Heated Moments. Phyllis Bourne

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      Her brother frowned. “Look, we have a lot of Espresso business to cover, including our plans for the building, dealing with competition from Force Cosmetics and future ad campaigns for Freddy,” he said. “So either have a seat and put that marketing degree you earned online to work, or stop holding us up with this ridiculousness.”

      “R-ridiculousness?” she stammered.

      Ignoring her protests, Cole signaled his secretary who announced the next item on the meeting agenda.

      A discussion about the future of Espresso’s aging building ensued. Meanwhile, Lola stood frozen, dazed from the callousness of her so-called loved ones. They’d actually pulled the plug on her career, she thought. A career that had already been on life support.

      The New York City–based talent agency Lola had hired to field offers outside of Espresso hadn’t taken her calls since the amateur videos of the airplane incident became social-media fodder. Not that they had presented her with a job she’d actually consider.

      Lola wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when the sound of Cole calling her name yanked her out of her own head.

      “Well, are you going to just pose like a mannequin, or help us strategize next year’s ad campaigns for your replacement?” he asked.

      She blinked. After leading their family’s underhanded coup, her brother had the unmitigated gall to expect her help. There was no way in hell she’d take him up on his offer. She opened her mouth to tell him so.

       Don’t be hasty.

      A warning from her inner voice, the same one that tried so hard to keep her impulsiveness and tendency to say exactly what was on her mind from getting her into trouble, made Lola hesitate.

       You may not like it, but it’s the best offer you’ve had in months.

      Lola recalled the proposed gigs the talent agency had called with, and cringed. But how could she even consider her family’s offer after the way they’d all treated her this morning, not to mention the humiliation of being replaced by a drag queen?

       Swallow your pride and take the job!

      “We’re all eager to hear your thoughts,” her sister said encouragingly.

      Gulping, Lola tried to swallow the lump of indignation stuck in her throat. “I—I...” she began.

      It just wouldn’t go down.

      “Well?” Cole asked. “Surely, as Espresso’s former model you have something useful to say.”

      Glaring at her brother, Lola silently told her inner voice to take a hike, along with any notions of kowtowing to the very people who had just given her the boot. “All I have to tell y’all is where to shove the idea of me helping you screw me over.”

      “Lola—” her brother began, but this time she was the one to interrupt.

      “I’ll give you a hint.” She looked pointedly at the chairs under their behinds. “You’re sitting on it.”

      Without stopping to think about her actions or the consequences of them, she hefted her pink leather tote off the table and walked toward the open conference room door. Lola paused in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder.

      “Firing me was a huge mistake,” she said. “I’ll try to remember we’re family when you all come crawling for me to save this company and your asses.”

      Pulling the sunglasses perched on her head down to cover her eyes, Lola strutted down the hallway toward the bank of elevators, reveling in the stupefied expressions on their faces.

      She jabbed the down button and flipped her hair over her shoulder, noting the frayed ends. Espresso wasn’t the only cosmetic company in the world, she told herself. Once word got out she was available, there would be plenty of offers from rival brands.

      “Wait!” A male voice rang out as she boarded the elevator.

      Humph. It didn’t take them long to realize they’d screwed up in letting her go. Lola pressed her lips together to stifle a grin. Triumphant, she spun around, only to see not a member of her family, but one of the building’s maintenance crew carrying a ladder.

      “Thanks for holding the elevator, Miss Gray.”

      Remembering the employee was a newlywed, Lola inquired about his wife on the ride down to the lobby. Making small talk kept her mind off the fact that the sense of satisfaction she’d gleaned from her parting shot at her family had diminished. So had her confidence she’d ever be offered another job as good as the one she’d just lost.

      In reality, with the exception of some runway work during New York and European Fashion Weeks, there was only one segment of the market vying for her face. At her age, a very unappealing market.

      The elevator pinged.

      “See you around, Miss Gray,” the coverall-clad worker said.

      Putting one foot in front of the other, Lola walked in the direction of the building’s exit with her head held high, as her insides began to cave over the morning’s events.

      She stopped short when she spotted through the lobby windows a man she’d recognized. He was standing in front of the parking garage across the street. The slimeball was a cameraman for the reality show Celebrity Pranks, and he appeared to be in deep conversation with a guy dressed in a clown costume.

      Lola bit back a curse. That stupid show had been out to trip her up since the airplane incident. She’d first seen the cameraman lurking outside a boutique in Atlanta three days ago, only that time his partner had been dressed in a gorilla costume. Fortunately, another shopper had come in and mentioned a Celebrity Pranks SUV parked around the corner.

      It would serve them right if she marched across the street, snatched the big red nose off that clown and stuck it...

      “Oh, no, you don’t,” Lola muttered, this time allowing the voice of common sense to overrule her impulse.

      Unemployed or not, the last thing she needed was to be caught on video getting in that clown’s painted face. The footage would fuel the reality show’s ratings better than any stupid prank they had up their sleeve to make a fool out of her.

      Lola continued to watch them through the lobby’s floor-to-ceiling windows, debating whether to have Espresso’s building security escort her to her car in the parking garage. Maybe she should just tuck her hair under the baseball cap in her bag and try to slip past them unnoticed.

      Her phone buzzed, and she shrugged the massive designer tote off her shoulder. Rifling through it, Lola unearthed a curling iron, packets of protein-shake mix, a plastic blender bottle and the remote control for her television that had somehow made its way into the black hole of a bag. The ringing had stopped by the time she’d retrieved the phone, nearly nicking her fingers on a pair of scissors she’d used to cut crochet braids from her hair a few weeks ago.

      Lola swiped the screen with her thumb. Her tote weighed down the crook of her arm like a bowling-ball bag. She listened to the message, gave the phone a quizzical glance and then frowned.

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