OPHELIA
The dream lingered like smoke, close around my throat.
The plane. The hotel. That night. His hands, his mouth, the lie afterwards. It's just business.
I shoved the memory down. But the more I did, the faster it clawed its way back up.
Charlotte's knock was sharp on the door, and then she burst in, not waiting for permission, bearing coffee and a blazer.
"Rise and shine, darling,” she said in an oddly cheerful tone. “Hell's waiting downstairs."
I groaned into my pillow. "Already?"
“Darling, the devil doesn't sleep and neither do paparazzi." She tossed the blazer onto the bed. "Gear up."
The air was already dense with smoke in the metaphorical sense, but choking all the same by the time we reached the room.
The board circled the big glass table like vultures over a body. Eve
