Love, Laodice (Olympus Inc. #5)

Chapter One

T he Bride Wore Spring

LAODICE TROIADES

The sun came out the day Persephone Erinyes married Hades Kronion.

The days before the couple’s outdoor wedding had been stormy, but the skies cleared as dawn swept rosy fingers over the sky. By noon, the sun was shining over Ida Park, and Persephone walked down the famed rose-bordered path to meet her groom.

Her colorful gown, a closely kept secret before the wedding, drew stunned appreciation from the guests before she took a single step.

Persephone’s decision to wear a multi-colored print for the ceremony was an homage to her own artistic talents and an acknowledgment of the links she and Hades both have with magazine empire (and Goddess publisher) Olympus Inc.

“I knew that I didn’t want to wear white,” Persephone confessed. “But I wasn’t sure what I did want—none of the single-color dresses I saw appealed much either. Hades suggest I start doodling, because that’s what I do when I’m stuck, and before I knew it, I was sketching a gown with these huge, abstract swipes of color, sort of stylized flower petals.” The colors echoed the inks of Persephone’s floral tattoos—also self-designed—and Olympus CEO Hera Rheczack suggested a textile manufacturer who could make the imagined print a reality.

For the dress design and construction, another Olympus colleague sprang into action. Penny Laconia took the printed silk and Persephone’s original design sketch and created a three-dimensional gown with a corset bodice, sweetheart neckline, and a flowing skirt with a waterfall train. “Persephone was a dream to fit,” Penny said. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun with a dress.”

Persephone’s spring colors allowed her mother Demeter to wear a bespoke YSL ivory suit, turning what’s usually an out-of-bounds color for anyone but the bride into a background for her daughter’s flair. “Color is such an interesting thing, isn’t it?” Demeter said. “In some cultures, white is the color of mourning.”

Bridesmaid Aphrodite Urania and groomsman Odysseus Turner shared the Master of Ceremonies role at the reception, catered by Hades’s favorite restaurant, the Augean. While guests enjoyed pre-lunch drinks in the Marquee…

Laodice Troiades watched Hera Rheczack’s eyes scan the copy again. She liked to think she put her best work into every wedding story she wrote, but she’d definitely pulled out some extra stops for this one, where the main players were so closely connected to Olympus Inc in general and its CEO in particular. Laodice was pretty sure she’d memorized most of it through the constant read-throughs and careful tweaking.

And if Hera, the CEO in question, didn’t stop lingering thoughtfully over that first page soon, Laodice was going to do something embarrassing, like ask if it was all right, or start gushing apologies, or maybe pee her pants.

Hera looked up. She was a short woman, and sitting behind her desk, she should have been less intimidating. But the desk was on the top floor of the most powerful magazine publishing house in the world. Laodice was a mere senior writer for the Bridal department, twenty-four floors below.

She felt her hands clench in the loose fabric of her skirt, and consciously made her fists relax.

“Cut Demeter Erinyes from the piece,” Hera said.

Laodice blinked. High-profile weddings were Goddess ’s specialty. Generally speaking, the more quotes from society matrons and celebrities she could cram in, the better. Demeter’s comment had been strange, and she’d delivered it in an odd tone, but including her meant guaranteed higher sales.

Hera acknowledged Laodice’s confusion with a slight nod. “Normally, you’d be quite right,” she said. “Just this once, please.”

And that was another sign that something had been off with the mother of the bride. Persephone and Hades had been in a state of blissful oblivion throughout the festivities, but Laodice had noticed Don Kronion, Hecate Jones, and even Hera herself keeping a sharp eye on Demeter throughout the ceremony and reception.

She’d seen it many times, at many weddings—friends and family deployed to make sure a problematic guest didn’t spoil the couple’s special day.

“I wondered why Demeter was wearing something that pale,” she admitted. “Even with the colored gown, it seemed odd.”

Hera’s gaze sharpened, and for a moment Laodice was worried she’d overstepped. Then her boss’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Demeter didn’t know about Persephone’s dress.”

Laodice’s mouth fell open. “She thought her daughter was wearing white, and she still picked that suit?”

“Yes,” Hera said. “Persephone and her mother are…well, not estranged, exactly. It’s a difficult situation.” She tapped the printout. “But I don’t want Demeter rewarded for her attention-seeking behavior by actually getting attention.”

“Oh. Uh, yes, that sounds reasonable.”

