Sixteen
On Monday morning, I hang out in Ms. Romero’s office until the last possible second, then rush upstairs, entering the sky box at exactly eight-thirty. Everyone glances up at my entrance, but to my surprise, no one shoots me eye daggers. They smile. All of them, even Trish. A thin layer of my anxiety slips away.
“Good thing you got here before my dad,” she jokes when I sit down. “Rule number two.”
Everyone laughs, and my shoulders relax. Maybe I was right about everything shifting Friday night. I guess sharing hard truths can create unexpected bonds between people.
Movement in the doorway grabs our attention. It’s Dad and Mr. Mantoni, both wearing solemn expressions. Mr. Mantoni carries a stack of folders.
“Good morning,” says my dad. “Let’s everyone move to the table so we can chat.”
We do as he says, though I hang back, waiting for everyone else to sit. I’m not the only one. Carlos joins me.
“How was your weekend?” His voice is low and quiet, for my ears only.
“Fine.” I bite my lip and stare out the windows to the mountains. What if I look at him and he reads my thoughts and discovers I spied on his Facebook page? And that I can’t stop fantasizing about kissing him.
Dad glances at us. “Come on over, you two.” His gaze narrows slightly, tracking Carlos’s progress. I hope he’s not morphing into protect-my-daughter-from-all-males mode.
I take a seat and Carlos sits next to me. Unnerved, I grab a stray paper clip from the table and twist it into an unrecognizable shape.
“What did that paper clip ever do to you?” Carlos whispers. I hear the laughter in his voice, but I still refuse to make eye contact.
Fortunately, my dad starts the meeting, leading with an apology like he promised.
“First, I want to apologize for what happened Friday night. It’s inexcusable and won’t happen again. We’re having an alarm put in that will ring upstairs if anyone ever gets trapped down there again.”
Mr. Mantoni reddens, from embarrassment or frustration, I can’t tell which. I sneak a glance at Trish, who watches them intently, arms folded across her chest.
“However, you made good headway on the files, according to what Ms. Romero tells me, so thanks for that.” Dad grins. “And apparently I’m not the only one who likes Pixy Stix.”
Everyone laughs, and I wonder how many empty sugar straws we left behind.
“So.” Dad leans back in his chair and loosens his tie slightly. “Time for your individual assignments.” He glances at the Manicotti, who nods and picks up the top folder from his stack.
Mr. Mantoni’s gaze settles on Ashley. “As you requested, Ms. Goodsen, you’ve been assigned to work on the art gallery project.”
Ashley’s face lights up as Mr. Mantoni tells her the name of the staff person who will mentor her. I’m thrilled for her, especially since I know it’s her dream to work in the art world, in spite of her mom’s lack of encouragement.
The Manicotti slides the next folder to Elijah. “You’re working with a couple of our finance team members who are setting up funding for two minority-owned businesses, as you requested. They’re up here, too, so you have a short commute.” He tilts his head toward the far corner of the office and grins like this is hilarious.
Elijah nods, eyes shining. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
I grin at him across the table, and he shoots me a thumbs-up.
Mr. Mantoni turns his attention to Carlos, who sits up straighter. “Carlos, you’re working with the local restaurant chain, as you requested. They’re looking to expand regionally and you’ll be in on the early planning stages this summer.”
I finally sneak a peek at Carlos in time to see a dimple flash. I wonder if he wanted that project so he could help Encantado expand. I’d bet my summer paycheck he did. I love that he’s using his internship to help his family.
Mr. Mantoni slides a folder toward Jason. “Jason, we were able to place you on the Cal Stockwell project. You may even have a chance to meet him. But no sampling the wares.” Mr. Mantoni wags a warning finger in Jason’s direction.
Jason lights up at the mention of the recently-retired basketball player and his new venture, a microbrewery called Stockwell Suds. Maybe working with another jock will help him realize football isn’t his only career choice. I Googled CTE over the weekend and was shocked at the stats.
