“You fix this, Olivia,” Celeste demanded. “He’s your responsibility. Not even two weeks in, and this is what happens. It cannot happen again, especially on national television.”
“It won’t,” I said. “I assure you.”
Morgan pushed FeeFee off of her and dusted the fur from her legs. “Somebody doesn’t have control of her client. I could lean in if you wanted, Celeste.”
“You will not be leaning anywhere near Lachlan,” I warned, ignoring Elton’s silent hand clap behind the ladies.
“This is not up to Flair standards at all.” Celeste began to pace. “Lachlan was uncomfortable, his face red as a tomato, and he rushed into every question like he was being held at gunpoint. Did you catch how many times he said ‘um’?”
“Quite a few.” I knew full well it had been exactly twelve times. My internal filler-word calculator never failed me. “We’ll work on it.”
“I want this dealt with now.” Celeste over-enunciated every angry word. “Call the Gamer Channel. Make sure this media is pulled. It will not live in infamy on the internet. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Celeste.” I jotted down her command, as if there were even a tiny chance I would forget. No possibility of that. “And I’ll begin media coaching. I’ll fine-tune my training modules and hit Lachlan with them immediately.” I’d have to cancel five meetings and a work session with our digital department.
“Oh, you’ll do more than that,” Celeste said. “You are now Lachlan Hayes’s shadow, do you understand? I don’t want him to attend one single function without you mere feet away.”
“But—”
“Not one, Olivia. Furthermore, if I hear of a single appearance of his where you are not in attendance, I will pull you as his brand manager, stick you back on the adult diaper account, and delete your name from consideration for the New York office. Am I clear?”
This moment reminded me of videos I’d seen of high-rise buildings imploding by dynamite. I had an instant vision of my career combusting in the same fashion—a trajectory of fire and smoke, until my dream was nothing more than a great propulsion of ash.
I swallowed hard. “You’re quite clear.”
“Find Hayes.” Celeste pointed ominously toward the open door. “Now.”
ChapterTwenty-Four
LACHLAN
Olivia was home,and Olivia was angry.
She hadn’t even walked inside the house yet, so how did I know?
Perhaps it was my keen intuition when it came to the ladies.
Or maybe it was my years as a game designer watching the micromovements of people for the sake of recreating authenticity.
Could’ve also been the fact that I saw and heard Olivia’s SUV screech down our road at breakneck speed, then whip into the driveway like she expected a pit crew to meet her for a tune-up. Then there was the thunderous slam of her car door followed by the inelegant way she bellowed my name like a medieval fishwife.
The door into the house banged shut just as I grabbed my laptop and settled onto the couch, one apple in my hand as if I’d casually been sitting and nothing was amiss. “Oh. Hello, Wife Number One.”
Olivia looked like a fury as she stomped into the den. Ah, my exquisite bride. Eyes wide and hinting at violence. Her hands clenched at her sides as if she’d love nothing more than to introduce her fist to my nose. Her lovely chest rising and falling in labored, angry breaths.
“You.” She pointed a pink painted nail right at me. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I’m getting the feeling here that maybe you want to claw my eyes out?” I bit into my apple and chewed, trying not to focus on Olivia’s mouth. I’d kissed those lips only four days ago, a memory I had reimagined approximately 250 times now. I’d had three meetings today and been called out for losing my train of thought twice, so deep was I lost in the reenactment in my head. “With that level of anger, I’m guessing I either messed up the alphabetical order you arranged my spice cabinet, or you caught my interview.”
Without much care for electronics, Olivia tossed her laptop bag on a chair, exhaled gustily, then sat down beside me. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of my attire. “I see half of you dressed up for the day,” she said.
“That’s the beauty of remote events.” From the look on her face, Olivia clearly was not impressed with my business on top, comfy on the bottom. I wore one of Paolo’s shirts, a tie that I wasalmostcertain coordinated, and my ever-trusty sweatpants. The tie chafed, but had my sweats ever let me down? Not once. “I take it you don’t approve of my outfit?”
“It looks like a tragic Choose Your Fashion Adventure.”
“My adventure involves an elastic waistband,” I said. “You should try them one day. I think it would really help some of your anger issues.”
Olivia rested her head on the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling, as if she’d lost the will to return the sarcasm. “I saw the interview, Lachlan. My whole team did.”
