IMOGEN'S POV
Isaac made three phone calls, and suddenly I had a press conference scheduled for two o'clock that afternoon. The power of being interim CEO, I supposed. One minute I was lying in a hospital bed plotting revenge, and the next I was standing in the lobby of Rossi Industries with makeup artists fussing over my face.
"Just a little more concealer under the eyes," the woman said, dabbing at my skin with a tiny brush. "You want to look tired but not dead."
Perfect. That was exactly the look I was going for.
The lobby had been transformed into something that looked like a real press conference. Cameras lined up in neat rows, their black lenses pointed at a small podium someone had set up near the windows. Reporters milled around, checking their equipment and whispering to each other. I recognized a few faces from the morning news shows.
