Twenty-One
Twitter was a nightmare last night, with people tearing into my dad and Stockwell Suds for “endorsing” teenage drinking. Emergent issued a press release early this morning apologizing for the incident, and so did Cal Stockwell, on behalf of his brewery. Dad drove in early today and I took the light rail, which was just as well. I couldn’t handle his Vader energy for a long car ride.
I begged Dad to tell me if he fired Jason, but his lips were sealed. I’d desperately wanted to text or call Trish last night, but I don’t have her number. After today, I will.
As I make my espresso in the Emergent kitchen, I overhear whispered rumors that Stockwell Suds fired Emergent. If that’s true, Dad Vader will probably destroy an entire galaxy. I hope his wrath spares Jason. It better, after what I told him yesterday.
Dad had listened to me, then quietly but firmly told me to take the rest of the day off. I hadn’t argued. I’d spent the late afternoon at the historic Union Station taking photos, then Lexi picked me up on her way home from the water park.
I don’t bother to tell Miss Emmaline a joke. I cross the lobby to the elevator, my hot coffee cup warming my cold hand. I didn’t sleep well last night, between my worries about Dad and him storming around yelling into his cell. Mom and I went for a late-night swim, hoping he’d calm down, but he was still fuming when we returned.
Kendra and I talked late into the night. She listened and consoled me, and told me Dad would do the right thing.
“He always does,” she said.
I hope my sister is right.
The elevator doors open to reveal Brian and Carlos standing in opposite corners. Brian’s face is drawn tight with stress, and he’s droopy with fatigue. I assume he was on the receiving end of Dad’s ranting last night. Carlos graces me with a chin lift but doesn’t say anything. As the doors close I stare at our mirrored reflections. Maybe Brian is mad at all the interns now—guilt by association.
Brian exits on the second floor, and it’s just Carlos and me for the quick ride to the third floor. I’m a tangled mess of worries—about Dad, about Jason, about Emergent’s reputation.
“We still haven’t talked about what happened at the park,” Carlos says softly. “And you still haven’t texted me.”
I take a deep breath. “I almost did. Does that count?”
He smiles down at me. “A guy’s gotta know where he stands, Special K. Almost doesn’t count.”
Holy wow… My body feels like somebody set a match to it. I wish we could sneak up to the rooftop and pick up where we left off at the park. But as much as I want to tell Carlos exactly where he stands, and ask him to wait just a few more weeks, my worries tamp down my giddiness.
“What happened?” Carlos asks, his voice sharp.
My head jerks up. “What do you mean?”
His gaze is penetrating, assessing. How can he know stuff just by looking at me?
“Something’s wrong. I can tell.” His hand tightens on the strap of his backpack and his eyebrows dip over his nose. “Brian acted like I spit on his grandma and you look like you want to be anywhere but here.”
“You sure you don’t want to be a journalist? Or maybe a detective?”
The elevator doors open and we step out, but Carlos puts a hand on my arm to stop me. “Tell me.” He drops his hand and clears his throat. “Please.”
“It’s easier to show you.” I pull my phone from my bag and scroll through Twitter, trying not to think about how warm his hand felt on my skin, like the sheer fabric of my peasant blouse wasn’t even there.
“Here.” I hand him my phone. No sense hiding it; everyone will know soon enough.
The Hershey’s eyes widen in shock as he scrolls the tweets. He looks up, clearly appalled. “Is this for real?”
What can I say? I nod, and he turns his attention back to my phone, fingers flying across the screen. His panicked expression amps up my own anxiety.
“This is bad,” he whispers. “Really bad.
“I know.”
We’ve moved to a corner of the hallway without me even realizing it. In any other circumstances, I’d find our proximity thrilling, but I can’t let myself get distracted.
“Your dad must be furious.” Carlos returns my phone and I tuck it in my bag.
“I didn’t ride to work with him this morning, thank goodness. His car probably left a trail of fire on the highway.”
Carlos’s lips twitch briefly, then compress into a tight line. I could watch his mouth for hours. God, I’m pathetic. Emergent is in crisis mode and I’m obsessing over lips.
“So is Jason…gone?” Carlos shoves a loose strand of hair behind his ear.
“I hope not.” I look into his eyes, willing him to trust me. “He didn’t drink, Carlos. You know he didn’t, not with the way his dad is.”
His gaze locks on mine. “I hope you’re right. And I hope this doesn’t ruin things for the rest of us.”
His response frustrates me. I wish I could reassure him this won’t impact the other interns, but I can’t. God only knows what the Manicotti will do. We might all be fired by lunchtime. Unless my dad believes what I told him and gives Jason a second chance.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, Carlos, but I trust Jason.”