Mr. Mantoni rubs a hand over his shiny head as he focuses on his daughter. “Patricia. We’ve assigned you to assist with some pro bono fundraising work we’re doing for a couple of nonprofits.”
When he slides her folder over, I see apprehension in his eyes as he waits for her response. She doesn’t say anything as she opens the folder and scans the contents. Then she looks up and actually beams at her dad.
“Thanks, Dad. This is awesome.”
Mr. Mantoni looks as relieved as I feel.
Dad stands up. “Good luck, everyone,” he says. “We hope you’re pleased with your assignments and we look forward to your final projects.” Dad gestures to me. “Don’t forget that Laurel’s here to assist you however you need.”
For the first time, I don’t feel embarrassed by my role. Instead, I want to help them—all of them—so that by the end of the summer they each have fantastic projects to present.
Once the dads are gone, the interns chatter excitedly about their projects. Carlos and Jason lean toward each other, voices pitched low, but I don’t sense their usual animosity. Ashley, Trish, and Elijah huddle together, gesturing animatedly.
As I take in the new and improved atmosphere in our corner of the office, I make a decision. Before I can chicken out, I stand up and rush out of the sky box, hoping to catch up to my dad and Mr. Mantoni. I hurry down the stairs, waving as I run past Miss Emmaline, who shakes her head, lips pursed. I’ll wow her with a new joke later.
My dad and the Manicotti have disappeared. I glance in the conference room windows as I head for my dad’s office, but the room is empty.
Ms. Romero greets me with a smile when I enter her outer office.
“How are you, hon? Recovered from your experience Friday night?”
“Yeah. It was weird but it all worked out okay.”
She nods and purses her lips. “Well, no one was more surprised than me. I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were all trapped down there.” She spins her chair around and grabs a box from the credenza behind her. “Here.”
I step closer to her desk, recognizing the logo from the gourmet bakery where I purchased Carlos’s donuts.
“These are for you and the interns. They can’t make up for what happened, but it’s something. Take them upstairs with you, okay?”
“Sure, but I need to talk to my dad first. Is he available?
She sets the box on her desk and frowns. “He’s with Mr. Mantoni. I don’t think they’re interruptible.”
“Perfect. I need to talk to both of them. It’s important.” I give her a pleading look.
“Sweetheart, I don’t think—”
I cross the office and knock on my dad’s closed office door. Ms. Romero’s mouth rounds in surprise. I shrug an apology just as my dad yanks open the door, scowling. He stops short when he sees me.
“Laurel? What is it? Is something wrong?”
I peek around him and spot the Manicotti sitting in one of the guest chairs. Excellent.
Gathering my courage, I push past my dad, who stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“This won’t take long,” I say. “But I have to talk to both of you.” I sit down next to Mr. Mantoni, ignoring his glare as I wait for my dad to take his seat.
As I study the cluster of framed family photos hanging on the wall, all of them showcasing our happy family, my stomach lurches. I replay what Jason told us about his dad’s drinking, and Ashley’s mom’s low expectations of her daughter. And Elijah, putting on a brave face in spite of his circumstances.
“What’s going on, Laurel?” Dad sits down and leans his elbows on his desk, bouncing his fingertips against each other.
I clear my throat and straighten my spine. Be Qa’hr, I tell myself.
“After my experience Friday night,” I begin, side-eyeing Mr. Mantoni, “I’ve decided I can’t possibly vote twice on the scholarship.”
“Why not?” Dad asks, fingertips still tapping out a rhythmic pattern. He’s in Vader mode, eyes narrowed and flinty, but I’m not intimidated. After all, this is the same guy who dried dishes for me yesterday. And fought me for the last M&M’s in our popcorn bowl.
“So Friday night was weird.” I dare to make a judgy face at the Manicotti, who grunts and lowers his bald head. “But it was also very…revealing. I learned a lot about the interns and why they’re here. I bet I know more than if I read their application essays, which you won’t let me do anyway.”
