Her mother, Andrea Swift, sat with a straight back, observing the young financiers who claimed to hold ten million dollars with a scrutinizing and even wary gaze.
"Ms. Mason, Miss Alice."
Andrea didn't stand up, only nodding politely, her hand tightly clutching the draft contract she had only half-read.
"To be blunt, while the terms you're offering are very attractive—a 150,000-dollar endorsement fee for the first year plus sales commissions—I don't understand. Why would a New York biotech upstart that just received funding from Osborn look for a girl who sings country music to be their spokesperson? Those Hollywood actresses should fit your tech positioning better."
As both mother and manager, Andrea had a Beast-like intuition.
This pie falling from the sky looked too much like a scam, or some form of money laundering.
"Because of authenticity, Mrs. Swift." Alice bypassed Sarah and sat directly across from Taylor.
She ignored the shrewd mother and instead cast her gaze on the blonde girl who was secretly observing her.
"Taylor, can I see your left hand?" Alice asked softly.
Taylor froze for a moment, then subconsciously put down her guitar and held out her left hand.
It was not a hand that met star standards.
Due to long-term, high-intensity pressing of guitar strings, the fingertips that should have been slender were covered in thick, pale yellow calluses. The edges of her index and middle fingers even had some peeling and tiny cracks, and the cuticles were a bit rough.
"Practicing hurts, doesn't it? Especially in winter."
Alice's voice softened, as if she had insight into all the girl's hidden pains.
She pulled an unlabeled silver-white metal tube from her pocket and squeezed out a bit of crystal-clear paste with a faint mint scent.
"This is..." Andrea was about to stop her.
"Try it." Alice had already gently applied the paste to Taylor's fingertips.
"Hiss."
Taylor first flinched her hand, then immediately let out a comfortable low exclamation.
"Wow!"
The feeling was amazing.
There was none of the greasiness of ordinary oils, only an instant penetration of coolness.
Visibly, the dry, peeling skin was smoothed over in just dozens of seconds, and the burning sting that had constantly accompanied her fingertips quickly vanished.
Taylor felt an unprecedented sense of soothing and moisture.
It was as if every cell was cheering for joy.
"This is our core technology, EGF Epidermal Growth Factor, originally developed for Military burn treatments."
Looking at the shocked mother and daughter, Alice smiled and threw out her trump card.
"It can repair more than just the scars left by guitar strings; it can make every inch of your skin flawless in front of high-definition lenses."
Alice turned to Andrea, her gaze becoming sharp and sincere: "Madam, I'm not looking for Hollywood superstars because they are too fake, too perfect, and too distant from the public. But Taylor is real. There is the pain of growing up in her songs, and Umbrella Corporation is responsible for healing that pain. This is a perfect story: from the countryside to the World, from being covered in scars to being flawless."
Andrea looked at her daughter's expression as she pleasantly stroked her fingers, then at Alice's certain gaze, and the hard defensive line in her heart finally loosened a bit.
Because this endorsement did indeed seem like a springboard for Taylor to break the country singer stereotype and enter the public fashion spotlight.
"A five-year contract." Andrea took a deep breath, showing her decisiveness as a manager. "But we want to add a clause: Taylor must have exclusive performance rights for all of Umbrella Corporation's global new product launches, and Taylor must occupy the center position in all promotional posters."
"Deal." Alice reached out her hand, her smile radiant.
She looked at the future diva who was constantly stroking her fingers and chuckled inwardly.
Signing the future global superstar at a bargain price and binding her to Umbrella Corporation's chariot—the return on this investment would be thousands, tens of thousands of times over.
"It's a pleasure working with you, Taylor," Alice said softly, shaking the hand that was no longer rough. "You're going to be famous, more famous than you can imagine. And Umbrella Corporation will pave the red carpet to your throne."
One week later.
In New York subway stations, bus stops, and even on a massive LED screen at the edge of Times Square, an advertisement appeared with an incredibly fresh style, starkly different from the noisy surroundings.
On a meadow in the faint morning light, the blonde, curly-haired Taylor Swift sat on a wooden fence playing a guitar, wearing a simple white cotton dress.
The camera zoomed in as sunlight pierced through the gaps in the leaves, spilling onto her fingers as they pressed the guitar strings.
Those hands glowed white in the sunlight, the fingertips as smooth as jade, without any flaws.
As the crisp final note of the guitar faded, the silver-white tube appeared on the screen along with a line of simple yet powerful ad copy.
"Music heals the soul, and we... heal you."
[Umbrella Corporation · Hive Repair Cream] — Strategic Partner of Osborn Group / Exclusive Biotech Support.
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