This is worse than she thought. She’s out of commission for twenty-four hours and already a thousand things have gone wrong. She’s panicking. Spiraling. Seeing all her hard work, all those wasted hours she’s skipped dinners, dates, virtual move nights with Sal, going down the drain called was it worth it?
“Do you see the issue, Lacey?”
Lacey finds her voice. “I see it,” she says through her teeth, forcing herself not to scream. Typically, she has a calm head under pressure. But this. This. She can’t focus. She’s freaking out. “Why didn’t you call the manufacturer?”
“I have my own accounts,” Autumn says. “I can’t cover for you.”
“Yes, I know that.” She gives Autumn a sharp look. “What did you tell Prentiss?”
Autumn shrugs. “Nothing. Not until his uppers and laxatives kick in.”
Great. She still has time to fix this.
Lacey sinks down to inspect the linens, instantly wishing she hadn’t. A sharp pain slices through her stomach, the stitches pulling tight.
“Something wrong?” Autumn asks.
Besides her life? The crippling pain in her abdomen? Losing her dignity in front of Autumn? The very fact that she’s unable to stand back up on her own?
Lacey chokes down a whimper. “No. Nothing.” Black dots blink in her vision, a cold wave of clamminess washing over her.
“Are you sure? You look like you’re going to barf.”
Lacey closes her eyes. She feels like she’s going to barf.
But Autumn keeps going on, oblivious, her shrill voice like needles in Lacey’s temple. “Are you still sick? Because Prentiss will flip. You remember what happened at the Horatio Duke party, when Prentiss sprayed Mary with bleach because she coughed on the juice bar.” She lowers her voice. “She walked funny for a week.”
Lacey lifts her head, rallying a scoff. A lie. “Of course I’m not still sick. I’m fine, Autumn. I’m perfectly—”
There’s movement beside her, and then there’s Seth. He’s squatting down, pretending to peer into the box of linens. “Huh. This looks dubious.”
Lacey looks at Seth, and he stares at her, his eyes telling her to take the damn help he’s offering. A palm covertly extended between them. Lacey makes a fist, pressing the hard ball into his palm and using his leverage, his strength to push herself up into a standing position.
She grips the doorway, sweat beading her brow as she straightens up to face Autumn.
But Autumn’s not looking at Lacey. She’s looking at Seth. A predatory smile spreads across her face. “Who’s this?”
Lacey digs her nails into her palms. Autumn’s staring at Seth like she just stumbled upon some holy grail of hotness.
“He’s, uh ...”
As her eyes drift to Seth, who’s watching her with a schoolboy smirk, her mind lights on an idea.
Lacey waves a palm over Seth like she’s presenting an Oscar. “This is Seth. My assistant.”
“What?” Seth and Autumn ask in unison.
Autumn stares in suspicion. “He’s too cute to be an assistant.”
“He is the exact opposite of cute,” Lacey snaps, flustered. She takes a breath, aware she’s being stared at like she’s nuts, and exhales. “Thank you for bringing this shitshow to my attention, Autumn. I’ll take care of it.”
Autumn opens her mouth.
“Goodbye,” Lacey says and slams the door in Autumn’s over-powdered face.
For a few long seconds, Lacey stays at the door, waiting until the click-clack of Autumn’s heels fades, and then she whirls around.
So much for getting Seth Kincaid out of LA.