In case this is the last time we’re this close to each other, I reach up and squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sorry about all of this.” Through the soft fabric of his shirt, a muscle flexes underneath my touch, and I let go. A heated blush colors my cheeks as his dark unreadable eyes lock on mine.
Elijah’s laughter echoes in the hallway, saving us once again from an awkward silence.
“Yo, Jedi. Rubio.” Elijah’s ready grin is blissfully ignorant of our drama. “What’s up, my Rebels? Are we storming the Death Star today or what?”
“Not so much,” Carlos mutters, pushing past us.
Elijah stares after him. “What’s up with Padawan?”
Should I tell Elijah? Tell all the interns? Wait for Mantoni to burst in and fire us all?
“Hey, move it, nerds,” Trish says from behind us. I glance over my shoulder. Even though she sounds snarky, there’s a weariness in her eyes that throws me for a loop.
Elijah and I move aside, and Trish drops her gaze as she passes. Her dad must have been in on the screaming calls last night, too.
“Trish, wait,” I call out. She stops and turns around.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Elijah cocks his head. “You need backup?”
“No.” I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t you have a crazy raccoon to rein in, Star-Lord?”
Elijah takes the hint and leaves.
Trish tilts her head. “Let’s go.”
She drags me toward the same corner where Carlos and I huddled. She’s wearing her spider pendant again, and an octopus-patterned blouse that reminds me of the steampunk costumes I see at Comic Con.
“I assume this is about Jason.”
“Did your dad show you the tweets?”
“Yeah.” She grimaces. “I know Jason’s the object of your childhood affections, princess. And his home situation sucks.” Her eyes dart down the hallway then back to me. “But maybe the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. I hate to say it, but—”
I put up my hand. “Hold up, queen of darkness. First, how do you know he was the object of my childhood affections?”
“He said you go to school together. You voted for him to stay that first day when he was late, then spent the first week making sexy eyes at him. I’m not an idiot.”
Sexy eyes? I don’t even know how to do that.
Trish nods toward the sky box. “Though it’s obvious you’ve moved on. Don’t need to be a queen of darkness to figure that out.”
“Okay, maybe I used to like Jason, but not anymore. And that’s not the issue.”
“Agreed. The real issue is whether my dad and yours totally lose their minds and fire all of us, or if we can convince them not to.”
We?
“We have to prove Jason’s innocence.” I fill my voice with all the conviction I feel deep inside. “He’s innocent, I know he is. I’ve been at parties with him and he never drinks.” I’d thought it was sweet when I’d been in the throes of my crush, but now that I know the real reason…
“You sure about that?” Trish still doesn’t look convinced.
Before I can answer, Ashley appears, gliding down the hall in a shimmery green dress that makes her look like a sixties Barbie doll. I should ask her which secondhand shops are her favorites.
Trish bobs her head at Ashley. “Morning, Marcia.”
Ashley pauses. “Marcia?”
“You know, like The Brady Bunch. ‘Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.’”
Ashley’s expression clears and she laughs. “Oh right. I haven’t heard that one in a while.” She shifts her leather portfolio bag on her shoulder. “Are we having a secret girls-only meeting?”
“No. We’re having a secret Trish and Laurel meeting.” Trish gestures toward the office. “Catch you later, blondie.”
Ashley frowns, but she leaves us in peace.
“That was mean.” I hate to see Trish backslide to bitchy.
“Sorry.” She tugs at her spiky blue hair. “I’m stressed and exhausted. I’ll fall on my sword later and bring her some air to snack on.”
“She’s not like that. We fight over donuts and she always wins the biggest half.”
Trish changes the subject. “Was your dad totally unhinged last night? Mine was. I wanted to grab his phone out of his hand and smash it.”
“Uh, yeah. He was on the phone for hours.”
“I bet your dad called Stockwell to try to talk him off the ledge and keep the account here.” She hesitates. “Your dad’s a lot better at schmoozing clients than mine.” A flush tints her cheeks. “My dad’s…you know…not good at, uh, diplomacy.”
She’s revealed another crack in her facade, a hint of vulnerability.
“Your dad has his strengths, too.”
She snorts. “Like what? Scaring the crap out of people?”
“Exactly.” A smile pulls at my lips. “He’s the guy you want on your side in a battle.”
Trish’s gaze darts up and down the hall, then she whispers, “My dad wants to can all the interns—no surprise.”
“Seriously?” My stomach drops as I imagine how upset everyone will be. And how upset I’ll be on their behalf.
“Your dad talked mine out of it. For now. But I think Jason’s the sacrificial lamb.”
My hand flies to my mouth. I thought my dad believed me.
She squints at me. “You really don’t think he was drinking?”
“Would you, if your dad was an alcoholic you had to rescue him from binges? And put up with his abuse?” Crud. I said too much.
“Abuse?”
