Marge and Nathan.
“Olive, you have star power,” remarked Jaime. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider and do a commercial for my wife’s new plus-size lingerie line?”
Owen possessively flung his arm around my shoulders and answered for me. “Yes, she’s sure.”
Smiling, Jaime high fived Owen’s free hand. “Well, man, I guess you own her.”
“Yup. I own The Big O Girl.” Owen gave me a squeeze. “Every ounce of her.”
“And would that be thirty two hundred ounces?” came an unwanted snippy voice, dripping with sarcasm.
Mallory. My blood curdled at her belittling comment, but I decided I wasn’t going to let it get me down. I was on a sugar high. Over the course of the day, I’d bitten into enough cream-filled donuts to last a lifetime. And thankfully, she hadn’t been meddlesome during the shoot. Just a cold, calculating observer, who sat with her arms crossed in a canvas folding chair near the director. My eyes stayed on her as she headed our way. She was carrying a tray filled with glasses of champagne.
“Time to celebrate,” she said, her eyes on Owen. “Let’s toast The Big O Girl.”
“Great idea,” chimed in Jaime as Mallory handed him a glass.
“And here’s one for you, Owen.” My swoon-worthy co-star had no choice but to take it from her.
And then she made eye contact with me. A smug smile crawled across her face.
“And, of course, our star must have some champagne too.” She reached for another glass.
Embarrassment crept through me; I felt myself shrinking. “Um, uh, thanks but no thanks. I’m underage.” Though my twenty-first birthday was less than two weeks away, I was still too young to legally drink. While the rich mean girls I’d grown up with used to brag that they secretly raided their parents’ liquor cabinets as early as age thirteen, I’d never drank a stitch of alcohol in my entire life. And given my abusive alcoholic father, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to try any form of it.
“Come on, Olive,” urged Jaime, perhaps not knowing my age or all the details of my sordid past.
“Have some, princess,” Owen likewise insisted as I debated what to do. “Your little secret is safe with us.”
Mallory rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Olive, it’s time to grow up. A little champagne is not going to kill you.”
Her snarky words irked me. It was time to show this witch that I was a woman. Woman enough for Owen. Woman enough for Moët. I accepted her offer. With confidence, pride, and love in my eyes, I held up my glass as Owen toasted me.
“To The Big O Girl. May she sell a gazillion donuts. I love her with my heart and soul.”
His heartfelt words brought tears to my eyes. Our secret was out. We clanked our glasses together, the sound like bells ringing, and then I took my first sip of the sparkling golden beverage. Oh my God! Pure magic! It was like I was tasting stars. The little bubbles popped in my mouth before sailing down my throat. I immediately took another big sip. And then another and another.
“Slow down, Olive,” I heard Owen say, but I couldn’t reply.
My throat was constricting. My lungs were shutting down. Horrific pain coursed through my body. With the little brainpower I had left, I thought that maybe donuts and champagne didn’t mix. Especially with someone who’d never drank before. I tried to hide my reaction, but it was next to impossible. The pain so great, I clamped my hand to my heart where it clustered. Oh, God! Was I having a heart attack?
“Olive, what’s wrong?”
Owen’s panicked voice. I couldn’t answer.
“Oh, Jesus.”
Sweet Jesus.
“Someone call 911!”
And with those words, I felt God take me in his loving arms. Everything faded to black until a white light claimed me.
I’d been out of the office for a week. I had a lot to catch up on, and sadly, I no longer had an assistant to help me. It would be hard to replace my beloved Olive, but God has other plans for her. As I booted up my computer, a familiar shrill voice sounded at the doorway.
“Owen, it’s good to have you back.”
It was Clint, looking rather dolled up in a full-skirted print dress that was much better suited for my sweetheart. It did nothing for Clint but make her look skinnier and more flat-chested than she already was.
“Sorry to hear about Olive’s fatal heart attack,” she continued, not a sad note in her voice. “Fat people are more prone to them.”
“The doctors