“Get to Flair now,” my boss said. “War room meeting in an hour.”
“I want to talk to Lachlan first,” I told her. “I might need to fly out to California.”
“I’ll assemble the team,” Celeste snapped. “If you’re not there, I’ll handle this disaster and you can kiss your promotion goodbye.”
ChapterForty-Six
OLIVIA
Olivia
I’ve left you eight voicemails. Please call me.
Lachlan
Not free to talk now.
Olivia
Lachlan, I need to know you’re okay. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.
Lachlan
I’m fine.
Olivia
Then answer your phone.
The War Roomat Flair sounded a lot sexier than it was.
I’d like to say it was an underground location Celeste accessed by way of retinal scans and cobwebbed passageways. In reality, the War Room was nothing but an urgent, mandatory team meeting at some wildly inconvenient hour in the green conference room with snacks. Celeste did know if she was asking her people to be there on the weekend, she better provide quality noshings. And did she usually make me pick the food up on my way in? Of course.
But not this time. I set my boundary tonight and told her no.
Okay, I might’ve stuffed a box of Frannie’s cupcakes in my messenger bag, but that was it. That was all I was contributing.
Time standing still felt like time wasted, so when I flew into the office, I skipped the elevator and took the stairs straight to the third floor. Elton sat at his usual spot, and his eyes went comically wide as soon as I entered the room.
“You’re late.” Celeste set down a charcuterie tray on the table.
I’d blown through two yellow lights and driven ten over the speed limit, making it in record time. We both knew I was not late. “Sorry.”
She checked the time on her gold watch. “Gunnar is with a client in Dallas and will call in. Morgan was at the hospital with her father, so she won’t be able to—”
“Here I am!” Morgan raced through the doorway and all but pole-vaulted across the table to her seat. “I apologize for being late, Celeste. I wasted ten minutes asking the surgeon to delay my father’s triple by-pass.”
Morgan could’ve been bleeding out, lying on the operating table herself, and by sheer force of her need to overachieve for Celeste, she would’ve stuffed some gauze in her wound and driven to Flair.
Celeste, ever professional in a black Prada mohair skirt and matching fitted blazer, punched a few buttons on a device that brought up Gunnar on the screen. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave a sigh that I felt to the bottom of my worried soul. “I’ll skip the review of why we’re all here. The goal is to pool our collective brain power and problem-solve for our biggest client. Olivia, do you have any updates from your husband?”
I wanted to lie here so badly. Morgan’s eyes bore into me with lasering twin beams of condescension and vibrant distaste, while Celeste regarded me with an intensity that had me twirling my new engagement ring around my finger as if it would conjure miraculous ideas.
One rule of PR was to project the tone you wanted your audience to receive, despite words to the contrary. Clearing my throat, I sat up straighter and spoke with a calm I did not feel in the least. “Understandably, things are very chaotic for Lachlan and his team right now.” Did he have a team?Werepeople there with him? I had no idea. And why did I not know? Because my husband hadn’t communicated so much as a single emoji. “He’s not able to share much at this time, but I’m waiting for an update any moment.”
“Are you telling us you haven’t heard from your own husband?” Morgan asked this as one would ask,“So you forgot to wear pants?”
“As I just said”—you groveling twit—“Lachlan and I have not had time for a lengthy conversation. My first concern was if he was okay or if he needed me to fly in to join him.” Not that Lachlan had responded to any of those queries. “I couldn’t attack my husband with immediate strategy and harass him with things he doesn’t currently care about.” I let my eyes travel the room, a woman taking control of the narrative. Or drowning in it. Whatever. “Please keep in mind my husband has just been betrayed by not only a trusted employee, but a close friend. Lachlan is reeling. This is more than a news headline, and it’s more than business. He’s upset and trying to make sense of what’s happening, and for that we need to give Lachlan some space.” My finale ended with an authoritative rise of volume and an extended pause to once again let my gaze rest on every person occupying a stinky cardboard chair.