My dad opens his mouth to say something, but I put up my hand.
“They all deserve that scholarship. No way am I picking just one of them.” I can do a Vader death stare, too.
Dad heaves a sigh and leans back in his chair, gripping the armrests. Mr. Mantoni shifts next to me, muttering under his breath.
“You’re the one who wanted to work here,” Dad reminds me.
“I know. And I still do. But I don’t want to judge my friends.” As soon as I say the “f” word, I lose focus. Are we friends? Maybe if I work with them for the rest of the summer, and we don’t have more drama, maybe by then we’ll be friends. Even Trish. Or more than friends, a tiny voice whispers in my mind when I picture Carlos.
I blink, snapping myself back to the present.
“You’re in a position we aren’t,” Dad insists. “You can observe daily behavior and decisions. How they interact with each other, and you.”
My attention pivots to Mr. Mantoni. “What about Trish? Have her do it.”
He shakes his head. “She can’t. She’s interning, too. She’s one of them.”
“But she’s not competing for the money, so she’s not really one of them.”
My dad and the Manicotti share a mysterious look.
“I hate feeling like a spy. Is this what people mean by corporate espionage?”
Mr. Mantoni snorts and my dad chuckles. “Not exactly. Look, kiddo, this scholarship is a big deal. We want the most deserving intern to win.”
Frustrated, I stand up. “That’s the problem. They all deserve it.” Then I spin on my heels and storm out of the office, slamming the door behind me.
Ms. Romero jumps in her chair, sloshing the coffee in her mug.
“Sorry.”
“Never mind.” She hands me the donut box. “Have some sugar, you’ll feel better. Take it upstairs and share it with your friends.”
There’s that “f” word again.
“Thanks.” I take the box, then escape before my dad and the Manicotti decide to chase me down.
…
The interns gobble up the donuts, even Ashley, who I assumed was one of those girls who subsists on air and water. One more blown assumption on my part. When we both reach for the last donut, we agree to split it, laughing as we argue over who gets the biggest piece, since I didn’t cut it into equal halves.
Our Death Star presentation goes well, and the rest of the morning passes quickly as everyone dives into their new projects, doing research on their computers and reading through their thick folders. I don’t want to interrupt anyone, so I put in my earbuds and am rewarded with Qa’hr and the pilot’s first kiss. It’s super steamy and definitely worth the wait. I hope no one hears my muffled giggle as I replay the scene in my earbuds. Five times.
I don’t like how my meeting with the dads went, but I’m not giving up. After all, they can’t force me to vote, can they? But what if it comes down to a tie, like on the first day with Jason, and I have to be the tiebreaker? Ugh. I refuse to think about it.
Once lunchtime rolls around, the interns exit noisily, laughing and talking, except for Elijah and Carlos. I grab my camera bag, ready for my loner photographer lunch, but Carlos’s voice stops me.
“Laurel. How about lunch with Elijah and me?”
Mayday! Mayday!
“Yeah, Special K,” Elijah chimes in as they approach my desk, “take a break from your secret lunchtime lover and hang out with us for a change.”
“Dude.” Carlos’s voice holds a warning.
Elijah grins and punches him on the arm. “Save your scary eyes for somebody else.”
To go or not to go? It’s just lunch, says one voice in my brain, while another voice warns me not to spend any more time with Carlos than necessary. I don’t dare break rule number eight.
“I’m craving pho,” Elijah announces.
“Too hot for pho.” Carlos heads toward the door, Elijah falling into step next to him while I remain at my desk, immobile.
“Street tacos?” Elijah suggests.
“No way. Nothing around here tastes as good as my mom’s cooking.” Carlos hesitates in the doorway, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Are you joining us or not?”
There’s something about the tone of his voice—a dash of challenge mixed with an undercurrent of something else. Hope? Desperation? Or is he just hungry?
Oh, what the heck. A girl needs to eat, right?
