The foil itself wasn’t anything special. It was part of the packaging for hundreds of products. However, this particular piece had a tiny strip of blue at the edge where it’d been torn off. It was an incredibly distinctive, recognizable shade of blue that’d caused an uproar in the marketing world when a company trademarked it years ago. I’d seen it in dozens of articles aboutthe legal battle over the trademark—and, more recently, in my parents’ medicine cabinet.
It matched the blue on the packaging of Aldolace Laxatives perfectly.
Sebastian put the pieces together immediately. “You think someone slipped laxatives into the food?”
“It would explain the guests’ symptoms,” I said. “Vomiting, diarrhea, high fever, and severe abdominal pain. A large enough dose of this stuff can mimic food poisoning so thoroughly that it’ll fool even professionals. Luckily for us, whoever did it was sloppy and left this behind.”
“Ifsomeone did it.”
“If,” I allowed. I wasn’t totally sure yet. The team I’d hired was still confirming whether the foil could, indeed, be traced back to laxatives. Even if it was, there were other explanations for its presence in the kitchen. It could’ve been for personal use, or someone from a previous event could’ve left it behind. Still, the timing and circumstances were suspicious.
Sebastian’s jaw tensed as he processed the implications. He didn’t say it, but I saw it in his eyes—a tiny spark of hope that I might be right, and he wasn’t to blame.
“Let’s say someone did sabotage us. It had to have been one of the kitchen staff,” he said. “That narrows the suspect pool down by quite a bit.”
“Yes, but there’s a small chance it could’ve been someone else,” I said. “There were people coming in and out all day, especially during prep.”
“Right.” His throat worked with a swallow. “When will you know for sure?”
“Hopefully within the day. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
He responded with a terse nod, but his tone softened a moment later. “How are you doing? The past few days couldn’t have beeneasy for you either.”
“I’ve been better, but I’m surviving.” I gave him a small smile. “I’d love some food though. I haven’t eaten all day.”
“No lasagna.”
I huffed out a laugh. At least he could joke about it. It was a tiny step in the right direction, but it was a step nonetheless. “No lasagna.”
We ended up ordering pizza.
We sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by two giant pies, an order of garlic knots, a chocolate lava cake, and a two-liter bottle of Coke poured into red plastic cups.
“The rumors are true,” I said, tearing off a piece of bread. “Grease and carbs make everything better.”
“Don’t forget sugar.”
“How could I? That’s my number-one stress reliever.”
Sebastian’s mouth curved. He seemed to be feeling better, though an air of melancholy still clung to him.
I’d tried to give him space over the past week. We’d debriefed on Friday night, after everyone else had left, but he’d refused to discuss anything other than logistics. I knew he must’ve been reeling from the launch, and I didn’t want to make him feel worse by pressuring him to talk about it before he was ready.
But it’d been five days, and he hadn’t answered any of my calls or a majority of my texts. I’d heard Michel put him on administrative leave, and I’d been worried enough to risk my father’s wrath by coming to see him.
I needed to make sure he was okay. I wouldn’t know what to do if he wasn’t.
Sebastian’s eyes searched my face. “Now that we’ve eaten, you can tell me the truth,” he said. “How are you really doing?”
I finished my garlic knot, chewing slowly so I’d have more time to formulate an answer.
The past week had been so hectic that I hadn’t had time to truly sit down and process. I’d hung on to my crisis plan with bloodied fingernails, letting my to-do items carry me through the days so I wouldn’t have to endure the torture of overthinking. It was only late at night that my repressed emotions found their way to me in bits and pieces—panic that the failed launch marked the end of my career, dread over what horrible new headline would hit us next, anxiety over whether people were mocking me behind my back.
I hated how much I cared what others thought, but I’d chased external validation my whole life.
If the food poisoning was Sebastian’s worst nightmare, the PR disaster was mine. If I let it, my mind would conjure a thousand scenarios where people were laughing at me.
Of course she failed. She sucks at her job. She just got to where she is because she’s rich.
