Chapter 3
It was a message from that secret number, the one nobody else knew about.
I glanced at it. The studio's finance team had sent over this month's earnings report.
Video earnings: 290,000 dollars.
Brand deal revenue: 530,000 dollars.
Collab product royalties: 680,000 dollars.
Monthly total: 1,490,000 dollars.
I locked my phone.
"I really do have enough," I said.
Two weeks later, I handed in my resignation.
When HR asked why, I just said it was for personal reasons.
When Monica found out, she made sure to "casually" stroll past my desk, like she just happened to be there.
"So, I heard you're leaving?" Monica said, her tone all fake concern.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Well, that's probably for the best. A new environment might be good for you," she said, pausing just long enough to make it sting. "Honestly, having you here every day makes Eric pretty uneasy."
I packed the last folder into the box, closing up my desk for good.
"Send him my thanks for all that awkwardness," Claire said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.
Monica's face twitched for a moment, but she kept that fake smile glued on.
"Claire, I know this must sting, but life goes on. You're thirty now. Maybe it's time to get back in shape, dress up a little, and who knows? You might snag yourself a new man," Monica said, her voice oozing with phony sympathy.
I hefted the box and gave her a look that said, "Enough."
"Spare me your concern," I replied.
As I walked out the company doors, I let out a long breath.
It wasn't relief.
It was finally not having to pretend anymore.
No more playing that ex-wife making 1,500 dollars a month, always keeping my head down, ignored by my ex and his side chick.
It was the third day after I quit.
I called up the studio's operations director, Oliver.
"Chef Claire! You're finally free! We've got a mountain of stuff waiting for you..." Oliver said, sounding relieved.
"I know. Starting tomorrow, I'll have four hours free every afternoon," I said.
"That's great! Uh, Chef Claire, there's something I need to talk to you about."
"What is it?"
"Savory Labs wants to do a big collab with us."
"What kind of deal are we talking about?"
"They're offering a one-year exclusive deal for 4 million dollars."
"Does their brand positioning align with ours?"
"Yes, their focus is on promoting healthy eating for families, which matches your direction perfectly."
"Alright, let's schedule a meeting to discuss the details."
"Got it. Oh, and by the way, Savory Labs is actually owned by Horizon Group."
My hand stilled for a moment.
Horizon Group.
Eric's company's biggest client.
"Is that a problem?" Oliver asked.
"No," I said. "Let's go ahead with the meeting."
After hanging up, I pulled up the studio's analytics dashboard.
Total followers across all platforms: 26.8 million.
Average video views last month: 38 million.
Brand valuation (latest independent valuation): 150 million dollars.
Eric had no clue about any of these numbers.
None of my coworkers had a clue either.
Monica was the most clueless of all.
All they knew was Claire, the ex-wife who'd packed on forty pounds, made 1,500 dollars a month, dragging around a kid everyone called baggage, and got tossed out like yesterday's trash.
My phone buzzed.
Mom: [Claire, you quit your job? What are you gonna do now? Why don't you come back home?]
I replied: [Mom, don't worry. I've got things handled.]
Another message popped up.
[Hi, Ms. Claire Jennings, this is David Shaw from Horizon Group's Brand Strategy Department. I'd like to talk about our collaboration with Epicurean Studio. Are you available to meet at The Grandview Hotel tomorrow at 3 PM?]
David Shaw.
I remembered seeing that name on Eric's social media. He was a top exec at Horizon Group, someone Eric would jump through hoops to meet, but never got the chance.
I just replied: "Sure."
On the day of the meeting, I just threw on a white button-down and black pants, hair tossed into a low ponytail.
The meeting was at the executive lounge on the 37th floor of The Grandview Hotel.
When I got there, a guy, probably in his early thirties, was already sitting there, waiting for me.
He was dressed in a sharp suit, looking crisp and put-together.
When he saw me, he stood up.
"Ms. Claire Jennings?" he asked.
"I'm David Shaw," he said, handing me his business card. "Please, have a seat."
I sat down, and the waiter brought over some coffee.
"Let's cut to the chase," I said.
David smiled. "I like your style. The 4-million-dollar annual exclusive deal, have your people looked over the terms?"
"We've reviewed the contract. Article 7 is problematic, the exclusivity scope is too broad. My baking line shouldn't be included in that clause."
"We can negotiate that."
"As for Article 12, I won't authorize any use of my real-life image. Only the brand name and mascot can be used."
"Wait, so you never actually show your face?"
"That's right."
David paused for a couple of seconds.
"Alright, I'll take this back to the team and see what we can do. Anything else?" he asked.