.
“What is?”
“Your story. Style’s Australian Fashion Week issue. The first comprehensive Véronique Duchamp interview the world has ever seen. It was put to bed five minutes ago. It’ll be on the presses within the hour.”
As the reality of the words hit her, Maddie sat up.
Elena smiled. “Congratulations, Madeleine. You’re about to be a legend in this town.”
