Picture Perfect. Kate Forster

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ those years of practising her signature for when she was able to make her own decisions instead of the welfare department, and this was the first time she got to use it for something grown-up.

      With aching breasts and a breaking heart she pushed the papers over to the woman and nodded to her friend.

      ‘She’s yours now until I can come back,’ she said dully.

      ‘Would you like to hold her again?’ asked the woman.

      She shook her head.

      She knew that if she held her baby again, she would never let her go.

      ‘No, thank you, you’re her momma for now,’ she said, and the woman who at forty-five had nearly given up on being a mother, blinked and nodded.

      ‘Please. You should hold her again,’ said the woman as she walked over to the girl. ‘It will help you say goodbye.’

      But the girl shook her head and picked up the plastic bag that contained her few personal belongings.

      ‘There’s no goodbye,’ she said. ‘Just take care of her till I can. I’ll be back for her, I promise, and I’ll pay you back the money and take care of her myself.’ She spoke with absolute certainty.

      Without a backwards glance, she left the hospital room, her friend following, with a copy of the adoption documents, thirty thousand dollars and a desperate dream that one day she would have everything she ever wanted, including her baby girl.

       Chapter 1

       Los Angeles March 2015

      Zoe Greene checked her reflection in the mirror and carefully blotted her neutral-coloured lipstick. Her tawny hair was blow-dried straight, her make-up flawless but subtle. She never liked to take the attention away from her clients but she was a beautiful woman and men noticed her, although she rarely noticed them in return.

      Dating an actor was out of the question, she had yet to meet an actor who wasn’t self-obsessed, and the power-players in Hollywood didn’t want a relationship with a woman who might negotiate them out of their last million.

      She heard that familiar sniff in the stall behind her and rolled her eyes at the bathroom attendant. The only drug Zoe ever needed was making deals and the annual Vanity Fair Oscars party was the ultimate place to make the deal of a lifetime.

      Picking up her Judith Leiber clutch, she left the bathroom, ignoring the attendant’s offer of a spray of bespoke perfume.

      She didn’t need a spritz of perfume, she needed a stiff drink, but that would have to come later. First she had the meeting from hell to get through.

      ‘He’s ready,’ she heard from one of his assistants, who seemed to come out of nowhere to murmur in her ear. Squaring her shoulders, Zoe followed him into the private VIP room, where the truly famous partied together, away from the merely famous.

      Angie and Brad sat in corner, talking intently to Anderson Cooper; Maggie Hall, her best friend and truly famous movie star client, was discussing something at length with Charlize Theron, and Sandy Bullock was sitting on Clooney’s knee, laughing like they were the funniest two people in the room.

      Actually they were the funniest people in the room, Zoe thought as she walked towards Jeff Beerman’s table, trying to act nonchalant, but knowing all eyes were on her.

      She lifted her head out of pride, as though she were the one accepting the Oscar. This was her moment and she had damn well earned it, she told herself.

      She thought of the years of grovelling to men who couldn’t think without being told what to think about, men who dismissed her and asked her to get coffee when she walked into a meeting, men who tried to make deals with her while trying to get her into their bed.

      Zoe had never had a formal meeting with Jeff Beerman; she had only met him at industry events and parties, where he would usually have a circle of hangers-on, and an extremely beautiful girl on his arm when he was in between wives.

      Although the Oscars party wasn’t really a formal meeting, she still knew it was going to be the biggest moment of her professional life and if she was going to take a gamble, she might as well go for broke.

      Zoe’s poker face was the best in the business but a rare smile crossed her lips as she thought of her trump card, or manuscript, as it were.

      ‘What are you smiling at, Greene?’ Jeff asked with a curt nod of his grey head.

      He called everyone by their surnames, as though he was the captain of Hollywood and they were all his junior officers.

      ‘Nothing, just enjoying myself,’ she said, making sure her poker mask was firmly back in place.

      ‘You should smile more, it suits you,’ he said, as though this was a certain fact.

      ‘Thank you, I think,’ she answered, thankful she was wearing a simple yet elegant Calvin Klein black dress. This was not the time for big hair and low cleavage; she would leave that to the starlets. She was there for business and nothing more.

      ‘Don’t think, just smile,’ he said and Zoe laughed.

      ‘Isn’t that the standard advice you hand out to all your girlfriends?’ she half joked and then almost gasped at her lack of control.

      She was always in control, especially in meetings, but Jeff had disarmed her with that whole smiling schtick. She knew his game and she wasn’t about to play by his rules.

      ‘Give us a moment,’ he said to his assistant, not taking his eyes off Zoe. The man backed away quickly.

      ‘Sit,’ he ordered and she did.

      ‘You wanted to see me?’ she asked, as though she had anywhere better to be than at a private table with studio head Jeff Beerman.

      Jeff leaned forward. Maggie and Zoe had always agreed that he was handsome enough to be a movie star, except he loved the business of movies more than the films themselves.

      Like Zoe, he loved the deals but unlike Zoe he was a very rich man and, at times, a very despised man.

      ‘I hear you’ve just signed Hugh Cavell,’ he said, his eyes running over her, and she squared her shoulders and sat up straight.

      ‘I have,’ she answered, trying to be casual but professional.

      ‘I want the option to his book,’ he barked. ‘How much does he want for it?’

      His presumption annoyed her and fuelled by the thought of Hugh being her royal flush, she smiled sweetly.

      ‘You could try asking nicely, Jeff. Manners are free, you know.’

      ‘Don’t fuck me around, Greene. I want the rights to this book!’

      ‘You and everyone else,’ she answered, meeting his icy gaze.

      They stared at each other, СКАЧАТЬ