Page 85 of Sweet Nightmare
From: [email protected]
Oh, dearest…
I love the way you truly believe my girl has charm.
But he does look like a man who doesn’t run from a storm.
— Andrea
ten
. . .
Rude Intruder
“”I’m sure you’re a lovely person somewhere away from me.” — A
I think it’s time to revisit my original intrusive thought: suffocating my only friend with one of those hideous strawberry-shaped pillows she scatters around her aggressively bright, completely uncoordinated apartment.
Slowly, too. And with love.
Settle down, Artemis.
The goody-two-shoes angel on my shoulder makes an untimely appearance.
If I get rid of Stevie, who exactly will serve as a buffer between me and the rest of humanity?
I ignore the angel and take a deep breath, immediately regretting it.
Something isn’t right.
Stevie might be the loving bane of my existence, but she’s never abandoned me during a work trip. Hell, she once showed up despite having all four wisdom teeth removed. My Stevie doesn’t bail. Ever.
Unless something is seriously wrong.
Also…Bernard looked far too cheerful during our video call. People with bad backs don’t usually spend their nights drinking and salsa dancing with women at Mofongo En Casa.
Trust me. I know that man too well. Physically, he’s fine. Mentally? A few screws have always been loose.
Which leaves my mother.
She looked suspiciously pleased when she convinced me to come to South Korea for her upcoming campaign. Not normal pleased. She looked like I’d just agreed to give her her first grandchild.
I should’ve known something was up. My mother only smiles like that when she gets exactly what she wants.
I sigh.
I can’t even be entirely angry with either of them. This is partly my fault. I should’ve recognized the warning signs before flying halfway across the planet for what was supposed to be a carefully planned collaboration between two global brands.
Now, I’m standing inside what appears to be a modern winter wonderland. The mansion looks like something a Hallmark heroine would inherit from a mysterious dead relative during the holidays. A very, very wealthy dead relative.
I look around and find no cameras, campaign team, stylists, assistants, or schedules.
No explanations either.
Absolutely nothing related to the work trip I’m supposedly here for.
