“Well, obedient one, Celeste’s called an emergency meeting,” Elton said. “Didn’t you get the text? Lots of exclamation points.”
Shoot. Of course something would happen while I was off gallivanting with a busload of angsty teenagers. “I’ve been at Silver Dollar City. Before the storm hit, my phone fell in the water on the log ride and went dead to the world.” I nearly cried just thinking about it.
“Oh, gosh,” Elton said. “Olivia without her precious cell? How are you holding up?”
Not well. “I’ve developed a twitch, and I feel a little faint. So these exclamation points,” I said, guiding the conversation back to the potential crisis. “How many are we talking?”
“Five.”
My tired eyes widened. That was serious. Three exclamations points meant she needed a favor or had lost a file. Four usually meant a serious announcement or an incorrect coffee order. Five or more was a straight-up Flair emergency…or it meant her replacement coffee order hadalsobeen wrong.
Elton reached out and attempted to fluff my hair. “Grab some lipstick or something. You look like you went down that log ride headfirst.”
“With the exorbitantly expensive photos to prove it.” I’d left at five that morning and had gone nonstop at the Missouri tourist attraction ever since. I’d driven like a Formula One racer on the infamously curvy roads back to Arkansas, and I had the queasy stomach for the effort. I was cold, damp, exhausted, and after this meeting, I still had Sexy Book Club to attend when all I wanted to do was go home, tell Lachlan about my day, and crash with him on the couch. He’d curve his arm around me because it was now habit, while I’d snuggle in and try not to think of our separation date closing in. Totally normal behavior for two people who never wanted to be married.
Elton steered me toward the elevator. “By the way, your hot husband did a great job onGMA. Dude’s come a long way in a short amount of time.”
“Thanks, Elton.” I pushed the up button, and the doors whooshed open as if anxiously waiting for us. “I’m very happy for him.” I’d had some time in the last couple of days to think on Lachlan’s run-in with his dad. It boggled the mind to think tech billionaire Benjamin Emmerich was Lachlan’s dad. I’d tried to get Lachlan to talk about it on the plane ride home, but he’d brushed it off. I’d been raised in a nurturing family who’d been at my every school function and lovingly hovered as I went to college. I couldn’t imagine the rejection Lachlan had experienced.
Benjamin Emmerich had no idea what a smart, kind, selfless son he’d missed out on. Between Lachlan’s childhood with an overworked single mother, her early death, and his father’s emotional abuse, it was no wonder my husband had maintained that brat persona in college. He must’ve been hurting so much beneath all that bluster and rebellion. If only I’d known the truth then.
Elton grabbed my elbow and ushered us inside. “Ugh. Don’t look now, but Cruella de PR is right behind us.”
“I know you see me, Elton Chen!” Running on enviably gorgeous Stuart Weitzman heels, Morgan click-clacked her way into the elevator, a vision of freshness and style. She hadn’t spent the entire day chasing after a petulant teenager in between occasional rain and water-soaking rides, then driven the two hours home listening to a slow-moving murder podcast and binge-eating Silver Dollar City taffy.
“Nice dress, Morgan.” I pushed the button for the third floor as my least favorite person settled inside the elevator, resting one manicured hand against the rail.
“So very kind of you to say.” She smoothed her other hand over the belted waist of her tropical print dress, the A-line silhouette cut from silk, and the panel-slit skirt revealing look-at-me legs. “It cost me half a paycheck, but it’ll be a fun piece to take to New York when I get the job.”
Elton’s eyes narrowed, and he released some of the slack on FeeFee’s leash. The dog immediately went to sniffing the closest victim—Morgan.
The three of us swayed with the gentle force of the elevator chugging upward.
Morgan’s lengthy eyelashes fluttered up and down as she perused my dirt-spotted jeans and wilted sweatshirt. “Rough day at the theme park?”
I shoved a limp piece of hair off my cheek. “One of the most delightful workdays I’ve had in ages.” If I never got on another roller coaster, it would still be too soon.
Elton chimed in. “Olivia was just telling me that hanging out with Celeste’s daughter and her classmates was like a nonstop party—except a good one. Not one in which the music is techno and you spend the entire two hours petting the host’s Labradoodle.” He shot me a side eye. “Not that this describes my previous Saturday night. Anyway, I wish I were Celeste’s favorite and got handpicked for special assignments with her kids once in a while.”
God bless Elton. He wished for that about as much as one wished for smallpox.
“Yes, you’re so special,” Morgan said as I brushed smudges of confectioners’ sugar off my blouse. Then her reptile gaze slid my way and lingered. “Do you have big plans for your husband’s birthday on Monday?”
I stared unblinkingly at Morgan. “What?”
“Your husband’s birthday. On Halloween? Surely you have that on your calendar. I saw it when I Googled him a few weeks ago.”
“Olivia, tell her about the big party you’re throwing him.” Elton inspected his nails and flashed me an indulgent smile. “I got my invite a few days ago. Cannot. Wait.”
“Yes,” I finally managed. “It’ll be a very big throwdown.” Oh, good heavens. I could taste the panic in my mouth. It was a bitter blend ofholy crapandwhat am I going to do?
“Morgan, maybe your invitation got lost in the mail,” Elton said. “These things happen.”
Morgan opened her mouth, but I was blessedly spared further inquisition when the elevator doors swished open.
“Out we go.” Elton tugged on FeeFee’s leash. “Last one to the conference room’s a bad batch of Botox.” And with that, he grabbed my arm and rushed us down the hall.
Monday is Lachlan’s birthday.
