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Ch. 1 Alanna
Onthe16thfloor of a nondescript building off Wilshire Ave in Los Angeles, Alanna Sandoval pushed open the frosted glass door of Fresh Perspective Public Relations Agency and took a deep breath. She knew, of course, that the air inside the office wasn’t any different from the air outside. But it felt different.
The hungry little agency punched above its weight and represented some of the most exciting up-and-coming companies and CEOs in the biotech sector. And, most importantly, the agency washers.
Holding the straps of her Prada handbag in the crook of her elbow, Alanna breezed past the empty reception desk and down the quiet hallway. These early hours—before everyone else arrived and turned the office into a buzzing madhouse—were her favorite.
Rounding the corner, she stopped at a desk just outside her office. The desk’s occupant wore a crisp white blouse and frameless glasses. Her long, dark hair was pinned in its usual up-sweep.
“Breakfast.” Renee held out a small brown bag and a cardboard cup. “Non-fat latte and a scrambled egg sandwich from that new place down the street. I had them add cinnamon to the latte to give you a little boost for the partners meeting.”
“You spoil me.” Alanna took the bag from her executive assistant. Though at 30 years old, Alanna was 10 years Renee’s junior, the two of them got along famously. “What brings you in so early?” she asked Renee. “Let me guess, band recital?”
“Volleyball,” her assistant answered with a grimace. “Gotta leave early to watch my daughter sit on a bench for two hours.”
Alanna leaned against the edge of the desk. “Maybe one of her teammates will sprain an ankle. They’d have to let Emma play, right?”
Renee rolled her eyes. “Maybe if one of the girls sprained both ankles.”
“She can’t be that bad.” Alanna twisted around a picture frame on Renee’s desk and looked at the photo of Renee with her arms wrapped around a grinning tween in a volleyball uniform. How the hell did her assistant find the energy to keep Alanna in line all dayandraise an incredible kid all on her own?
“Last week she blocked a serve in practice,” Renee said.
“See, that’s progress.”
“…with her face. Broke her glasses.”
Alanna groaned, then took a long sip from the coffee cup.Mmmmm.Whoever discovered caffeine deserved to be revered with giant golden statues on every continent. “What is this, the third pair she’s broken this year? I told you to get Emma contacts.”
Renee pinched her lips. “And I told you to try dating a nice guy for once. Looks like Emma and I both can’t have everything we want.”
Alanna made a face. This argument was so old it could probably buy alcohol. “I don’t date, and even if I did—”
“I don’t go for nice guys,” Renee mimicked, finishing Alanna’s familiar refrain.
“Too boring,” Alanna confirmed.
Renee shook her head, then switched back to the original topic. “Contacts are expensive. Emma needs to understand we’re on a budget. It’s a good life lesson.”
Alanna’s grin faded. She knew all about growing up with a budget. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A budget implied at least some money coming in.
“I offered to pay for them, Renee,” she said, her voice softening.
Her assistant bristled. “And I politely declined your offer. We’re doing fine.”
Alanna held in her sigh. Renee was at the agency’s salary cap for executive assistants, but it wasn’t nearly enough to live on comfortably in Los Angeles while raising a kid.
Well, that just meant it was time for Alanna to throw down with her senior partner again in her never-ending quest to raise the salary caps. And, whaddya know, they just happened to be having a partner meeting today.
“Derek wants you to call him ASAP,” Renee said switching into business mode. “He’s having another panic attack.”
Alanna took a second hit of coffee. As the CEO of one of the most exciting biotech startups in the country, Derek was brilliant when it came to 3D printing noses and ears. Interacting with flesh-and-blood people, however? Not so much.
“I’ll ring him as soon as soon as I get settled,” Alanna said and hip-checked her office door. Dropping into the chair behind her desk, Alanna slipped her bag into a drawer and booted up her desktop. She tucked a short lock of blonde hair behind her ear as she pulled up her calendar. On screen, she confronted what looked to be a brutal rainbow massacre. Every daily block was soaked in colored events—calls, meetings, reminders, pub deadlines, new client pitches, etc. A lesser woman would have wet her Stella McCartney leggings in the face of such a calendar. Not Alanna Sandoval. She thrived on the barely contained chaos. Every day was a marathon sprint, and she had the lungs of a doped-up Tour de France winner.
Alanna’s phone dinged. She glanced at the screen and grimaced at the notification. A new Instagram post from Layla. What latest WMC—weapon of mass cuteness — had her younger sister just launched?
Alanna knew she shouldn’t look, but she thumbed open the image. From the screen, Layla grinned and held up two tiny furry bodies while her handsome fiancé, Cal, smiled good-naturedly by her side. The huge rock on Layla’s finger blinged like it contained built-in LED lights.
