raising their bank account balance to four hundred pounds – although that wasn’t even half of next month’s payment, she thought glumly.
Could signing with this agent be the way out of the shop’s money problems?
‘ So what exactly did you mean by new revenue streams?’ Willow asked, trying to ignore the heat creeping into her face as Jay massaged her thumb.
‘ Well, you can see by how many fans have come to your village what power Marilyn Monroe still has. And if people really do think you’re Marilyn reincarnate – or that she has some kind of connection to you – you’ve got some of that power. Turn that into money and you’ll be raking in thousands, fast.’
Thousands? God, if only. But as much as the thought of getting the shop in the safety zone appealed, she couldn’t do it at the expense of poor, delusional people. ‘I don’t really want to exploit anyone.’
‘ You’re not exploiting them. As you’ve seen, they’re going to believe what they believe, whether you play along or not.’
Willow took a sip of the red wine George had set before her . ‘How much do you charge for all this?’
‘ Well, look.’ Jay leaned back in his chair. ‘Most agents take half of whatever you earn, but I’ll do it for forty per cent.’
Hm m. Forty seemed like a lot, but what did she know? He’d be doing all the behind-the-scenes work, while she’d be doing . . . what exactly? ‘Let’s say I did sign up. What would I have to do?’ She could smile and nod with the best of them, but no way could she morph into Marilyn Monroe overnight.
‘ Not too much.’ Jay waved a hand in the air. ‘But hey, let’s talk about this later. Right now, I just want to get to know all about you.’ He smiled and Willow felt her insides go soft as those long-lashed eyes met hers.
‘ Okay, well, I grew up here, worked in London for a bit, then moved back to live with my father,’ she began, wondering what else to tell him.
‘ And?’ Jay prompted, squeezing her hand. Another round of tingles went through her.
‘ N ow I help him out in the antique shop.’ Willow fell silent. What more could she say? That was basically life now in a nutshell. ‘And that’s about it,’ she finished grimly.
Jay raised his glass in the air. ‘Not if you stick with me, baby. Not if you stick with me.’
*
Betts’ s generous lips stretched in a yawn as she surveyed the buildings around her with a sinking heart. This was Belcherton – the home of the new Marilyn? She’d always pictured English villages full of those cute white houses topped with thatched roofs, lining cobblestone streets. This place looked more like the grounds of The Heinz factory back home.
Still! She was in England! Lucy and Tim had been almost hysterical at the airport, begging her not to go and exclaiming over and over she was too old to travel alone – and didn’t she realise what happened to elderly divorcées on holiday? Goodness knows what kind of TV shows they’d been watching. And it wasn’t like she was elderly, anyway – fifty-nine was a spring chicken these days. She’d shaken them off and, despite the volcano of fear bubbling inside, had boarded the plane.
After a nightmare transfer at Heathrow where she couldn’t understand anyone even though they’d apparently been speaking English, she’d finally managed to find the right connection for the bus for Belcherton. Two hours later, here she was.
But now what? Betts bit her lip as she looked up and down the busy street. Maybe she should have thought this through more. In her eagerness to get here, she hadn’t even booked a place to stay, figuring she’d go with the flow and find one upon arrival. She fluffed up her curls and slicked on some ruby red lipstick, then dragged her wheelie suitcase across the broken asphalt toward what looked to be the centre of town.
Ah, here wa s the tourist information booth, located inside a bus shelter. Kind of strange, but perhaps it was a
Could signing with this agent be the way out of the shop’s money problems?
‘ So what exactly did you mean by new revenue streams?’ Willow asked, trying to ignore the heat creeping into her face as Jay massaged her thumb.
‘ Well, you can see by how many fans have come to your village what power Marilyn Monroe still has. And if people really do think you’re Marilyn reincarnate – or that she has some kind of connection to you – you’ve got some of that power. Turn that into money and you’ll be raking in thousands, fast.’
Thousands? God, if only. But as much as the thought of getting the shop in the safety zone appealed, she couldn’t do it at the expense of poor, delusional people. ‘I don’t really want to exploit anyone.’
‘ You’re not exploiting them. As you’ve seen, they’re going to believe what they believe, whether you play along or not.’
Willow took a sip of the red wine George had set before her . ‘How much do you charge for all this?’
‘ Well, look.’ Jay leaned back in his chair. ‘Most agents take half of whatever you earn, but I’ll do it for forty per cent.’
Hm m. Forty seemed like a lot, but what did she know? He’d be doing all the behind-the-scenes work, while she’d be doing . . . what exactly? ‘Let’s say I did sign up. What would I have to do?’ She could smile and nod with the best of them, but no way could she morph into Marilyn Monroe overnight.
‘ Not too much.’ Jay waved a hand in the air. ‘But hey, let’s talk about this later. Right now, I just want to get to know all about you.’ He smiled and Willow felt her insides go soft as those long-lashed eyes met hers.
‘ Okay, well, I grew up here, worked in London for a bit, then moved back to live with my father,’ she began, wondering what else to tell him.
‘ And?’ Jay prompted, squeezing her hand. Another round of tingles went through her.
‘ N ow I help him out in the antique shop.’ Willow fell silent. What more could she say? That was basically life now in a nutshell. ‘And that’s about it,’ she finished grimly.
Jay raised his glass in the air. ‘Not if you stick with me, baby. Not if you stick with me.’
*
Betts’ s generous lips stretched in a yawn as she surveyed the buildings around her with a sinking heart. This was Belcherton – the home of the new Marilyn? She’d always pictured English villages full of those cute white houses topped with thatched roofs, lining cobblestone streets. This place looked more like the grounds of The Heinz factory back home.
Still! She was in England! Lucy and Tim had been almost hysterical at the airport, begging her not to go and exclaiming over and over she was too old to travel alone – and didn’t she realise what happened to elderly divorcées on holiday? Goodness knows what kind of TV shows they’d been watching. And it wasn’t like she was elderly, anyway – fifty-nine was a spring chicken these days. She’d shaken them off and, despite the volcano of fear bubbling inside, had boarded the plane.
After a nightmare transfer at Heathrow where she couldn’t understand anyone even though they’d apparently been speaking English, she’d finally managed to find the right connection for the bus for Belcherton. Two hours later, here she was.
But now what? Betts bit her lip as she looked up and down the busy street. Maybe she should have thought this through more. In her eagerness to get here, she hadn’t even booked a place to stay, figuring she’d go with the flow and find one upon arrival. She fluffed up her curls and slicked on some ruby red lipstick, then dragged her wheelie suitcase across the broken asphalt toward what looked to be the centre of town.
Ah, here wa s the tourist information booth, located inside a bus shelter. Kind of strange, but perhaps it was a
Similar Books