“This is strictly confidential, of course. However, I’d rather you know why I made the request than speculate in public.” Her eyes glinted with an unmistakable warning, and Laodice mentally deleted the text she’d been composing for her group chat with her sisters.

“I’m honored by your trust,” she said instead.

Hera leaned back slightly and regarded her. “You’ve earned it. You’ve been working for Bridal for…five years now, yes?”

“Yes. I started straight out of college.” She’d applied for the prestigious Olympus intern program first, but the competition had been too fierce. Applying for a junior writer position in Bridal had seemed like an even wilder shot, but she’d somehow impressed Miriam, the Head of Bridal, during her interview.

“Most people who start in the Bridal section don’t stay there. They transfer to one of our fashion titles, or perhaps Travel.”

“Miriam’s stayed,” Laodice said loyally. “And Telfer Terzi has stayed for four years,” she added, with less enthusiasm.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Miriam is retiring. Had you thought of applying for the vacancy?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Laodice admitted. She had a half-completed pitch deck, a revamped resume, and a list of her own accomplishments in Bridal that her older sister had bullied her into making, but she hadn’t yet committed herself. It was such a huge job. Bridal was a Frankenstein’s monster of a department, with two major quarterly titles, a number of special editions and supplements, and a ton of digital content. And then there was the marketing, subscriptions, vendor advertising—all of the stuff that made the magazines financially viable in a complex media landscape. She could definitely handle the editing side, but the finance aspect was much more intimidating.

“Do consider it,” Hera said, and Laodice’s spine straightened. If Hera Rheczack thought she should apply…

“Thank you, I will,” she said.

Hera stood up, and Laodice took the cue, getting to her feet. Her head was still whirring. Hera hadn’t said anything explicitly, but that was encouragement, it really was. Head of Bridal! She’d be able to choose stories, and do that Where Are They Now idea she’d been pitching. They could expand their focus past the city, maybe look at love and lovers in a wider sense—still focusing on weddings, of course, that was the bread and butter, but elopements were getting more popular now, and DIY weddings weren’t going away any time soon. There had to be a way to get vendor buy-in for DIY, and she could probably attract some new advertisers.

Maybe even bring in new readers outside their audience of brides-to-be and mothers and bridesmaids of brides-to-be.

All right, yes, Telfer Terzi would point out that there was a small male readership too, and also most of their readership, regardless of gender, was incredibly transient. Right now, people only bought their titles when they had a wedding to plan themselves. But Laodice had wild ambitions to appeal to people who loved love, whether they were getting married, had already been married, never intended to be married, or, like her, had been dreaming of an as-yet unrealized marriage their whole life. She wanted a magazine for romantics.

And as editor, she might be able to make it happen.

“Thank you, that will be all,” Hera said politely, and Laodice realized she’d been standing there, staring into space.

“Yes!” she said. “I’ll make those cuts. Uh, thank you for your time, Hera.”

“Enjoy your stay in the Hippocampus,” Hera said, presumably in case Laodice didn’t already think she knew way too much about everything. The Hippocampus retreat story was supposed to be a closely kept secret. Though evidently not from the Olympus CEO.

“Um, yep,” Laodice said, and escaped into the outer office, where Hera’s junior assistant looked at her with sympathy.

“Looks like you’ve been through Hurricane Hera,” she observed.

“Diana, is she actually psychic?” Laodice asked. “You can tell me.”

Hera’s senior assistant, Cyd, snorted. “Psychic, no. Smart, attentive, and has Mark Hermes feeding her all the gossip in the building, yes.”

“Oh,” Laodice said. “You mean she cheats. I feel better about that, somehow. Have a good weekend.”

“Drinks next Wednesday?” Diana asked. “We could all use a cocktail in this heat.”

“I’m on holiday for a week.”

“Oh, right! Enjoy your leave!”

In the elevator, Laodice wondered if Diana had been able to tell she was lying. Not that she was going to be away—that was true—but that it wasn’t really leave. Probably not. Olympus was always hectically busy, but in late June, with no major fashion events and less in the news cycle, the pace slowed to merely breakneck. A lot of people scheduled holidays. The CFO was on his honeymoon. No one was going to wonder if a Bridal senior writer disappeared for a week.

