Page 159 of The Sweetest Return

Instead, fear made the decision before courage had fully opened its eyes.

I left.

That was the part I had been avoiding all morning. I did not regret needing space. I regretted how I took it.

Work helped, but only enough to keep me upright.

A knock sounded against my door before I could fall any farther into myself, and Cleo entered before permission fully formed.

She wore a black wrap dress, red frames, red lipstick, and copper locs swept over one shoulder, looking like every publicist I had ever respected and distrusted in equal measure.

Nina followed with her tablet.

“Please tell me you’ve eaten,” Cleo said.

“That is not the tone of a woman asking about lunch.”

“It is not.”

I sat straighter. “How bad?”

“Depends on whether you consider Laila Hart bad.”

My brows lifted.

Nina looked like she had been holding the secret in her mouth for fifteen minutes.

“Marisol wants the bracelet?”

Cleo smiled. “And the pear drops. Next month in Los Angeles. Private honors dinner before the Ellington Arts Gala.”

For one second, Dre moved to the edge of my thoughts where all my unfinished things were waiting.

Then work took over.

Laila Hart was an actress, producer, fragrance founder, newly divorced headline magnet, and living proof that reinvention photographed beautifully when the right woman wore the right thing at the right time.

Saint Aurelia could not buy that kind of visibility.

We could mishandle it, though.

“What do we think?”

Cleo crossed one leg over the other. “Give Marisol options. Bracelet. Pear drops. Maybe the cuff, depending on wardrobe.”

Nina pressed her mouth together.

I saw the thought.

“Say it.”

She glanced toward Cleo. “The bracelet should lead. Laila is already the story. We don't need to decorate the whole paragraph.”

Cleo pointed at her. “Now why would you say something sensible when I was having fun?”

I laughed. “Because she’s right.”

Cleo sighed dramatically. “Fine. Bracelet first. Pear drops if the neckline gives us room.”