Samantha exhaled. She had never had a cigarette in her life, but my producer had cultivated a raspy smoker’s voice. “As you know, Phoebe and Josef are away.”
“Sure...” The first week of July was historically a low ratings week, so our lead anchors were away on their annual vacations. Wells had the audacity to make a gesture in my direction, as if his expectant face deserved any information whatsoever. I spun toward the wall to ask about the stand-ins instead. “What about Alma and Lu?”
A snort. “Food poisoning. Violent.”
“Both of them?”
“Don’t let me forget to never let my on-air fill-ins have an affair again, will you? That way I don’t lose myguestanchors to bad ceviche at the same time. Now put me on speaker and brush your teeth.”
The wordaffairknifed my sternum, a slice of pain so acuteI clocked it as either a physical manifestation of anxiety or a heart attack.
“Why?” I asked, already walking back to the bathroom.
“Alma and Lu—the timing. I can’t believe it,” Samantha continued. “Remind me of this rule in the future. It’s like how British royals in the succession line can’t travel on the same plane together. Now, I’m serious: Get moving. I don’t hear brushing. Car’ll be outside in seconds with hair and makeup in it. Speaking of, what’s your hair like right now?”
The mint in my mouth was reassuring. Familiar. A blanket. Before I knew Wells cheated on me, I brushed my teeth. After, I brushed my teeth. The world would keep going. I tried to soundlessly spit into the sink. “My hair?”
“Yes. Do you have it down and blown out? Tell me you’ve blown it out and you weren’t going to do that lazy topknot you always do on Mondays.”
I screwed up my face, the bottoms of my feet sweating on the floor. I would’ve had it in a topknot, but last night, my scalp was itchy from all the seawater over the weekend. While I’d showered, Wells had ordered us California rolls. I’d washed them down with that fated tea, the newest Nick and Vanessa Lachey-hosted reality show on in the background. And then Wells pretended my bare knees were California rolls and nibbled on them, which led to silly sex and then to bed, where I’d woken up with this new reality. “It’s blown out,” I said slowly.
“Oh, damn. You were away.” Samantha paused. “Are you sunburned? NoSun is our new sponsor.”
“No? Samantha, what the hell is going on?”
“You’re going on air. Is that not clear? Are you dressed yet? The car is at your door, by the way.”
I froze. This was too much. And then I relaxed in place, suddenly confident, because I had to be dreaming. I glanced at the foolish chandelier, thinking,Makesomething happen, Liv.If I’m asleep, make something ludicrous like a blue octopus appear. Iblinked, waiting. The ceiling stayed stubbornly blank.
“Olivia,” Sam shouted. “Move it. Get downstairs.”
“Me? On air?” I pressed against my cheekbones, applying enough pressure to make tiny hot blooms appear. I was not dreaming. I yanked my favorite power jumpsuit from the closet and stepped into it. When Samantha Marquis saidjump, I’d not only already jumped, I’d landed, assessed my mistakes, and tried again. My throat tightened. “There has to be some kind of mistake, Sam. I don’t want to go on air.”
“Do you have stage fright?”
Did I? “No, but—”
She sighed. “You’re smart enough. And you have great posture.”
I swallowed. “That hardly qualifies me to go on air. Idon’t— This isn’t—” I lapsed into silence, so I didn’t finish withwhat I want.
“You have no designs on this being your job, so who cares? And most importantly, I trust you.”
“So?” The word was a squeak.
“So get your ass in gear.”
“Olivia?” Wells said from the bed.
“Mr. Stratton!” Samantha shouted. “Kick your lovely fiancée out already, will you? It’s been—damn it. Sixteen minutes already. Oh, god, wait. Did you open yours yet, Olivia? Are you and Wells soulmates?”
“Samantha,” I said, warmth sprawling across my chest. “What’s going on?”
“You’rereallytelling me you don’t know?” Incredulity blistered from the line.
“Hold on one sec.” I took Sam off speaker.
“Olivia,wait,” Wells said. Again, the pleading.
