I really liked this side of my boss—vulnerable, human. Flawed and relatable. This was the version of Celeste who’d found me at the end of that terrible summer and given me new hope. This was the woman who’d taken me under her wing and saved me. “Please understand no matter how much I’d like to share, I have to honor Lachlan’s boundaries.”
Celeste twisted an invisible key over her sealed lips. “I understand. But right now we’re just two girls doing some unburdening. In a bit, we’ll walk out of this office like our conversation never even happened. Now, we know Lachlan was raised by his sweet mother. I’d love to know if we can mine any of the known childhood details for sympathetic gold.”
I envisioned myself walking onto a frozen pond, not quite certain which step would make the ice break. I needed to tread very carefully, revealing nothing Lachlan wanted locked down. Yet there had to be something I could safely offer—to satisfy journalistsandCeleste. “My husband had a challenging childhood,” I finally said. “His mother worked her fingers to the bone, raising him on her own.” I quickly told her about Lachlan’s hard years growing up, the loss of a mother, how he basically took care of himself. The marriage details remained off-limits, but in no time Celeste had a much clearer picture of the person Lachlan really was—his character, his heart, and his determination that had shaped a man and an empire.
Now it was Celeste’s turn to grab a compostable napkin and blot her eyes. “Oh, Olivia. I had no idea. What a story. It absolutely breaks the heart, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But despite all that, Lachlan is wonderfully kind and generous. I’d love the press to know how deeply principled he is, yet also humble and compassionate. Our core message should focus on the fact that Lachlan is not some spoiled rich man nor some stereotypical bad boy executive. He’s deeply principled and relatable.”
“Yes, relatability is so important,” Celeste said. “Tell me, is his father is still alive?”
I gave a vague shrug. “His father is out of the picture. Lachlan’s created his own family over the years, and his CFO was an important part. If I know my husband, he’s reeling over the hits his business will take, but it’s the devastation of Maxwell’s betrayal that’s hurt him most.”
“Of course,” Celeste said. “The poor man. He’s gone through so much. How lucky is he to have you now? And I know when Lachlan’s ready, he’ll reach out to you and let you in. Because, like me, he’ll sense he has a trustworthy, capable ally in you.”
I sniffed at her words. “Thank you. I’m very worried about him.”
“He’ll call.” Celeste enveloped me in a hug. “And when he does, you’ll be there for him in whatever capacity he needs.”
Inhaling the familiar scent of her expensive perfume, I blinked back tears. “Thank you for listening.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Celeste chuckled as she stood. “But tomorrow? I’m back to being your boss. Back to forgetting where my son’s practice is and giving way too much of my life to Flair.” She walked with me to the door and held it open. “Let’s think about how we can play up Lachlan’s humble beginnings and exceptional character—without crossing any lines, okay? We have plenty to work with without disclosing any sacred facts.”
“I’ll work on that,” I promised.
“I know you will.” She looked so certain in my success. “Get in contact with your husband, compile a list of ideas to send me, then get some sleep, Olivia.”
That last command was absolutely impossible.
“You’re not alone in this.” Celeste’s assurance provided a much-needed measure of comfort. “And if you do everything you can”—She flicked off the lights, throwing the conference room into darkness—“things will work out as they should.”
ChapterForty-Eight
LACHLAN
Twelve hoursago I’d stood on top of the world.
Speaking to a packed auditorium of hundreds of tech rivals and aficionados, I’d presented the ZeusXL, the sound card that would launch the product arm of Star Gazer Corp into the stratosphere.
The visuals my team had created? Perfection.
The video game simulation I’d conducted? Flawless.
Seeing my bio-dad on row ten, scowling with his hands balled into fists? Surprisingly...hollow. Yes, I’d enjoyed it for a few seconds, but it hadn’t been the soul-cleansing event I’d thought it would be. Very anti-climactic, as far as grand schemes of revenge went.
I’d been the king holding court in that moment. The crowd responded with thunderous applause, cameras flashed, reporters shouted questions. All I could think was that I wished Olivia had been by my side.
But sometimes kings get reminded they’re just one mistake away from losing their crown.
At three a.m., I sat in the hotel bar, nursing a beer I didn’t want and a half-eaten cheeseburger.
The bartender walked over drying a glass. “Sorry to nudge you again, sir, but we did close an hour ago. I’ll be locking up in ten minutes.”
This guy and I both knew I’d be leaving a tip large enough to make his car payment, as I was pretty much renting my barstool where I sat alone in the dimmed lights. The bartender had stopped asking if I needed anything some time ago, somewhere between a text from Maxwell’s wife and my attorney’s call demanding I check news sites on the internet for one final ambush.
“I know what they say,” I’d told her half an hour ago. “Maxwell took money from a lot of people, he got escorted away by men in suits, and everyone questions my leadership and the stability of the company. I experienced it in real time, so I don’t need to see it again.”
High off my presentation, I’d been right there in the hotel lobby when they’d come for Maxwell. And before the FBI had got to us, Maxwell had already begun to make his way toward them, as if he knew. The look on his face when I’d ran their way, demanding to know what was going on, ready to defend my friend against any accusation—that look held resignation, regret, and almost relief. Like maybe he’d been glad it was finally over.