We compromise on an Asian fusion restaurant where Elijah orders pho, Carlos orders sushi, and I order rice with shrimp and vegetables. The restaurant is packed, so we squeeze around a small table meant for two. My back is against the wall and I face the two of them like a firing squad.
Or maybe I’m paranoid.
“So, Jedi. We have questions.” Elijah whips open his napkin with an exaggerated flourish.
So I was right to be paranoid. Anxiety skips up and down my nerve endings.
“Wow, that’s your strategy, Sampson?” Carlos sighs. His face contorts with embarrassment. “We just wondered, um, what your plans are for the rest of the summer. At the office, I mean.”
Elijah snorts as Carlos’s neck reddens. Carlos shoots him a glare.
“You’ve been observed meeting with your dad and Mr. Mantoni. On your own.” Elijah lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Trish thinks you’re spying on us. I think her dad just likes to give you a hard time.” He glances at Carlos. “And Rubio isn’t sure what to think.”
Carlos shrugs. “I have my theories, but I prefer to go straight to the source rather than make assumptions.” His gaze locks on mine and my lungs forget how to do their job for a few seconds. “What’s with the school project? Is that really why you’re sneaking around taking photos in the office?”
I want to leap over the table and escape, but since I’m not Wonder Woman, I sip from my water glass and stare down Elijah. It’s easier than eye contact with Chocolate Eyes. For a long moment, I consider spilling the truth about how I’m supposed to evaluate them and vote, but I don’t. I decide to tell one truth to make up for the lie of omission.
“The photos aren’t for a school project.”
They tilt their heads like twin puppies listening for a whistle, surprise widening their eyes.
“It’s a fun project for the company, nothing to be worried about. But I can’t say what it is.” I blow out a breath and plunge ahead. “I’m trusting you guys.” I point a chopstick at them.
“We’re totally trustworthy.” Elijah flutters his dark eyelashes. I roll my eyes and glance at Carlos.
“I won’t say anything.” His eyes stay on mine, and I believe him.
“So what about Mantoni?” Elijah says around a spoonful of broth. “You aren’t reporting on us like a tattletale, are you?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. How to answer this? “No. I wouldn’t have anything to report, anyway, since you’re all so fabulous.” I mimic Elijah’s eyelash fluttering. “Especially you, Finn.”
Elijah grins at the Star Wars nickname. From the corner of my eye, I see Carlos’s lips thin.
“Anyway, as for my plans for the rest of the summer, I’m supposed to be your assistant, right? Even though I bet none of you will ask for my help.”
“Wrong.” Elijah takes another slurp of pho. “I’m always up for free help. I’ll put you to work, Special K.”
Carlos says nothing, then pops a piece of sushi in his mouth, which tells me he has no intention of asking for my assistance.
“Uh-oh.” Elijah’s brow furrows as he glances at his phone, which is buzzing with a rapid string of text messages. “Sorry guys, I’ve gotta make a call.” He winds his way through the crowded restaurant and out to the sidewalk.
Carlos leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, pinning me with such an intense expression I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth.
“What?” I’m so rattled by his attention, I barely get out one word.
“Are you going to ignore me the rest of the summer? Or do I have to file a complaint with HR?”
I lower my fork to my plate and wipe my mouth with my napkin. He tracks every movement, his gaze lingering on my lips. I swallow, telling myself I’m hallucinating.
“What could you possibly complain to HR about?”
The stupid dimple reappears, and I’m flustered because I haven’t seen it since Friday.
“I could complain about your lack of…fraternization.”
“What?” Surely he doesn’t mean what I hope he means. “But we’re not supposed to fraternize. Rule number eight. Remember all the exclamation points?”
He takes a long sip of water, so I take the opportunity to stare at his mouth.
“I see rules as suggestions.” He sets his glass on the table and his lips take their sweet time curving into a tempting smile.
Flustered, I focus on my half-empty plate, taking a deep breath and wishing Elijah would hurry up with his phone call already and get back here.
“Besides, there are degrees of fraternization,” Carlos continues. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to ban all of them.
