Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires #1) by Lauren Asher

My breaths come out in short bursts. The tingling in my left arm has me debating whether I’m going into cardiac arrest or suffering from another panic attack.

Jamie shuffles some papers on the other side of the phone. “According to the article in the Golden Gate Gazette, he was reunited with his high school sweetheart during a family trip to the Swiss Alps a couple of weeks ago.”

“Olivia Carmichael?” I’m surprised I can manage a single word.

“Yes, but—”

I stop hearing her. It’s an impossible task anyway with the way my ears ring.

Oliver’s mother wouldn’t shut up about how Olivia was the one who got away. With the way the Creswells spoke of the Carmichaels’ daughter’s perfect pedigree, one would assume the family was breeding horses rather than people.

I bet she can give him the perfect kids he and his mother want.

Rage quickly replaces the shock. My emotions rise to the surface, more chaotic and dangerous than a riptide.

Surprisingly, I’m not upset with Oliver.

I’m angry at myself.

“Thanks for the update, Jamie,” I say despite the tightness in my throat.

“I’ve already got my people on the phone managing PR. There are many fans rallying behind you on social media.”

“That’s good.”

Her long pause reminds me of a death knell. “But because of everything going on in the media…”

The pounding in my ears can’t drown out her next sentence.

“The network is pulling out. They don’t want to get involved in all this drama.”

“But...” My voice cracks.

“I’m so sorry. I tried my hardest to save the deal, but they thought it was best for you to pursue other options.”

“Of course. I totally understand.” I try to keep my tone light.

“Give me time to find the perfect home for your show.”

“Right.”

“I mean it, Dahlia. You’re talented, and once the dust settles, people will be begging to work with you.”

I appreciate her vote of confidence, but the catastrophizer in me is questioning if anyone in the industry will touch me with a ten-foot mic pole after all this drama.

This is your anxiety talking. I try to reason with myself.

Is it, or am I being realistic after losing the deal because of Oliver?

“I’ve got to go.” I hang up the call and walk away from the festival. Almost all the businesses in town are closed except for one.

Last Call.

Making a choice between crying my eyes out or heading to the bar is a no-brainer, although I’m sure I’ll regret my decision later.

You’re not supposed to numb your depression with alcohol.

Tomorrow, I plan on confronting my feelings, but today, I need a break. Plus, a few drinks won’t send me into a downward spiral.

Or so I hope.

The smell of stale beer makes my nose twitch, but I ignore it as I drop onto a stool across from the bar owner. “Hey, Henry.”

“Dahlia? What are you doing here?”

“Getting a drink.”

His brows scrunch together. “Are you okay?”

“I will be once you pour me a shot of tequila.” I reach for my purse, only to remember I left it back at the booth. “Shit. I forgot my purse.”

“I got you.” A guy from across the bar lifts his glass of brown liquor in my direction.

I frown. “And who are you?”

“Depends on who is asking.”

I look around the empty dive bar.

His lips twitch. “Lorenzo. You?”

“Someone who isn’t interested in talking.”

Henry snorts as he grabs an empty shot glass and fills it up to the top with tequila. “It’s on the house.”

“I’ll come back and pay you tomorrow.”

“I know you’re good for it.”

I reach for the glass and knock it back. The alcohol blazes a burning trail down my throat, helping with the anger.

My phone vibrates throughout the next hour from incoming texts from Julian.

SECOND BEST

Where did you go?



SECOND BEST

Is everything okay?



SECOND BEST

Stop screwing around and answer me.



His last text makes my entire chest ache.

SECOND BEST

Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.



I’m afraid not even Julian, the ultimate fixer, can repair the damage that’s been done to my career, self-esteem, and confidence.

But look at all the progress you’ve made.

Sure, I’ve improved somewhat thanks to therapy, meds, and taking on a new project with Julian, but the darkness is creeping back in, threatening to destroy all my hard work.

Having one bad day doesn’t discount ten good ones.

Then why do I feel like a failure for running away from my fears and drowning my sadness with alcohol?

Maybe because you are a failure, the toxic thought strikes out like a venomous cobra.

I hold my glass out for Henry. “Another one, please.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


Julian


I pull my mom aside. “Have you seen Dahlia?”

She shakes her head. “Check with Rosa.”

“I already did.”

It’s been two hours since Dahlia took off to answer a phone call. I have tried my best to ignore the churning sensation in my gut, yet it has only grown stronger with time.