Page 144 of Sweet Nightmare

I turn onto my side and pull the blanket higher, attempting to force myself back to sleep through sheer stubbornness.

It lasts approximately thirty seconds.

Then I sigh.

Sleep is clearly not happening.

Around midnight, I finally give up.

I push the blankets aside, reach for the small lamp on the nightstand, and sit cross-legged against the headboard with my notebook balanced across my lap. If sleep refuses to cooperate, work will have to do.

At least work makes sense.

Products, numbers, deadlines and even impossible clients can be managed with enough patience or money. People, on the other hand, are exhausting. They hide their intentions, contradict themselves, and expect you to read their minds.

I flip to a clean page and stare at the word written across the top.

LIVELY.

The name is ridiculous. Not necessarily bad, just ridiculous.

Allegra chose it because Lively happens to be my middle name, and Mom thinks it’s adorable. Of course she does. My mother finds everything her daughters do adorable.

I can still hear Allegra’s voice explaining the concept as though she personally discovered the perfect branding opportunity.

“Lively is perfect for you, Artemis.”

“It sounds like something sold next to bubble bath.”

“It has personality.”

“So does food poisoning.”

Allegra was impossible to argue with, mostly because she becomes terrifying when she wants something. People underestimate my sister because she smiles so much. Their mistake. Sunshine can burn, too.

So, I surrendered but only strategically.

Because if the company carries my name, I get complete control over the aesthetic. Meanwhile, Allegra focuses on the formulas and ingredients, which makes us a terrifyingly effective partnership.

I turn the page.

Summer Collection.

That’s what Allegra wants for next summer’s launch: beaches, sunshine, coconut, vanilla, golden skin, ocean views, and what she calls effortless happiness.

Personally, I prefer winter. Snow, cashmere, vanilla bean, cedarwood, moody elegance.

Much classier.

But apparently, consumers enjoy happiness.

Kind of basic.

I lean forward, studying the collection’s colors and textures, determined to focus on work.

Instead, my mind drifts back to the library. The romance novels. Stephen standing among them like it’s perfectly normal.

Then his words return.