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Sabotage
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2025-04-21 07:00:30Fiona
My back ached. Three hours hunched over the printouts had left a knot between my shoulder blades that no amount of stretching would fix. I backed away from the hotel wall, blinking at my creation—photos, schedules, maps, and sticky notes connected by red yarn. Two weeks of work for a single day.
Maya's stupid foundation launch.
The ice in my glass had melted, bourbon watered down to nothing. I drank it anyway, the tepid liquid burning less than it should. My fifth? Sixth? I'd lost count.
My phone vibrated against the nightstand, screen lighting up the darkening room. Mother. Again. The third time in twenty minutes.
Have you secured press credentials yet? We need eyes inside that event.
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