By Monday morning, the memories of rooftops and angel-faced boys were shoved into the back of Carrie's mind. Reality pressed harder, louder, heavier.
Anita Sandoval was still a ghost. Every call unanswered. Every email ignored. Her PR team a fortress of polite rejection. And the deadline for the cover story was so close Carrie could practically hear it tapping on her window like a stalker.
She sat at the head of the long glass conference table, pen tapping against her notepad as her team trickled in. Sofia slipped in quietly with her folders stacked to her chin. Joan arrived ten minutes late in sunglasses so large she looked like she was hiding from Interpol. And Damien? Damien entered like he was auditioning for "America's Next Top Model."
"Good morning, darlings!" he declared, silk sc
