“It’s the same price as HeartString, but you get redeemable coins, depending on the number of therapy sessions you attend—”
“We certainly know the importance of quality mentalhealth,” I interrupted. “That’s all the time we have today, folks. On tomorrow’s Du Jour, we’ll talk to celebrity attorney John Josephs, who’s citing Soulmail as the number one reason for legal separation as of late and discussing the New York State regulation that added ‘Soulmail’ as a box you can check on divorce forms. Thank you so much for coming, Enzo.”
“Thank you for having me. I’m sure your viewers would love to know which one of the HeartString sites you’d join, Olivia,” Enzo said, turning to give the camera a wink.
My Soulmail wasmine. It was one of the last things I had control over. My vision tunneled, breath hissing from my throat in a painful wheeze. Smarmy Enzo of Dating Website Fame had deftly pulled a card from the house of them I’d built. Not just that—he’d done it for attention. He had purposefully shifted the comfort I sat in for his own benefit.
But still. Media training meant I was supposed to make him feel at ease, a dinner party hostess extraordinaire, a sacrificial lamb. Instead, I opened and closed my mouth, narrowed my eyes, and pinned him with the worst of all things in human interest television.
Silence.
Sweat clawed into my hairline. “And that’s the daily DuJour,” I eked out just as Samantha jerked her glasses from her face and made a throat-slicing motion.Cut.
I stood. The cameras went dark. White spots blurred my vision, and my fingertips trembled. “What the hell wasthat?” I said to Enzo.
He stood and buttoned his suit jacket. “It was excellent TV,” he said. “You’ll thank me later.”
“How dare—”
“Oh, please. I saw the article right from the greenroom.”
“The article,” I repeated through clenched teeth. “What article?”
Enzo had the grace to blush. “The one about your bigbreakup with that wealthy dude. The finance or tech bro with the expensive name? Rumor has it his Soulmail wasn’t you.”
I inhaled, exhaled, and gave him the best facsimile of a withering glance I could muster. Without another word, I marched offstage, brushing past Samantha. “Not now,” I said when I saw her mouth open.
“Oh. Yes, now.” Samantha fell into step beside me. “Dish,” she commanded.
“There’s apparently an article written about Wells and me.”
“As I’ve just been informed.”
I peered at her. The PR person during the interview, the cupped hand, the rapid-fire speech. My nose began to itch. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that if it’s true, you’ll have led on an entire network.” Samantha paused. “And a country.”
“Wait.” We rounded the corner and speedwalked down the hall toward the break room. “I let people make assumptions about my love life. That’s true. But I never lied. And it’s also none of their business.”
Samantha made a sound of frustration. “Here’s the thing, doll,” she said. “You know it’s your business. I know it’s your business. And America doesn’t give a flying effwhosebusiness it is. They want to know. They feel entitled to.”
“Well, they aren’t.”
Samantha hesitated. “Am I allowed to ask if this article is true? You two opened your Soulmails and they aren’t compatible?”
“No. That isn’t true.” A laugh bubbled from me. “I’m feeling very fight-or-flight right now.”
Samantha waited.
“Or freeze. There’s a fourth one now, too, isn’t there?”
“Fawn,” Samantha said archly. “And I’m not flirting with you here until they come up with a fifth. Spill.”
My stomach churned. “Let’s just say he broke the promisethat approximately twenty-two percent of monogamous American couples do.”
“What a fool.” Samantha pulled a glasses case out, swapped the purples for the greens. “And you knew about this since the beginning?”
“Yes...” I trailed off, heat striking my cheeks.
