“Ten, nine, eight…”
A horse is galloping in my chest.
“You’ve got this,” Max says with a wink, and for a split second, I’m free-falling. He’s doing this museum thing for him, I know that—but he’s been such a wonderful presence on the property and in my own place. He made me believe that maybe there’s a light at the end of this tunnel.
“Daisy?”
Ysabelle and Max have their eyes on me. I glance around the room to the cameraman, the lighting person, the makeup guy—they’re all staring.
“Um, what?”
“I would be speechless too, in a gorgeous space like this.” Ysabelle giggles, lightening the mood. God, she’s good at her job.“Tell us why you’ve decided to host a pop-up museum at The Mirage hotel.”
“Well.” What did we rehearse earlier? “My mom liked art—the community and all. Max came to me. He’s a curator and he worked at—”Shit.I’m not supposed to mention his old company. “As a curator. He worked as a curator. So it made sense.”
Max picks up my slack. “It wouldn’t have been possible in just any space, though. Daisy has always been very involved in Harlow, like her mother, and she thought this was something the community would love.”
“Yeah.”
“And what do you hope visitors will get from the museum?”
I really wish Max would step in here, but it’s a stupid women-in-business segment after all, so he’s looking at me to take the lead. “Um, there’ll be lots of art. From all over.” The lights are scorching, making me feel like I’m out hiking in the height of summer. My stomach gurgles, and it was probably loud enough to hear based on the jump from one of the audio folks.
“Okaaay.” Ysabelle refers to her note cards and pauses. “So…”
“It’s an incredible space, as you can see,” Max says. “And the outdoors.” He whistles, as if catcalling the very land we stand on. “Breathtaking. This is a place where the beauty of the desert and the arts merge—and, of course, guests at The Mirage have it right at their fingertips. Anyone staying here will have exclusive pieces displayed in their rooms.”
I nod halfheartedly as a faintness comes over me. This morning’s coffee—twice as big of a cup as my usual—has turned in my stomach, and I’m ready to finish this interview, stat.
“And Daisy—as a successful female hotel owner, what advice do you have for other women looking to innovate with their business?”
A light laugh plays off my lips becausesuccessfulisn’t the word I’d use. I’m about to respond when an unmistakable sensation crawls its way up my throat, and my stomach morphs into lead.
“’Scuse me,” I say through a burp.
I panic and race to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and finding the toilet in time to vomit all the coffee from this morning into it. I’m sweating all over, and my heart and head are pounding.
Max says some final words to the newscaster, and I hear someone call out, “That’s a wrap, I guess?” Our best publicity yet, flushed down the drain like my morning caffeine.
After splashing my face with water and rinsing out my mouth, I crawl back out, expecting everyone to look my way. But only two people from the crew remain—Official Clipboard Holder and Ysabelle, who’s enthralled in a conversation with Max.
“You doing okay, hon?” Ysabelle asks.
“Mhmm.” I don’t have it in me to make eye contact with Max yet. “Hey, Ysabelle, think we could maybe reshoot that last bit?”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “Oh no,chica, I’m sorry. We film live.”
Live.How did I miss that?
“Don’t you worry, they didn’t pan to you running, and they adjusted the audio levels so there were minimal gurgly sounds from your tummy. You didsogood.” She pats my shoulder, but I know it’s a pity pat. “And he was so clever with that last question.”
“What’d you say?”
Max shrugs. “Just that you’re a big believer in community, and to not be afraid to lean on that community.”
“He knows what he’s doing.” Ysabelle air-kisses us both and says goodbye, wishing us luck and telling us she plans to stop by for the opening.
Once the barn clears, Max turns to me. “Good thing we got the contractor to finish the bathroom, huh?” His attempt to bolster my mood does nothing. I shoot him a pointed look.
