Lena’s POV
The weekend blurred past like a fever dream: Saturday’s jewelry-store detour with Sebastian and Sunday spent hunched over my laptop rewriting taglines while Avery FaceTimed from the Hamptons, drunk on margaritas and gossip about some “Latino security god” who finally noticed her. Now it’s Monday, and the fluorescent lights of Lancaster Industries hum overhead like a swarm of judgmental bees, drilling into my skull. My ankle’s finally pain-free, but my stomach’s knotted tighter than a sailor’s rope, twisting with every step toward the marketing floor. This time, I hope Sienna and I can actually make headway with the project—especially after the conversation I had with Sebastian over the weekend.
On our way to the jewelry store—yes, jewelry store, the kind with velvet trays, dia