I force myself to resume eye contact, which is a mistake because his dance with mischief.
“Degrees?”
He nods and takes a pen from his pocket, then writes on a clean napkin.
“Number one: introduction.” He glances up and grins. “We did that on the first day, in case you forgot. I even got your name right, unlike some interns.”
I roll my eyes and try not to reward him with a smile. He can sense victory, though, because his grin deepens in a way I’ve never seen. Wait—does he have two dimples? This is completely unfair.
His pen scrawls across the napkin. “Number two: shared interests.” He shrugs. “That’s obvious. We work together. We both think your dad is cool.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who says I think he’s cool?”
“Number three,” he continues, ignoring my comment. “Joint projects. Teamwork.” He looks up. “Duh.”
“Duh,” I agree. “Where are you going with this?”
“Pay attention, Miss Kristoff.”
Stupid dimples. I take a big slurp of water and notice my hand is trembling.
“Number four: friendly banter.” He surveys me critically. “I sense potential for this, but you have to work with me, Special K. A man cannot banter with himself.”
“He can if he’s crazy.”
“Which I am not. Besides, half the fun is not knowing what the other person will say.”
It’s like I’ve left my body and am watching an alternate version of myself. We stare at each other as I try to remember how to breathe. In. Out. Don’t look into his eyes.
“Did anyone ever tell you your eyes look just like Hershey’s Kisses?”
Omigod. That was my outside voice.
He blinks, then a slow grin reappears as he points his pen at me. “You just proved my point. I definitely wasn’t expecting you to compare me to a food product.”
“A dessert,” I clarify. “Not just any food product.”
“See how much progress we’re making? We just leapt ahead to number five.”
“What’s number five?”
He props his hands on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “Nicknames. You can’t expect me to do everything, Dobby.”
“Don’t call me Dobby. That’s a horrible nickname.”
“Hermione?”
I shake my head and mirror his posture, propping my chin on my hands as my elbows rest on the table.
“Special K?”
I shrug. “Did you give me the cereal box?”
“Affirmative.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll allow it.”
I’m rewarded with both dimples and it’s a good thing I’m sitting down, because my knees are jelly.
“How about Jedi?” he asks. “Or is that one reserved for Elijah?”
“Correct. Only fellow Star Wars geeks can use it.”
We gaze into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the busy restaurant noise surrounding us. If eyes can laugh, his are. Now I hope Elijah’s phone call lasts as long as every painful Star Wars scene with Jar Jar Binks.
“Your eyes don’t look like candy,” he says, but before I have time to register disappointment, his voice drops low. “They remind me of the water in the Caribbean. Sparkling, and like I can see for miles. Not hiding anything.”
Whoa. We just jumped from bantering to something else entirely. Something that’s making my pulse throb in my wrists, in my ears, in my chest. Everywhere.
“What number are we on?” I whisper.
“I’ve lost track. But we’re not at ten yet.”
“What’s number ten?”
“It’s—”
But before he can finish, Elijah reappears, sliding into his seat and killing the crackling electricity arcing between Carlos and me. We sit up straight, acting like nothing happened. Well, Carlos does. I’m not as successful, knocking my knife onto the floor and fumbling for my napkin, which somehow follows the knife to the floor.
“Yo.” Elijah glances back and forth between us, then at our plates of food, which we haven’t touched since he left. “Ookaay. Want me to leave again?” He cocks an eyebrow at Carlos, then has the nerve to wink at me.
“Nope. We should head back.” Carlos grabs the incriminating napkin from the table, folds it carefully, then slides it into his shirt pocket. He flashes me a dimple—just one this time.
“We’ll finish this later, Special K.”
…
After lunch I sit at my desk, still buzzing from my time with Carlos. I distract myself by browsing through Twitter and experience the extreme horror of finding my dad on a #CEOHotties thread. More than once.
“Vader has a fan club,” I mutter to myself. I switch to my email because I can only handle so many tweet squees about my dad’s movie star hair.
“IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!” jumps out at me from my office email. I open the message.
“Emergent Employees, please join me in congratulating Jiang Chen on her promotion to Director of Social Media. Jiang has served as a Client Social Media Specialist for three years and proven herself to be a true leader and visionary. Her tenure as Director officially begins on Monday. Congratulations, Jiang!”
The email lists my dad’s name and Ms. Simmons’s name as senders. That’s cool. I like Jiang. I wonder if she and Brian are celebrating by showering her cube with Nerf bullets, or maybe dancing with the King Kong cutout.
I fire off a quick email: “Congrats, Jiang! Good luck in your new job.” I add a GIF of a rabbit dancing with balloons.
As soon as I hit send I panic. Does “good luck” imply that I don’t think she can do the job? Was the dancing rabbit too childish? I groan. I can’t even get an email right.
I decide to burn off my nervous energy by snapping candids for Dad’s surprise party. I try a few shots of the interns by the window, but the glare from the windows washes out the photos.
“Whoa.” Elijah’s head snaps up like a gopher’s. “Paparazzi alert.”
I’ll get photos of the interns some other time. As I leave the room, I sneak a glance at Carlos, who flashes me a secretive smile. I could spend all day taking photos of him, but no way will I do that.
I wander into the kitchen to take a few snaps of people as they come in for snacks and drinks.
One guy gives me a surfer wave and another lifts his soda to his forehead in a salute, which makes up for the pinched face I get from Ms. Simmons as she peels an apple. She removes the shiny red skin in one long strip, which makes for a great photo, but her scowl ruins the effect. I’ll crop her out and zoom in on the apple, then get a better picture of her later.
Jason wanders in and gives me a chin bob, but doesn’t say anything, just grabs a Coke from the fridge and snaps it open. Lewis, the foosball Neanderthal, walks in and grunts at Jason.
“We got cleared for a tour of Stockwell Suds,” Lewis says. “Don’t screw up.”
I remember the Manicotti’s warnings about not sampling the wares. Jason wouldn’t do that; he’s not a partier. After our Breakfast Club night, I know why. I raise my camera and click, catching Lewis’s scowl.
“Just taking photos for my school project.” My squeaky voice sounds like I’m hopped up on helium. Jason grins, but Lewis glowers at me, so I book it out of there for friendlier territory.
I stop by Ms. Romero’s office and take photos of her working, then one of her sharing a laugh with my dad when he comes out of his office and asks if she brought brownies today.
“Dad, I had no idea you were such a sugar addict. I need to let Mom know, or else I can bake more.”
He smiles like a kid who’s been caught sneaking cookies. “Your mom knows all about my sweet tooth. That’s why I have to get my fix here.” He points to my camera. “Are you getting some good photos for your school project?”
“So far, so good.” I don’t mind this white lie, because it’s for something fun to celebrate him and his company.
“Don’t forget the Manicotti,” Dad calls after me. I whirl around, surprised at his use of the nickname. He widens his eyes innocently and Ms. Romero glances between us, confused.
Laughing softly to myself, I wave to my dad then head for the stairs. I should be able to get a fantastic photo of Jiang since she’ll be happy about her promotion.
I’m halfway up the stairs when Brian rushes past me, his face grim. He barely glances at me as he speeds by. In the fun wing of the office, the King Kong cutout now wears a red sash that says, “Congratulations!”
Lewis and Cruz huddle in a corner, whispering and shooting glares toward the rest of their team. Why are these two such jerks? I wonder if they’re jealous of Jiang. I spot her talking to a few other staff members and move closer to take a few pictures, capturing her smile and animated hand gestures. She notices and waves me over.
“Congratulations on your promotion.” I wonder if I should shake her hand, but that feels dorky so I don’t.
“Thanks!” She gestures to the other employees. “You all know Laurel, Mr. K’s daughter, right?” They nod and smile at me, so I act like I remember them.
“We’re going for ice cream to celebrate,” Jiang says. “Want to join us?”
