The next morning, Bianca couldn't sit still in the car as Richard drove her and Ken through Manhattan. She kept fiddling with the zipper of her jacket, her nerves clear.
"So, how common is it to hire a publicist in your world?" she asked, breaking the silence. "Is it like getting a prenup—pretty normal? Or is this one of those situations where she's going to give me a whole new identity, like witness protection?"
Her outfit was casual but chic: a light gray sweater layered under a fitted black jacket, paired with dark skinny jeans and ankle boots. She'd even tied her hair into a neat ponytail, hoping to look more put-together than she felt.
Ken, sitting beside her in a crisp navy suit that accentuated his broad shoulders, gave her a reassuring smile. "Nada doesn't reinvent people—she refines them. She might smooth over some edges, but she won't make you someone you're not."
Bianca frowned. "That still sounds invasive. Are we sure this is the only way?"
