Page 1 of Dial L for Lawyer
CHAPTER 1
Serena
Perfect.
I lean back in my executive chair—soft Italian leather—and give myself exactly three seconds to admire the final campaign mock-ups spread across my desk. Eighteen months of development, countless revisions, and more all-nighters than my concealer can hide, all leading to this moment.
‘Beauty at the Cellular Level’ gleams in elegant silver script across deep purple packaging. Our revolutionary skincare line that actually delivers on its promises. The clinical trials alone took a year, but the results? Chef's kiss.
My phone buzzes. A text from Maya:
Maya:
Final files uploaded to the secure server. This is going to change everything!
I smile, typing back:
Me:
We did it. YOUR concept for the cellular visualization was genius.
Three dots appear immediately.
Maya:
You mean that? Really?
Me:
Every word. Couldn't have done this without you.
Maya Bolton might be my protégé, but honestly? Sometimes I think she's hungrier for success than I ever was. Which is saying something, considering I once slept in this office for a week straight during a product launch.
I stand, smoothing down my structured Armani blazer. The La Perla shapewear—a splurge I'd justified as professional armor—whispers against silk, a constant reminder of the image I maintain. Nobody needs to know about the anxiety that lives under my skin, or the way I triple-check every outfit to make sure nothing shows that shouldn't.
The executive floor of Luminous Cosmetics hums with pre-launch energy. Through my glass office walls, I watch my team putting final touches on tomorrow's presentation. Each floor generates more than most people see in a lifetime, every surface gleaming with the kind of money that whispers rather than shouts. We're keeping the campaign under wraps until the official reveal in two weeks but tomorrow's board meeting will be our victory lap.
"Serena!" James Washington, my senior designer, pokes his head through my door. "You need to see the final videoedit. It's..." He makes an explosion gesture with his hands. "Transcendent."
"Cue it up in the conference room," I tell him. "I'll grab coffee and meet you there."
He salutes and disappears. I love my team. Love how they've trusted me through this intense process, even when I pushed them to redo things for the dozenth time. They deserve this win. We all do.
My phone buzzes again. This time it's Layla:
Layla:
Brunch? Bloom & Brew at 11?
me:
Can't. Board presentation. But Sunday?
Layla:
It's a date! Bennett says hi.
I roll my eyes but smile. Twelve months ago, I would have gagged at how sickeningly happy those two are. Back then, all I could see was my parents' version of love—Dad expecting Mom to rearrange her whole existence around his career, his needs."When you love someone completely, it doesn’t matter what you want,"she'd tell me, usually after canceling another plan, quitting another job, moving us again for his career. By the time I was eighteen, there was nothing left of the woman she used to be. Just Dad's shadow, perfectly molded to fit his life. In turn, I was molded to fit too. It was...suffocating. And I swore I'd never go down that road. Love was a liability I couldn't afford. My career, the only partner that never asked me to shrink myself.
