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OLIVIA'S PHONE has been vibrating next to her head for what feels like an hour. groaning, olivia slaps her hand around the nightstand, finally grabbing it. she squints at the screen through half-closed eyes. the display says 10:42 a.m. and her notifications are out of control.
met gala afterparty. wild night. too many drinks. her mind is still fuzzy from it all.
she checks her texts first, and there's the usual chaos waiting for her.
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she swings her legs out of bed, immediately regretting the movement as the room spins slightly. how much did i drink last night? there are flashes of the party—crowded rooms, loud music, tate dragging her to take shots, and her dancing with people she barely knew. she doesn't remember how she got home, but she does remember one thing.
bumping into arkin auclair.
she groans. of all the things that happened last night, that moment sticks out for no reason. he's just another actor, a pretty face in hollywood. they didn't even talk. she's annoyed that her brain decided to latch onto it. pushing the thought aside, she heads for the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away both the hangover and the weird feeling lingering from last night.
