“Your media lineup is impeccable,” Celeste said, and I could hear thatbutcoming. “But you’re missing a personal angle.”
I dabbed at my runny nose. “Lachlan’s in everyone’s face right now. He’d have to land the cover ofUs Weeklymagazine to be any more visible.”
“I’m currently working on that publication formyclient.” Morgan smirked to the camera again.
“We’ve discussed this many times, Olivia.” Celeste resumed her pacing of the conference room, confusing the autofocus cameras. “What really burrows in people’s hearts is thehumanside of the individual.”
“I’ve encouraged Lachlan to discuss his makeover process…for burrowing purposes.”
“That does not pluck one single heartstring,” Celeste snapped. “Dig deeper. What else is behind his young launch to fame? Who was he at age ten? Sixteen? What dark moments has Lachlan overcome?”
Marrying me, for one. “I’ll work on that.”
“See that you do.” Celeste tapped her tablet stylus to her chin. “Find his story and then tell it well.”
“Lachlan’s very guarded about his private life,” I said. “There’s so much about his past that he was reluctant to share even with me.” He’d made it clear his family history was off-limits. “The odds of him sharing deeply personal revelations are not good.”
Celeste pressed her hands to the table and glared. “Don’t think like his wife, Olivia. Think like his brand manager.”
“But—” A spasm of coughs interrupted whatever profound rebuttal I had.
“I’ll be announcing the promotion finalists soon.” Celeste gave me a parting, pointed look. “You wouldn’t want to mess up your chances.”
ChapterTwenty-Nine
OLIVIA
Thirty hourslater I lay in a curled heap in bed, fondly recalling a time when I possessed the will to live.
Oh, dear, sweet, younger Olivia. She had energy. She brushed her teeth. She could stand upright for more than fifteen minutes without dramatically throwing her hand over her own forehead and flailing back to the mattress. Her life goals amounted to more than a fervent wish to be horizontal.
The Plague That Shall Not Be Named had tracked me down and made me its own. I’d thought I was immune. Olivia Sutton did not get sick, but here I was. Prostrate on sheets that could use a good wash, clutching a blanket, and regretting the shards of sunlight that so rudely barged through the outer edges of the blinds.
It was two o’clock on a thrilling Friday afternoon, and I’d done little more than sleep and attempt to watch Netflix. Judging from the credits scrolling on my TV to a show I had zero memory of watching, I’d succeeded at only one of those.
I had to sit up. What I needed was my laptop and to answer the two hundred work emails that certainly waited for me. Celeste had called a dozen times in the last few days under the guise of checking on me, but in my sickened state, I had no motivation to paint it as anything more than what it was. Celeste called to nudge me back to work.
When the phone rang one more time, I answered without bothering to check the screen. “Yes, Celeste?”
“Why don’t you sneak into your office if you get a chance?” she suggested, completely oblivious to my pitiful greeting. “Wear a mask, and I’ll tell everyone to stay away from you.”
“I’m contagious,” I told her. “That’s why. The CDC says I need to quarantine.”
“Did you personally speak to them?”
My nasal passages had inflated to twice their size, and a thick fog billowed in my head. I did not have the wherewithal to convince my boss that I deserved a few sick days. “If I come into the office, I’ll contaminate people, and they’ll be mad. Then when I tell them my boss directed me to come in, they’ll be angry at you. And sue you. Do you want a lawsuit, Celeste?”
“My goodness, you’re dramatic when you’re sick,” she said. “Nobody’s suing anyone. I didn’tdemandyou to come in to work. But since you’re awake, why not fire up that computer and get to cracking? Whenever I’m sick, I find the best thing for me is not to wallow in it, but to push myself to new limits and dive into work. Mind over matter.”
“My matter has a migraine and can only breathe out of one nostril.” It was only a mild case, but I still felt ten shades of miserable. “I’d love to talk more, but it’s time for me to take my fourth nap.”
“Who’s going to drive my kids to soccer tomorrow?”
“Their mom?” Someone really needed to dim that sunshine out there.
“I have an early meeting.”
“Maybe it’s time to stop withholding the fun from Morgan.”
