Page 27

“Because I shut it down immediately. Marlowe's products cut corners. Heavy on marketing, light on quality. Everything I've fought against.” Wren stands, pacing now. “She didn't take the rejection well. Said I'd regret not aligning with someone of my 'caliber.'”

“Looks like this is her version of payback.”

“But working with Camille?” Raj asks. “That seems like a stretch.”

I click to the next slide. “Not when you see this.”

The images show Marlowe and Camille first meeting at Jerkins and another meeting in what appears to be Marlowe'sbackyard. They're huddled close, looking at something on a laptop.

“Where did you get this?” Wren's voice is that of disbelief.

“I have contacts at various media outlets. Called in some favors. One of them had been documenting celebrity comings and goings. Found these in their archives.”

I click through several more photos showing the two women together on multiple occasions.

“The timeline matches,” I explain. “These meetings began days after Camille went public with her accusations. Perhaps Marlowe came across the first post she made which didn’t go viral and decided to take her under her wing.”

Ava shakes her head. “This is so sick.”

Talia's already typing on her phone. “This changes everything. We can go on the offensive now.”

“I want to confront her.” Wren's voice is steel now, her moment of shock passed. “I want to look her in the eye when I ask her why.”

“I advise against that,” I say. “At least not yet.”

“Sean's right,” Talia interjects. “This warrants a strategic release, through proper channels.”

“No.” Wren stands again, her posture rigid. “She’s tearing down everything I built. Letting trolls send hateful packages to my son’s school. Marlowe didn't have the courage to attack me directly. She hid behind Camille, behind anonymous trolls. I won't do the same. I'm confronting her.”

I recognize that expression. It's the same one Eric gets when he's made up his mind about finishing a drawing before going to bed. Stubborn determination runs in the family.

“Then I'm coming with you,” I say.

“Sean—”

“Non-negotiable, Wren. If you're doing this, I'm your shadow.”

Our eyes lock in silent battle. Then, she nods.

“Fine.”

Marlowe Skye'soffice is what you'd expect from a woman whose brand is called Nova Grey. Everything is sleek and monochromatic. Cold. Like the woman herself.

She keeps us waiting in her reception area for approximately thirty minutes. Power play. I've seen it before with high-profile clients. I stay standing while Wren sits, my back to the wall where I can observe everything.

At last, Marlowe emerges. All polished blonde hair, startling blue eyes, and too-white teeth. She’s camera-ready in a silver pantsuit that costs more than most people's monthly rent.

“Wren, darling!” Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. “What a surprise. My assistant wasn't clear on why you needed to see me so urgently.”

Her eyes dart to me, a slow smile crosses her expression as she does a double-take, before settling on Wren.

“Who’s the hunk?”

Wren rises, ignoring her comment. “I think you know why I'm here, Marlowe.”

“Do I?” She laughs. “Well, come into my office. We can catch up, we should catch up! It's been, what, two years?”

“Yes. Since the Vanity Fair party where I rejected a collaboration with Nova Grey and you told everyone my skincare line would never last another six months.”