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“Yes. The marketing team is already working on the company image through a campaign about the Terraroot Labs’ human factor. As I mentioned yesterday though, the problem is you. We need to create the false impression that you’re personable and approachable, a trustworthy face for the planet’s savior. Stat. I’ve done the preliminary work to set up interviews, but we’ll need a coach.”
I wasn’t interested in being the face of anything. That was a part of why this merger was so important. But Pamela’s method was wrong.
“No interviews.” I’d done them before, with extensive coaching. Interviews were the fuel that had flamed the robot narrative across the internet. “Send someone personable to them. Face-to-face reassurance is key.”
“Sure,” she said. “But we need another element. Interviews can….”
Inspiration struck, and I knew exactly what I needed. “We’re going to follow the marketing team’s lead.”
“How so?”
“I’m going to hire a beloved social media personality to convince the internet that I am not a robot.”
“You’ve decided to try my dating suggestion?”
“No.” A shiver carried up my spine at her reminder. “Nothing romantic.”
Pamela furrowed her brows ever so slightly. “That could work…ifwe find the right person. Without an established relationship, it’ll be difficult to make a connection, and more importantly, know who to trust.”
We needed someone close by. Someone with an unforgettable presence.
“I’ll handle it,” I said. “You’re dismissed.”
Pamela shot me one final look of concern before leaving me to my thoughts, and to my lunch.
I ate my sandwich, vegetables, then fruit, while scrolling through the internet to findher—the woman from the tea shop whose path I crossed every morning on my four-mile run, the one people stopped in the street to take photos with, the one who could flip her demeanor like a flick of a switch when she needed to.
I found her easily.
Layana Hartley—reality show sweetheart, night shift barista, unstable menace to society. That last bit was my opinion alone. I skimmed article after article proving no matter how atrocious her behavior, public perception remained positive.
Our first interaction had been a train wreck. We’d spoken very few words to each other, none of them kind. But I knew in my gut, she was perfect for this. When I felt this certain about anything, I was never wrong.
SIX
LAYANA
The key to being a badass was restorative sleep. Give me a solid seven hours. Without that sleep, I was just a bad ass. Two words. Given Morgan’s guest room was sorely lacking blackout curtains, the clock on the nightstand said two p.m., and I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink, I was very likely going to spend the next twenty-four hours as the latter version of myself.
Warm, roasty scents filled the air—someone was brewing coffee, and that seductive aroma called to me like a siren’s song. Also, I’d had to pee for at least two hours. It was becoming abundantly clear the Sandman wasn’t magically coming to whisk me off to dreamland any time soon. So, I finally relented and sat up.
A wave of dizziness rushed through my head from the motion. My eyelids blinked out of unison, and the world took on a swirly, dreamy quality.
Slow and steady.
I dragged my sleep-deprived feet in a zombie shuffle toward the bathroom. A rat’s nest of hair pulled at my scalp. Cold, wet slobber lingered on my cheek. Given the slobber, I must have drifted off for a little while at some point, even if I didn’t feel like I had.
The sight of my reflection in the mirror would be enough to make grown men weep in fear. Perfect. Let the outside reflect the inside.
After a relieving pee, and a fresh scrub of my hands and face in the sink, I followed the unignorable allure of freshly brewing coffee down the hall. I spotted my coat hanging from a closet door on the way, cleaner than it had been since it was new. The hole was sewn up so perfectly I could hardly tell it had been damaged.
My bestie was too good to me. I kept shuffling toward the kitchen.
“Good afternoon,” Morgan said from the sofa where she was curled up with a book and a steamy cup of comfort. Her cable-knit sweater, leggings, and fluffy socks made her look particularly cozy.
I grunted.
“There’s a fresh pot if you want some coffee,” she said.