The Bridal department was on the sixth floor. Laodice waved at Stephanie, the receptionist, and breezed past her into the main workroom. This late on a Friday afternoon, almost no one was still in the department—Thalia, working on the layout for the Persephone and Hades story, Telfer, staring at one of his spreadsheets with his earbuds in, and Miriam, in her tiny pink-wallpapered office off the main workroom. Laodice knocked on the glass door and walked in.

“All’s well?” Miriam asked, in her cut-glass upper crust British accent. Laodice happened to know she’d picked the accent up at Oxford, along with her first husband.

“I’ve been asked to make a few cuts, but nothing major.”

Miriam exhaled. “Excellent. I mean, technically, it wasn’t one of our bigger weddings, but one does want to put one’s best foot forward for the CEO’s family. Now, next things. Close the door, dear.”

Laodice did, and sat down.

“Is everything set for the Halcyon retreat story?”

“I’m all packed, and meeting Eli at my place in half an hour.”

“Fabulous.” Miriam leaned back. “I do wish I could go myself. This could be quite the coup.”

“Do you really think this kind of thing could become popular?” Laodice asked. “I mean, engagement parties are great, and most people like to do something right before the wedding, but this is sort of in-between.”

Miriam smiled. “Which is exactly why I think it might be successful, especially with the wealthy. Between the engagement and the pre-wedding celebrations, there are often months where the excitement and attention lag. The Halcyon retreat is being pitched as a way to solidify your bond with your partner, a full week focusing on each other and mingling with others in the same boat. But the way they’re selling it… It sounds something like a reality TV show without the cameras or the fear of a bad edit—luxury, exclusivity, and bragging rights.”

“We’re not even supposed to use our own cameras,” Laodice said. She’d read the small print carefully. “Phones are confiscated.”

“Yes, that might be a drawback for those who like to preen on social media,” Miriam said thoughtfully. “But they could preen about their digital detox afterwards. You’re taking a burner phone, of course?”

“You bet. And my laptop.”

Miriam gave her an approving look. “Nevertheless, I think Halcyon might have spotted a potential goldmine. They certainly think so or they wouldn’t have offered to host a reporter for their soft opening.”

“But is it a coup for us? A cover story for Goddess is good, but…”

“An exclusive cover story,” Miriam reminded her. “One with broad appeal, if our Telfer is correct, and that boy is usually right on the money. We’ll get a lot of clicks, and perhaps some viral coverage, which is a wider audience and more revenue for us. Halcyon will burst onto the scene and book out, then probably raise their already extortionate prices. Their vendors will get a lot of interest from people who can afford to pay big. This may be one of those rare occasions where everyone profits.”

“And the couples?” Laodice pressed.

“Will have a marvelous time, and probably not even notice how much they spent having it.” Miriam folded her hands on her desk. “And all you have to do is enjoy yourself, my dear, and do your usual splendid work. Find the human interest, and bring out the romance.”

“It’s not an advertorial, right?”

Miriam shrugged, her smile undimmed. “No. If you have an awful time, you should report that too. Though of course, at that point it probably won’t be a cover story.”

Laodice grinned. “You don’t think ‘A Horrible Time in the Hippocampus’ will move numbers?”

Miriam ignored that. “Now, in case I need to get in touch, your name at Halcyon is Elle Evagora, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“Lovely name. Where did it come from?”

“My sister calls me ‘L’ sometimes, like the letter, so I figured I’d respond to it. And Evagora was our maternal grandmother’s surname.”

“Ah, very nice.” Miriam’s expensively ageless face didn’t move much in the forehead, but she somehow gave the impression of frowning thoughtfully. “You should have let Stephanie make that social media profile for you. For Elle, rather.”

“No, thank you,” Laodice said. “Elle takes her privacy seriously.” She’d locked down her personal accounts years ago, when her sister Xena’s social media stardom had taken off. Xena was fearless, mocking trolls or ignoring them, whichever worked best for her in the moment. Laodice, who’d at first delighted in spreading her sister’s work, had been less able to deal with the attention that followed. Now her accounts were for family and friends only. Elle Evagora didn’t even exist, but Laodice felt weirdly protective of her.

“Thank goodness I’ve resisted publishing photos of our staff,” Miriam said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to send you at all. As it is, we’re risking that a previous bride’s sister or maid-of-honor will be getting married herself, and recognize your face.”

“I try to sort of fade into the background at weddings. People aren’t there to see me.”

