Chapter Four
Mandy woke up before her alarm. The world outside their motel room was pitch-black, her older sister still twisted up in the
sheets. Liv went hard on everything, even sleep. For the past few years, Liv’s sister trips had all happened in cities where
she was deployed. While it was fun to haggle at kebab stands and hit underground nightclubs with Liv’s embassy friends, sometimes
Mandy felt like she was just another efficiency slotted into her sister’s packed schedule.
Which was one of the reasons Mandy had said yes when Babette Botanique had surprised her with two spots on the exclusive prelaunch Essence Quest for their newest product, CareFree.
The email from the skin care CEO’s assistant said it was in appreciation for her contributions to CareFree, which, as far as Mandy knew, were minor.
But she wasn’t about to question a free vacation and there was no need to tell Liv what she’d done to earn it.
This rafting trip was perfect for her and her sister.
There was no cell service in the Grand Canyon, no downtime when Liv could squeeze in a work call on a secure line.
There wouldn’t even be tents unless the weather looked like rain.
They’d spend all day together floating down the Colorado River and hiking up side canyons, all night sleeping out in the desert under the blanket of stars.
There were a few things Mandy hoped they’d talk about.
But mostly she was excited for the in-between moments, the times that Liv might otherwise turn to her phone, to her ever-urgent emails about Class 2 security threats.
Here, she’d have her sister all to herself.
She resisted the urge to jump on Liv’s bed and start the bonding right then and there. But her sister was a nightmare before
coffee, and Liv had told her the guide, Thor, would have some brewed at the trailhead by four a.m. So Mandy made herself useful.
She slipped into her hiking clothes, hauled up her backpack, and grabbed her sister’s duffel bags. It was a short walk to
the trailhead, and she always felt strong in the morning.
When she reached the trailhead, no one acknowledged her sherpa skills. The glow of her headlamp illuminated a shuffling mess
of people. A redheaded teenager in spotless white workout gear with a selfie stick was weaving through the throng, talking
rapidly at her outstretched phone, practically vibrating as she navigated the groggy adults and their bags.
“Hey, early birds! I can’t tell you where I am, but I’m giving you a teensy peek before I go off the grid for the next week.
Seven days without you! I’ll have my nana with me. Nana, wave to everyone!” A tiny woman in worn hiking clothes flashed a
hand at the phone shoved in her face before the girl moved on. “Seven days in a secret location. A total internet black hole,
and everyone here is really”—the teenager glanced over, and Mandy smiled at her—“old. So old. Total nightmare, but one thing makes it worth it. I’m getting paid to be here! Just kidding. I mean, I am getting
paid, but there’s something else special about this trip . . . You’ll see. I’ll film everything, and you’ll get the unvarnished,
pure Imogen report when I’m back. Byeeeee!”
She clicked off her phone recording, dropped her grin, and shot a glare at Thor. At his feet, specifically. The guide was
standing over a mountain of bags, somehow looking even cuter at four a.m. than he had in the lodge the night before.
“Excuse me, guide man? We have a problem.” The teenager kicked a pile of banged-up yellow rubber bags. “I can’t shoot with
these.”
“Look, miss—”
“Imogen,” she said.
“Imogen.” Thor attempted a placating smile. “These dry bags are the best in the business.”
“Not in my business.” Imogen turned and shouted into the darkness. “PK!”
A man in his twenties jogged over, sporting his own pristine athleisure wear and a surprisingly well-coiffed faux-hawk for
a predawn hike.
“I can’t work with these,” Imogen said, pointing to the bags.
“Ugh,” PK said. “They are . . . unfortunate.”
“Gingers don’t do yellow,” Imogen said. “It is not on my mood board.”
“I get it.” PK turned to Thor and assumed a saccharine, fake-friendly tone. “What my dear Imogen is trying to say is that
we’d prefer to use our own branded luggage covers on the river. I explained this when we booked this trip. Your bosses were
fine with it.”
“These?” Thor plucked a thin white duffel bag from an untouched stack on the ground. The duffel had a silver curling B painted on one side. “Might as well be tissue paper.”
“That would be raw alpaca silk,” PK said.
“I don’t care if they’re made of unicorn snot. These bags wouldn’t keep toast dry in the desert. No way they’re going to keep
your gear safe.”
“Safety doesn’t boost view counts,” Imogen shot back. “I have a story to tell. An image to project. And your bags tell a very
depressing tale.”
