“We’re not trying to gang up on you,” Rocco said, “but we’ve been worried about you. You’ve lost your Lauren sparkle.”
“Thanks a lot!” I looked around for another tray of champagne glasses.
“What we’re saying,” Jamison added, giving his husband the stink eye, “is that you seem to be stuck in neutral. Your kids are out of college and starting their careers. Tori has this new business venture with Jenna. Freddy is doing his sailing thing in Europe. And you’re just… ”
“A loser?” I supplied.
Tori put her arm around me. “No one said that, honey. Look at you in this sexy dress! You’re stunning and—” She looked over our heads. “Oops, they’re summoning me. Time to shine!” And with that, she was off.
“Our sister loves a stage,” Rocco said as our eyes followed Tori across the room.
“I’m not like her, you know,” I said defensively. “I don’t need a million projects, and I hate being in the public eye.”
“We know,” Jamison said. “We just love you and want to see you happy.”
I bit down on my lip to keep myself from tearing up. My emotions were so close to the surface these days. “I’m in a down phase and feeling a little burned out. It will pass.”
Liar. I’d been in close contact with my financial advisor in the past few months to figure out when I could retire. I used to think I’d work until death because I loved my job so much, but now…something was shifting inside me and the more I fought it, the harder it tugged. The walls of my office were closing in on me. My apartment felt like a cage. If I didn’t make a change soon, I was going to suffocate.
“Maybe you need to move to a new apartment,” Rocco said, as if reading my mind. “A new space, a new outlook. Somewhere with a nice big soaking tub where you can wash away all thoughts of that idiot ex-husband of yours.”
I gave him a dubious look. “He’s not officially my ex yet, and that’s a lot to ask of a soaking tub.”
“Welcome, everyone!” Tori’s voice claimed the room, her rich alto amplified by the mic she held in her hand. She and Jenna stood in front of a pink curtain that blocked off the back of the room. “I’m Tori Cozzi, as most of you already know, and this is my business partner, Jenna Rossolino. Thank you for coming here tonight to support us in the unveiling of Jentori Haircare. We’re thrilled you’re here with us. Your support means so much, and we hope you bring home some samples of our products so you can look as fabulous as we do.”
The crowd laughed at her joke and, with a hair toss, she handed the mic to Jenna, who also looked incredible in a short gold dress topped with a leather moto jacket. She’d styled her dark hair to perfection in a sleek shoulder-length bob.
“Thanks, Tori.” Jenna’s voice wavered slightly. “We believe in these products because we helped create them. Yes, there are lots of haircare lines on the market, but many of them make promises they can’t deliver. A lot of them are bad for the rest of your body too. Jentori is free from dangerous chemicals, one hundred percent vegan, ethically sourced, and”—she lowered her chin and dropped her voice into a conspiratorial tone—“to be blunt, this shit is going to make your hair look amazing.”
The crowd clapped and cheered, and, off to the side, there was Nick gazing at Tori with such a fierce look of admiration and love that I felt both delighted for them and bereft that I’d never had anyone look at me that way in my entire life. I’d been married over two decades, and I’d never been sincerely adored that way. Maybe I never would.
Jenna handed the mic back to Tori. “Without further ado,” she said, “let’s unveil the products!”
Tori pulled a string to make the curtain behind them drop to the floor. Sure enough, we could all see a table stacked with haircare products in gorgeous pink and gold packaging. But no one was looking at that. Instead, we collectively gasped and stared at the couple making out to the side of the table. The woman had both hands inside the man’s unbuttoned pants and was clearly doing a job that had nothing to do with salon work.
Sensing their audience, the couple froze in what must have been an unplanned sexual tableau. I blinked several times, thinking I could clear the error in my vision. That couldn’t be Freddy and the young bartender standing there in flagrante delicto…
I shrieked and covered my mouth as Jamison and Rocco swung their heads towards me. Time felt suspended, and then pandemonium broke loose. Media cameras flashed as guests whipped out cell phones. Freddy zipped up his trousers, and the bartender spun around to put her back to the crowd. White noise, like the din of a passing train, filled my ears as I stood paralyzed in horror.
The bartender pushed her way through the crowd and ran straight out the front door, shirt still unbuttoned as she clutched it closed. Cameras flashed and people started shouting at me. I couldn’t process any of their words.
As Rocco put a protective arm around my shoulder and ushered me toward the back of the salon, one thought ran through my head.
My life was over.
CHAPTER2
LAUREN
Standing outside the Laramie airport, I felt like something must have gone amiss. After taking a flight to Denver, then catching a smaller plane to Wyoming, I expected a private car to be waiting for me. None were in sight. In fact, I didn’t see any hotel vans picking up passengers. I set my bags on the sidewalk and shaded my eyes against the bright sunlight, searching for my ride. Surely they hadn’t forgotten to send someone for me?
Photographers set up camp outside my apartment building the morning after the party at Jentori, the scene of my ultimate humiliation. They were also congregating outside our office building and Tori’s apartment, in case I tried to retreat there. Their pursuit of me had induced paranoia and panic attacks, and I started staying inside all the time with my blinds down. Tori finally had her assistant, Sully, book a trip for me out west at a remote resort and spa so I could lay low somewhere comfortable until the brouhaha died down in New York.
It felt cowardly to let the press run me out of town, especially when I was the victim, not the criminal. Of course, Freddy had left New York immediately. He was already in the South of France “licking his wounds,” which was a euphemism for “drinking alcohol out of a model’s belly button.”
A black sedan pulled up to the curb, but before I could inquire if they were there for me, a young woman came outside and stepped into the car. I sighed and looked around but there was no taxi stand or sign for hotel transportation in view, and as I waited for someone to claim me like lost luggage, I grew more nervous. It looked like I was going to have to call the resort and find out what was going on.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath. Or not so unbelievable considering my luck lately.