“Have you practiced the name with your Eli? Make sure he knows not to let it slip.”

Laodice laughed. “We haven’t practiced, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Eli will think he’s wooing a whole new girl.”

“Ah! Is there active wooing?”

“Well, we’ve been together for eight months, so…” Her longest relationship since college. Seventy percent of engagements happened after the couple had been together for two years. “Maybe the setting will be inspiring.”

“Mm,” Miriam said neutrally. “Is Eli your Mr. Right, then?”

Laodice had tried not to ask herself that question recently. “More like Mr. Right Now,” she admitted. “I mean, I like him a lot. He’s fun and affectionate, and he’s really energetic—”

“You sound like you’re describing a puppy, my dear, not a man.”

“Miriam!”

“Take it from someone who’s been divorced twice and widowed once, Laodice. You must admit I’ve the experience to judge.” Her eyes twinkled. “And I’m not slowing down either. My advice is to take your Eli and show him a wonderful time, file the best story you’ve ever written, and…consider your options from there.”

“I’ll see you Monday after next,” Laodice said, and escaped from the office, Miriam’s unrepentant laughter ringing in her ears.

The only person left in the workroom was Telfer Terzi, steadily turning press releases and vendor email approaches into copy. It was important work, and it sold a hell of a lot of advertising pages. Telfer was good at it. Laodice could happily acknowledge his good qualities as long as he didn’t open his mouth.

“You have to cut four inches from the Stormer wedding report,” he said, without turning around.

“Excuse me?”

He swung his chair to face her, dark eyes unreadable. “We’ve got a new headpiece picture. The designer advertises with us, and it’s a valuable relationship. Art and Design says they need the extra space for the close-up detail.”

If any of her other colleagues had said it, Laodice would have sighed, maybe damned all advertisers to hell, and cut the paragraphs without argument. Of course, none of her other colleagues would have said it quite like that.

“Not my problem,” she said, with some relish. “I am officially out of here. You’ll have to make the cuts yourself.”

He tilted his head back, so that even though he was sitting and she was standing, he could give the impression of looking down his long nose at her. “Fine,” he said. “But you can’t complain that I’ve butchered your deathless prose this time.”

“Make sure you don’t leave out any big society names,” Laodice said, and smiled sweetly at him. She was much better at keeping up with who was who, and they both knew it. “Or you’ll face the wrath of Miriam. Ciao! Don’t miss me too much!”

“Not likely,” Telfer muttered, and turned back to his screen.

Laodice mentally gave herself a point for winning that one, and swept out the door. A nice drive through the countryside, luxury pampering in a beautiful hotel, excellent sex with her hot boyfriend, and best of all, no Telfer Terzi for a whole week.

The Halcyon retreat promised to be the time of her life.

***

Laodice was very fond of her little studio apartment. The rent was barely affordable on her salary, but the eighth-floor walk-up was warm and bright, and the thrifted furniture made for a romantically eclectic mix. She’d long ago taken William Morris’s famous advice to have nothing in her home that she didn’t know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.

Of course, her collection of ceramic frogs on the pantry shelves and pastel mixing bowls might not be Morris’s idea of beautiful, but they made her happy. She loved everything in her apartment.

With, right now, the notable exception of her boyfriend.

She took another deep breath, and focused on keeping her tone neutral. “What do you mean, you’ve changed your mind about going to Halcyon with me?”

“Um,” Eli said. “Pretty much…that.” He gave her a hangdog look, which would have looked more appealing if he hadn’t been six foot four, lounging comfortably against her breakfast bar, and had also left his suitcase at home, because he’d decided not to come at the literal last hour.

“You said you thought it would be fun.”

Eli's eyes shifted. “Yeah. I mean. I thought it would be. But it's a lot.”

“What is?”

“It's a couples retreat. For engaged couples. And we're not engaged, right?”

Laodice tried to produce a light laugh, but it sounded strained. “I think we'd have noticed. No, we talked about this, remember? We're undercover, like those heist movies you like. I'm going as Elle Evagora.”

Eli looked momentarily intrigued. “A secret identity?”

“That's right,” Laodice said. “And you can have a different identity too, if you like.” That wasn’t what she’d prepared, but if it would sweeten the pot for him…“It'll be like we're spies. Seven days in a luxurious retreat, lots of fun activities, probably incredible food...Everyone else there is going to be a millionaire, minimum. We'll be pampered like nothing else.”