“Here I was thinking you might prefer a story where y’all don’t end up whimpering like drowned river rats.”
Imogen was silent for a moment, her eyes clicking from Thor to PK to the bags as if she was doing advanced calculus in her
head.
“Fix this,” she hissed at PK. “It’s not just me and my followers. You know she’s going to hate it, too. Oh, and next time?”
She picked up a white cardboard box and dumped it in PK’s hands. “Tell your boss I’m not her errand girl. Somehow this got
sent to my room instead of hers.”
His boss. Mandy suddenly realized who PK and Imogen were.
The man was PK Raghuram, personal assistant to the one and only Babette Sauvage, CEO of the Babette Botanique wellness empire.
PK was the one who’d sent her all the emails leading up to the trip, but despite their communication about Mandy’s plus-one and his recommended backcountry skin care regimen, they’d never met.
The man was busy. CareFree would be Babette’s biggest launch in three years, and in addition to supporting Babette herself, PK ran her company’s social media ambassador program.
Mandy had seen his posts about a global search for a fresh-faced influencer to represent an exciting new product line in the Babette portfolio.
Imogen must have been the lucky winner. And apparently she already had demands.
Imogen whipped out her phone and stalked off, pointing her camera far from the offending yellow rubber and chattering away
to whichever of her followers couldn’t wait to unravel the mystery of where she was headed at four in the morning. Mandy had
no clue how much one influencer’s color palette could sway the decisions of a multinational company like Babette Botanique.
But Imogen was right about one thing: Babette was fixated on brand. She’d built the company, and she’d built the obsessive
fandom around it. Of which Mandy was a card-carrying member.
She leaned forward as PK lifted one flap of the cardboard box Imogen had dumped into his hands. More white fabric, like the
bags. Mandy hoped she hadn’t missed something in the packing list about a monochromatic dress code.
PK snapped the box shut and turned back to Thor with a decisive nod. “Make the bags work.”
“I can’t. And you’re not going to be happy when your sculpting gel goes down the river.”
The faux-hawked man regarded Thor, whose blond mane was more tangled knot than hair. “It’s clear we have different priorities.”
“We both want y’all to have a great trip.”
“I will have a great trip if my boss has a great trip,” PK said. “And she’s going to want to see these bags on those boats.”
“Excuse me.” Mandy tried not to let too much excitement sneak into her voice. “Your boss. Is she here?”
“Babette?” A smile teased PK’s lips. He was handsome, but in a petulant, pretty-boy way, the kind of man who was used to everyone falling a little bit in love with him. “Darling, of course. It’s her big launch.”
The prospect of meeting Babette jolted Mandy like a triple shot of espresso. She reached up to fix her messy ponytail. “Where
is she?”
“There’s a grand entrance planned later,” PK said. “A surprise. I promise it will be worth the wait.”
But Mandy never waited for someone else to start the fun. She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Maybe you could
give me a sneak peek.”
“Of what?”
“Whatever’s in there.” She pointed at the box in PK’s hands. “Is it the new line?”
“Top secret.” He took one more glance inside the box, then sealed it, locking the flap in place.
“Please?”
“When Babette arrives. If I show you before then, I might have to kill you.”
“Hmpf.” She patted his arm. “You can trust me. And my sister. She’ll be here soon. She’s an intelligence officer for the State
Department. We can help you keep Babette’s secrets safe.”
PK’s smile faltered, and she wondered if she’d pushed too far. But then he winked. “We appreciate your support. But Babette
manages her secrets just fine on her own. Keep an eye on the sky.”
The sky. It was still dark, but softer now, more charcoal than ink.
Mandy dropped their bags on the tarp and took a slow lap around the trailhead, pondering how best to tell Liv about the benefactor of their river trip.
Should she wait until after Babette’s grand appearance, or break the news sooner?
She wasn’t going to be able to downplay it—not with Imogen shooting predawn B-roll at the water station and PK handing out Babette-branded chakra-stimulating wristbands to the other guests.
What she needed was a stopgap. A half lie.
It wasn’t so much an issue that a prestigious wellness brand had paid their way to the Grand Canyon. It was why that was the problem.
She was still considering her options when Imogen waved her over. Given what Mandy knew about CareFree, Babette’s new product
line, the girl wasn’t an obvious choice as a spokesmodel. She’d imagined someone as wild and untamed as the canyon itself—a
big-wave surfer or a rock climber—a symbol of carefree living in an uptight world. But Imogen was practically vibrating with