Page 1 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

WREN

“ D id Lemon LLC Steal Its Sparkle?” Talia reads, tossing the magazine on my table. “This is beyond ridiculous!”

The headline glares at me in a glossy, accusatory font. It’s the latest issue of Spotlight magazine, and what they've decided to put on the spotlight today is a lie from a so-called indie skincare creator. A lie that everyone else seems to believe now.

My hands clench the paper so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I read a tabloid this morning with the headline “ Wren Sinclair? Or Wren Sinc-Liar? !” but even that didn't bother me as much as this.

“I can't believe Spotlight would publish this trash. I’m going to speak to the editor-in-chief.”

Not too long ago, Spotlight magazine heralded me as America’s Skin Queen, but today, they’re dragging me like I'm a scam artist who steals from small creators. Of course, my PR manager is pissed about this.

Talia paces, clenching her shoulder-length brown hair as she swears under her breath.

I’ve known Talia for a decade and I’ve never seen her wound up like this.

She’s been my PR manager since my breakout as an actress and likes to joke that she doesn't work much since I don’t get into scandals and live a very quiet life.

I almost chuckle now, thinking perhaps the universe has sent this mess our way thanks to her jokes.

“They’re a publication after all. This is trending news, of course, they would cover it,” I say, my stomach turning with each word.

“They’re supposed to be a reputable magazine, not highlighting gossip as reputable news.”

I read the article, though I already know what's in there.

Camille Ross is a name I’d never heard until two weeks ago.

This Camille is a self-proclaimed indie beauty guru with a blog and a grudge.

She claims I stole her idea. Not only the idea of fruit-based skincare but also our latest lemon glow serum —including the tagline for the serum: “When life gives you lemons… glow.”

I used to laugh at stories like this. But I haven't been laughing for the past week since her story went viral. My phone buzzes with notifications. I reach out to retrieve my phone from my bag. Talia takes my bag from me.

“Enough, please. Don’t read any more of those nasty comments.”

“It could be an important email.”

My phone buzzes even more. Talia whips it from the bag and glances at the screen. She grimaces.

“No. It’s not an important email. You’ve been tagged in the Spotlight article. It’s going viral. My goodness.”

She shrugs out of her tailored black suit and plops into the seat opposite me, looking drained.

“Let me see.”

Talia sighs, handing me the phone. The post has gained thousands of likes since it was posted with five thousand quote tweets discussing it. I scroll to the comment section. My stomach clenches. It’s a landfill of hate.

One of the accounts with the most likes slams: “Of course, she stole the idea off a struggling indie beauty creator. So sick of these capitalist losers.”

A stan account called WrenSinclairUpdates comments, “I’m so disappointed. I can't believe she hasn't addressed this yet :((”

User Yumix_x says, “Wren has always been fake. Knew it since her days on Crest. No wonder her cast mates HATED her and ran her off the show.”

I scoff. This couldn't be more of a lie. Everyone knows I left Crest after I became pregnant with my son, Eli. It was huge news back then when I left the show with the public and media spinning tales to make sense of it. At first, the narrative was that the show couldn’t afford me anymore, even though the show revolved around my character, Rhea Crest. Later, the story snowballed into more sensational territories about a feud between me and some co-stars.

I was eventually forced to reveal that I was pregnant and taking a step back from acting. The irony is that I revealed the news in a Spotlight editorial.

“Wow, she’s just as terrible a person as Rhea in Crest omg. Freda was always the better Crest anyway.”

“Cancel Lemon LLC! #WrenSinclairIsOverParty”

I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until my secretary, Lily, walks in.

“Wren?”

I look up.

She’s holding our latest PR box like it’s ticking. Her face is pale, her lips pressed tight.

“What now?”

She sets it on my desk and steps back like it might explode.

Talia sucks her teeth. “Don’t tell me that’s another of those hate packages disguised as our PR boxes? Why would you bring that here?”

“It was sent under one of our brand ambassadors’ names. I thought it was being returned.”

I pull back the flap and the smell hits first. Something sharp, something sour. Rotten lemons. The stench punches me in the face. The rind is covered with black mold and one of the rotten lemons is leaking. Talia’s hand flies to her nose, a pinched expression on her face.

A typed note sits on the top: “Your Lemon Glow Serum gave me acne. Retire!”

My stomach flips. I shove the box away.

“Don’t bring this to my desk again. Ever.”

“I’m so sorry.” Lily’s gaze fell to her shoes, hands clenched in her lap.

I nod, dismissing her with a wave of hand. My throat is tight and I find it hard to speak.

“We have to respond to these claims, Wren,” Talia says, pressing a handkerchief to her nose as Lily leaves with the rotten package.

“I’ve been on calls since 6 AM. The media’s trying to get your response about her claims. I told them the claims are false and damaging.

But this thing’s a wildfire. I didn’t want to tell you but Camille is set to appear on the Morning Show tomorrow. ”

I swallow, standing up now to pace. “She’s on a roll, for sure.”

“They promise to show her so-called receipts on the show.”

“Her what?”