“Couples activities,” Eli said, his face falling again.

“We've been dating for eight months,” Laodice reminded him. “We are a couple.”

“Sure!” Eli said eagerly. “And I love being in a couple with you. But we’re not an engaged couple.”

“We’re playing pretend, Eli,” Laodice said, with what she hoped wasn’t too much condescension. Eli wasn’t stupid, people didn’t let you play with stocks and bonds all day if you were actually stupid, so how could he not be grasping this? “Come on, rush hour’s nearly over. We can swing past your place and pack a bag, then we’ll be on the road…” She caught the shift of his eyes and stopped. “Or is it something else?”

“Mm?”

“Eli. What’s going on? What’s the real reason?”

He expelled a breath. “Okay, well. I mentioned at work that I'd got all this time off, and Simon and Ian said they had private box invites for a Minotaurs game in Miami next Tuesday.”

Laodice's head swam. “You want to blow me off so you can go and watch basketball?”

“Private box,” Eli repeated, as if the words were a magical talisman. “And I was like, maybe I can leave the retreat for the game and come back, but then I remembered you’d said it was like a whole week away from the rest of the world, that was part of the package.” He looked proud of himself for remembering what she’d said. “So I figured I shouldn’t go at all.”

Laodice took a deep breath and forced her voice to calm. “Eli. This is for my job. I can't show up at a couple's retreat by myself. It’s going to completely blow my cover with the other guests.”

“Maybe you can tell them your fiancé’s sick or something?” he offered. “You don't really want me to be there if I don't want to be there, right?”

“No,” Laodice said, through gritted teeth. No other answer was possible.

He nodded, handsome and self-assured and totally infuriating. “Yeah, that'd be bad for both of us. So you go and do your thing, and we can catch up next Saturday.”

Laodice stared at him.

“What?” he said.

“You cannot possibly think we’re staying together after this.”

He looked genuinely taken aback.

“Eli! You committed to this weeks ago! It’s a potentially huge deal for my career, at a time when I need big wins. And you’re blowing me off at the last minute so that you can hang out with your stupid work buddies at a game!”

“But I don’t want to break up,” he said. “Hey, hey, you know, it’s okay, I’ll come with you and then I can pretend to be sick on Monday and be like, oh no, I have to go home, and then I can go to the game—”

“No!”

“Ugh, fine, I’ll stay for the whole thing. Ian will be mad but—”

Laodice threw her hands into the air. “What are you not getting about this? You’re unreliable. You’ve let me down. This is me breaking up with you.”

Alarm sparked in his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she couldn’t help noticing it was the first time he’d actually apologized. “Honestly, Laodice, I didn’t realize it was such a big deal. I can come, it’s fine. We’ll have a good time.” He gave her a big, goofy smile, the one that had pulled her across a bar to him eight months ago, the one that had made her think maybe this one .

Laodice had never had the urge to attack a lover before, but through the red mist of ascending rage, she eyed her ceramic frogs and wondered if hurling one at his big, goofy smile would really be all that bad.

It would. It would definitely be bad. She clenched her fists tight in her skirt instead. “Eli, you are the last person I’d be willing to share a bed with right now. Give me my spare key and get out of my home.”

“Hey,” he said, starting to look annoyed. “Maybe this wouldn’t be such a big deal if you weren’t so clingy.”

“Out!” Laodice shrieked. She’d get the spare key later.

“But I love—”

If he was refusing to leave, she could definitely throw a frog at him. She grabbed the biggest one and pivoted, gauging the distance.

Eli must have seen the absolute sincerity of the threat. He pushed away from the breakfast bar and backed towards the door. “Fine! I’m leaving!” He scrabbled at the door handle and got out, half closing the door between them. “I’ll talk to you later, when you’ve calmed down.”

“Never talk to me again,” Laodice snarled.

“You don’t need to be such a bitch—”

The rest of his sentence was lost in the crash of ceramic against wood. Laodice stood with her fists clenched, staring at the fresh scar in her front door and the shards of frog flung across her welcome mat, listening to the hasty footsteps scurrying away.

A broken relationship, a destroyed ornament, and the biggest story of her career was threatening to slip away from her like mist in a breeze.

Okay. Okay. Fine. Laodice could handle this. She could handle anything. She grabbed her suitcase, stepped over the debris, and left.

First stop, Olympus.