Samantha rose onto her tiptoes. Her expression fell into ayikesjaw clench. “Oh, Olivia. The YouTube clip is titled ‘You’ll do a full-body cringe at this reporter’s mistakes.’”
“And that’sgood?” Tate asked.
Samantha shrugged. “Everyone loves an underdog.”
Jaime kept scrolling. “Okay, this one’s in all caps. ‘OMG WHO IS THIS OLIVIA PERSON AND CAN SHE TELL ME MY NEWS ALWAYS INSTEAD OF MY FACEBOOK-OBSESSED AUNT.’?”
“See? No one knows who she is.”
“There’s more. Like, thousands more. ‘New anchor spilling some teaaaaaa.’ Tea has sixAs. ‘Can you do a 360 of her hair? Obsessed.’?”
“What the hell is that?” Tate asked.
“It’s—”
“It’s exactly what it sounds like,” Samantha said, tracing a circle in the air. “A camera circling her head three-hundred sixty degrees so this person can see what her hair looks like in the back.”
“But why...”
Samantha sighed. “Potentially for showing their hairdresser for inspiration.”
“That’s a thing?”
“Very much.” Samantha patted her close-cropped curls. “Quit pretending you’re this out of touch, Tate. It’s unbecoming.”
He leaned over. “What’s this one? ‘This show is still on?’ with the hashtag ‘perdiem’?”
“I wasn’t going to read that one,” Jaime said. “The point is, they’re obsessed with Olivia.”
“They don’t need to be,” I said. “This is temporary.”
“Finally, we agree,” Tate said.
“I think that’s my cue,” someone said behind us. I turned. Alma, the ceviche-poisoned fill-in guest host for the week.Her expertly dyed hair was scraped into a middle-parted low bun, her makeup doing a fair job at best of covering the greenish tinge of her skin.
“See? Alma’s back,” I said. Up above us, my desk waited for me. Real life could resume, though it would look much different than yesterday. I’d have to flip over the framed picture of Wells and me. Actually, no. Trash it.
Samantha lifted her chin. “What’s this? A miraculous recovery?”
“The IV people came to my apartment.” Alma lifted her sleeve, producing a gauze-wrapped elbow. “That, plus eight milligrams of Zofran? I’m back.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you and Lu going to do tomorrow, go skydiving together during the biggest week of your year?”
“I’m sorry, Samantha. You think we thought we’d get food poisoning from a place where the martinis are thirty dollars?”
“Does anyone ever plan to get food poisoning?”
Alma moved to answer, then clamped her mouth shut. She fisted her hand in front of her lips.
“Go home, Alma,” Samantha said.
“Sir?” Jaime ventured. “Our livestream views are dropping. And the comments are begging for Olivia to come back?”
Tate looked at the ceiling. “They want Olivia...” He trailed off, seeming to search the rafters for my last name.
“Adler,” I supplied.
“OliviaAdlerto be reporting?”