“I received news that she’ll be showing exclusive screenshots she hasn't made public yet. Blog posts from six years ago. She claims she pitched the concept to a boutique lab and somehow you got wind of it.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Talia exhales hard. “It doesn’t matter. People believe her.”

“I built this brand from scratch.”

“I know.” She looks me in the eye. “But the internet doesn’t care. We’ve got the Morning Show running the story. That’s how bad it’s gotten. My hunch smells foul play and my hunch is never wrong. This seems like a coordinated attack.”

I tuck a distracting lock of dark hair behind my ear. “How? Who would want to attack me?”

“Your skincare brand’s the number one in the country. You went from being an actress to owning the most beloved skincare brand. If you think that wouldn't have attracted some envy, then you're naive.”

I sigh. Talia is right, of course. When I launched Lemon LLC, I was met with positive responses but I didn't miss the snide remarks from skincare industry executives and colleagues who think an actress should stay in her lane and leave skincare to professionals.

I paid them no mind and it paid off. Lemon LLC is a success.

“I can't think of anyone.”

“Oh, I can think of a few. Camille Ross has to be backed by someone with influence,” Talia opens her laptop, and a notification chimes as she does. “She’s doing these big interviews, Wren. Press. Podcasts. She’s being painted as the underdog. And people? They love an underdog.”

I bit my lips hard. “And where is legal in all of this? Peter should be here.”

“They’re drafting a cease and desist, but the court of public opinion is faster than paperwork.”

Raj Kapoor, Lemon LLC’s chief innovation officer, appears like he’s been summoned by stress. He’s a person of calm and collected disposition but today, his hair looks like he’s pulled it five times. His eyes are wild and his Lemon Skin-Aqua shirt is buttoned up wrong.

“We have to postpone the launch.”

My stomach drops. I shake my head.

“Not happening.”

“Wren.”

“Raj, we’ve been preparing for this for months. We’ve teased this product already. There’s no way we’re postponing it now.”

He walks in fully, waving his tablet. “The investors are watching how we handle this scandal like hawks. If we launch with this storm hanging over us?—”

“All the more reason to launch. If we postpone, then it’s a clear message that we’re affected by the drama. We must present a strong front. We go on with all activities as scheduled. All .”

“If the investors pull out, we’ll be launching into nothing.”

“We have investors meeting coming up soon to discuss Phase 2 of the skin diagnostic app. We’ll know their thoughts then.”

Raj opens his mouth to argue then stops short, shoving his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose instead.

Another knock. I take a breath and square my shoulders, steeling myself for more bad news. A head full of wavy auburn curls pokes in and my shoulders relax.

My best friend, Jen, rushes to my side like a hurricane in Lululemon, her gym bag in one hand and her phone in the other.

I almost sigh with relief at her presence.

Only Jen could waltz into one’s office on her way from the gym with her hair in a messy bun yet somehow look like a supermodel while at it.

Raj shifts, a flush shading his cheeks. “Hi, Jen.”

“Hi, Raj. Hi, Talia.” She turns to me, her perfectly shaped brows knotted into a frown. “Wren, what’s happening? Please tell me you’re not being called a fraud all over the internet.”

“It’s true.”

“Camille’s post is trending on Twitter. She’s making viral TikToks calling herself ‘the original lemon girl.’ People are stitching it like it’s gospel.”

I laugh, but it’s not funny.

“We were just laughing over how nonsensical this was last week. How did it spiral into something so big? Why’s the media platforming that woman?”

I press my palms into my eyes. “I’m as clueless as you are.”

“The vitriol online is insane.”

“And in real life,” Talia adds. “She’s been receiving the most disgusting and disturbing hate mail. You need security at this point.”

I sit on the couch and Jen settles beside me.

“I agree. People are nuts. Lily told me about the lemons. That’s a threat. You need protection.”

“It’s fan mail compared to the emails I’ve been getting.”

Talia scrolls her laptop. “I’m looking into some security services. What do you think about this one? It’a a security?—”

“What? I’m not hiring bodyguards. I’m good.”

“It’s not up for debate. You’re being harassed and it’s not just online anymore.”

“Even so?—”

Talia folds her arms. “Jen’s right. We’ve received three threatening emails this morning alone… One mentioned your son.”

My blood runs cold. My head snaps up.

“What?”

“They didn’t use his name. Just ‘your kid.’ But it’s enough.”

A pit forms in my stomach. “This is insane.”

Jen’s lips pressed into a white slash. “I’ll smack anyone who brings my godson into this. That’s crossing a line. What’s wrong with people?”

“You need protection, not just to protect yourself but for Eric as well.”

Jen leans in, taking my hand in hers. “Let me call my dad.”

“Sean?”

“He’s retired and runs his security firm now. Langston Protection Services. He’s the best. He’s… safe.”

I open my mouth to tell her that Sean Langston is a lot of things but safe isn't one. Why? I can’t say out loud and so I clamp my mouth shut.

“I’ll call you,” she says, patting my hand.

I don't say yes. But I don't say no, either.

My pulse races as she places the call. My intuition tells me that my tribulations have only begun. I’m standing at the edge of a cliff of fire, and even if I don't fall in, I’ll get scorched either way.