Lauren
LaurenWhen I woke up the next morning, Glee had already left for the day. I had the condo to myself—heaven. I wandered into our sunny kitchen. An omelet, that"s what I needed. Something to concentrate on that wasn"t Rye McAllister. I took comfort in the steady hum of the fridge and the chirping of chickadees at the feeder outside the bay window. Maybe it was thanks to my chaotic upbringing, but nothing soothed me like cooking. After a lifetime of random fast-food meals, owning a kitchen stocked with actual ingredients seemed like the height of luxury.
As I chopped shallots, I turned on my Bluetooth and checked in with Brian"s handler, Ram. Ram and I loathed each other.
"Company luncheon," he told me in that voice that always seemed to be sneering. "Wear the Donna Karan. In fuchsi