“No thanks. I need to take more photos and get back to uh, assistant stuff.” I wince. Way to sound idiotic, Laurel.
Jiang nods like my reply was normal. “Sure, I understand. We’ll do it another time.”
“Could I take a photo of you? Posing by King Kong?”
Everyone eggs her on as she strikes funny poses and I snap away. After I’m finished, the group heads out for ice cream and I traipse back downstairs. I flash on Brian brushing past me earlier and wonder why he looked so upset, and why he’s not joining his team for ice cream. Oh, wait…when we had lunch, he said that soon he’d be Jiang’s boss.
Does that mean she got the promotion he was expecting? Ugh. I hope he’s not the type of guy to hold a grudge.
Before I go back to the sky box, I might as well take a few photos of Mr. Mantoni. I try to sneak up on him, camera raised, but he must have super hearing because his head snaps up, suspicious squint firmly in place.
“What are you doing, Laurel?”
“Umm…school project,” I mumble, anxiously clutching my camera strap.
“Well, hurry up and take my picture.” He gestures to my Nikon, so I quickly snap a few photos of his unsmiling face. These definitely aren’t going in my contest entry and probably not in the anniversary slide show, either.
I head back to the lobby, my steps light and quick because taking pictures is my happy place, even when the subject is a scowler. In the lobby, Carlos leans on the reception desk, laughing as he unwraps a Crazy Cowboy candy. Miss Emmaline beams up at him like he’s her favorite grandchild. I sneak behind the plant again and snap away. Even though I’m ridiculously jealous of her response to Carlos, the photos are fantastic.
“Boo,” whispers a voice in my ear.
“Aah!” Heart racing, I jump and whirl around to see Brian. “You scared me. Don’t ever do that again.”
He shrugs and grins, then his attention focuses over my shoulder, and I realize I’ve blown my cover. Crud. Slowly, I turn to see Carlos watching me with a knowing smirk. Miss Emmaline’s face is pinched.
“Good strategy, hiding to take the candids,” Brian says.
I look away from Carlos and Miss Emmaline. “Uh, thanks.” I hesitate and clear my throat. “I took some good ones of Jiang with King Kong, celebrating her promotion.”
“Excellent.” He flashes a genuine grin and relief washes over me. Looks like he’s not upset about her promotion after all.
Footsteps sound behind me but I keep my focus on Brian.
“Yo, Carlos, how’s it going?” Brian lifts his chin in the universal dude greeting.
“Great,” Carlos replies, his voice closer to my ear than it should be.
I could take one backward step and we’d be in full body contact again. I flash back to that night in the basement, when he pulled me close and I felt the warmth of his body, both reassuring and exciting. No way can I turn around now.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” Brian says. “Catch you kids later.” He flicks us a peace sign and heads for the stairs. I’m so focused on Carlos’s proximity I don’t even care that Brian called us “kids.”
Still avoiding Carlos, I cross the lobby for the elevator, but he matches my stride.
“Did you get some good photos?” he asks.
“Thanks to you, I got one of Miss Emmaline smiling.” I dart him a frustrated glance. “I don’t know why she dislikes me so much.”
The elevator doors open and we step inside. Every elevator kiss I’ve seen in movies tumbles through my brain, so I examine my shoes, face burning.
“She doesn’t dislike you,” Carlos says. “I bet she’s harder on you because you’re the boss’s kid.”
My head whips up. “Did she say that?”
Carlos shrugs, a quick grin lighting his face. “No, but I used to go to school with a kid whose mom was the principal. He suffered more than anybody else because his mom didn’t want to show favorites.”
“Whatever,” I grumble. Now I feel like a little kid.
When we reach our floor, I practically sprint to the sky box. Carlos follows me, drops something on my desk, then crosses the room to talk to Elijah. I glance at my desk to see what he gave me. A handful of bright red cherry Crazy Cowboy candies shines up at me.
“Pucker up!” say the labels. “Cherry kisses are the best!”