Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,95

me to it. Who’d given me permission to be spontaneous and brave.

“Yes.”

Her smile widens. “I’m glad. And if he does something to hurt you again…”

“He’ll have to reckon with you.”

“That’s right,” she says. “But relationships really are an adventure, like he said. Do you feel ready to travel some new terrain?”

I squeeze her hand. “I do.”

“You’re fidgeting,” Penny tells me.

“I am not,” I murmur back, my hand sliding down the beads in my dress to rest at my side, the elevator slow in rising to the top.

“What kind of travel agency rents a rooftop bar for the launch of a marketing campaign?”

“One with too much money,” I say. “One that caters to a luxury clientele.” And one that doesn’t care for guests who dislike heights.

We step out onto a terrace, the late summer air warm and the night just beginning to darken. The skyscrapers surrounding us make for a backdrop of glittering lights and towering giants. Reminding me we’re far from the ground. But as long as I stay away from the edge, I should be fine.

“Look,” Penny says, nodding to a giant projector screen in the corner. Images and videos roll over it, of locations worldwide. I recognize the turquoise waters of St. Barts, the savannah in Kenya.

“I can’t believe they’re leaving it so late to announce which campaign was chosen,” I tell her, smoothing a tendril of hair back. The wind immediately whips it out again, and I give up, because it’s a losing battle.

“Suspense,” Penny says. “Oh! Let’s grab something to drink…”

“Let’s grab something to eat first.”

She rolls her eyes at me but reaches for a tiny sandwich, resting on a cocktail napkin. “You’re a bore,” she tells me.

I grip her arm and give her a light push, not letting go. She wavers on her borrowed heels. “I know your weaknesses,” I tell her, smiling. “Don’t get tough.”

“Traveling changed you. My sister used to be nice.”

“I’m still nice,” I say, scanning the crowd. Looking for people I recognize, one in particular, and he’s usually a head above others… No sight of him. The nerves drum beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. Nerves make for the most potent of all drinks.

I take a sip of my drink and watch as more and more guests filter in, more than a few giving me lingering looks. It’s so second nature by now that it barely fazes me, nor Penny, but it’s always more frequent when I’m in heels and makeup. It’ll fade, I want to tell them.

Ben Rieler steps up on stage, a mic in hand and in a tailored suit, smiling at the milling guests. I half-listen as he welcomes guests, craning my neck to look around the crowd.

Ben’s voice filters back in. “The result has been two campaigns of astonishing quality. They’re differing perspectives, capturing each of our locations with unique eyes… They reflect the differences in travelers that Rieler seeks to attract.”

Was that a dark head? A man, similar in color... Turn around, turn around… and he does and my heart leaps, but it’s not Rhys. It’s Henry, with Faye radiant and pregnant at his side. So he’d invited his family to this, too.

A deep voice speaks at my side, familiar and aching. “Hello, Ivy.”

I keep my eyes on Ben and the images being projected, too scared to turn my head. “Rhys.”

His words are amused. “Ben had a difficult decision to make.”

“Seems like it.”

“So he avoided making one at all.”

I open my mouth to ask, but just then, Ben steps aside on the stage and the crowd’s hush turns into an expectant murmur. The screen shifts into the logo of Rieler Travel, and as it dissolves, a drone video of the hotel in Bali plays. Music, slow and hypnotic, sounds over the images.

It switches to me on the Jeep in Kenya, laughing at the camera, at one of Rhys’s jokes. Another smooth transition to a glossy image of a dark-haired woman posing on a lounge chair by a pool. Interspliced with me, lying on the sand in St. Barts with the setting sun.

“They used both?” I whisper.

“Yes,” Rhys murmurs. “To show how they cater to two different kinds of travelers. I think ours is meant to represent the more adventure-seeking one.”

My lips curve as I see the same thing he does. The footage from our trip is colored differently. It’s me swimming toward the waterfall in Bali, it’s me walking along the edge of a dock in Sydney.

The other? It’s the dark-haired model on hotel beds,