Midnight At Tiffany's (From Manhattan with Love 0.50)

Matilda lifted her chin.

She had a USB stick in her pocket, and a printed copy of the manuscript in her bag, stowed safely in the cloakroom.

“I hope you manage to find him, Cynthia. And I hope he continues to give us lots of business.” It crossed her mind that relying on one company for the lion’s share of business probably wasn’t great practice, but it wasn’t her place to say so.

Lara Striker would have said it, but it would have taken more than a man with money in the bank and a library in his house to impress Lara the lioness.

Matilda’s mind wandered as she played with a few ideas for tweaking her character. Should she add in a few idiosyncrasies? Give Lara a few endearingly normal traits to make her more human? Perhaps she could be clumsy. No, she wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

She realized Cynthia was frowning at her. “Is something wrong?”

“Your skirt! What’s happened to your skirt?”

Matilda looked down in alarm, but her skirt looked the same as it had when she’d dressed hours earlier in the cramped single room that was home. One of the things she liked about the Star Events “uniform” was that in her black skirt and shirt she looked the same as every other waitress working tonight. Just taller. And a little more clumsy and awkward.

“There’s something wrong with my skirt?”

“It’s shorter than the regulation length. You’re not supposed to turn it up.”

This same scenario had been repeated several times in her life and it never got any easier.

Handcuffed by the drinks tray, Matilda couldn’t even tug at her hem. “It is the regulation length, but I have long legs, so it sits in a different place. I usually wear a slightly lower heel to compensate.”

At school they’d called her Giraffe. She’d taken to sitting down whenever she could so that people didn’t tease her for being tall. She’d lost herself in books, because things happened in books that never happened in real life to tall, bespectacled, introverted teenagers.

“It’s barely decent. You need to do something about it.”

“My legs?” Matilda was bemused. “They’re—er—attached to me.”

Lara Striker would have smacked one of her long legs right into Cynthia’s head with an impressive martial arts turning kick that would have left the other woman dazed with a concussion. Then she would have pinned Cynthia to the wall and lectured her on the importance of fostering positive body image.

Matilda chose a different option. She tried to make herself smaller. She hated doing it, because it made her butt stick out.

All her characters were normal sized and delicate boned. They didn’t have any of these problems.

Cynthia’s smile vanished briefly. “Next time, wear a longer skirt. And if you see Chase Adams, don’t talk to him, and for pity’s sake don’t spill anything on him. Come and find me.” She stalked off before Matilda could point out that the likelihood of her identifying Chase Adams was slim, given that she had no idea what he looked like. His library, she would have recognized in her sleep, but as for the man himself, she had no idea. She was relying on someone else to point him out.

Glancing around the room, she tried to spot someone who might fit his profile. She assumed he was old and fusty.

The Man Who Had Everything.

She’d read the piece, but there had been no photo of the man himself. Just images of glass and steel—properties that he’d built. And the library in his house.

According to the article, he’d taken over his father’s company and grown it to ten times its original size. He was ruthless and focused. Matilda had shamelessly stolen aspects of his character for her heroine.

Why should drive and ambition be the sole province of men? In her opinion, it shouldn’t be. That was another thing her mother had taught her.

The only thing a man has that a woman doesn’t is a penis.

Paige appeared by her side. “You’re doing a great job, Matilda. I really appreciate the extra hours you’ve put in on this one. We’re so lucky to have you on the team.”

Matilda relaxed slightly.

Paige was the opposite of Cynthia. In fact, Paige was the reason that half the staff of Star Events hadn’t resigned. She soo

thed and smoothed, was energetic and organized. Nothing rattled her, and no matter how much pressure was piled on her head from her superiors, she never let it leak through. Cynthia showered people with so much stress their skin shriveled like grass under attack from acid rain.

“She hates me.”