I gesture for her to step closer. “We got off to a bad start, Trish, but here’s the thing. I’m going to trust you.”
“Why?” She leans against the wall, eyes narrowed.
“You’re passionate about causes you care about. And you don’t BS.”
“And you’re a lot smarter than I thought you were.” An ironic smile curves her lips. “You’re still a princess, but you’re more of a Fiona than a Sleeping Beauty.”
“Now that is high praise.” And it is; I love Fiona and Shrek.
“So spill, ogre princess. What do you mean by abuse?”
My body shivers, but I have to tell someone. “Yesterday I helped Jason with computer stuff. And I noticed he was wearing makeup.”
“What?” Her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.
“He was covering a bruise. His dad hit him.”
Trish’s mouth drops open, then snaps shut. “Crap.”
“I know.” The stupid tears are back, but I blink them away. “Imagine what his dad might do if he loses this job.”
Trish steps away from the wall, full of righteous indignation. “So we won’t let it happen. We tell our dads and—”
“I already told my dad.”
She frowns, considering. “It’s that picture. My dad can’t stop talking about it.”
“I’d bet money it was Photoshopped.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I hope so. But I need to talk to Jason.”
“You don’t have his number?” She looks skeptical.
“He never said two words to me before this summer.”
The elevator pings. Mr. Mantoni emerges and we both suck in our breath.
“Here we go,” Trish mutters. Her shoulder bumps mine. “Ready to go down fighting, Jedi princess?”
We’ve moved way past détente. I imagine us fighting Stormtroopers together, flying X-wings and performing crazy aerial maneuvers to take down Dad Vader and the Manicotti. We won’t kill them, of course. Just take away their powers.
“I’ve been training my whole life for this.”
She snorts, then steps out of our hidden corner and I join her.
The Manicotti’s heavy footfalls echo on the tiled floor as he approaches us. He hesitates when he spots us, then resumes his determined march.
“Girls.” He nods at us, then frowns at Trish. “I mean ladies. Women.”
“How about just calling us by name?” Trish snaps.
His forehead vein throbs. “Go inside, gir—Patricia. Laurel.”
We follow him into the office. I wish I’d had a chance to warn Elijah and Ashley. Maybe we could have strategized a united front.
“Interns!” he barks. “At the table. Now.”
Carlos makes his way to us rather than the conference table, where Ashley and Elijah wait.
“So is this it?” he whispers, his voice threaded with anxiety and something harder, something more like anger. “Are we all getting fired?”
I square my shoulders. “Nobody’s getting fired.”
“Trish! Get over here!” The Manicotti points at Carlos and me. “You, too!”
Mr. Mantoni stands with his back to the window, arms crossed over his puffy chest. The finance employees huddle in the far corner of the room, whispering. I wonder if the whole office is speculating on the Twitter debacle.
We sit at the table, Carlos on one side of me, Trish on the other. I’m oddly comforted by this.
“We have a situation,” the Manicotti booms. “Does everyone know what I’m talking about?”
Elijah and Ashley gape at each other, baffled, while Carlos clenches his jaw.
“Your compatriot Jason was photographed drinking beer at our client Stockwell Suds,” says Mr. Mantoni. “The photo is all over Twitter. We’re under fire, as is our client. But this isn’t the first Twitter storm we’ve weathered. Since the beginning of summer—in fact, the week you all started here—there’ve been several damaging tweets that had to come from in-house.”
Time to Leia up. “I told you before. Jason doesn’t drink. Something about that tweet isn’t right.”
The Manicotti braces his hands on the table and tries to shoot an eyeball laser beam into my skull. At least that’s what it feels like, but I refuse to back down.
“Did you ask Jason about it?” I demand.
Mr. Mantoni puffs up like the Hulk, ready to blow.
“We have photographic evidence. It doesn’t matter what Jason said.”
“So Jason denied it? And you didn’t believe him?”
Trish clears her throat. I appreciate her warning, but this is my moment—just like when Rey battled Kylo Ren. Right now, I can bolt from this room and run to my dad and ask him to fight my battles for me. Or I can power up my own lightsaber and tap into my own Force.
“Why don’t you believe Jason?” I fling my hands out in frustration. “You can’t fire him without cause, and you don’t have one.” I lean forward. “My dad believes in second chances. What about you?”
Carlos squeezes my knee under the table. I don’t know if he’s encouraging me to keep talking or trying to shut me up, but his touch startles me.
“What did the other tweets say?” Carlos asks. I wonder if he’s trying to misdirect the Manicotti’s attention away from me, like throwing rocks at a grizzly bear.
“One disparaged Jiang Chen’s promotion,” Mr. Mantoni says, his angry eyes still on me. “We had another this morning that revealed client info that could only come from in-house.”
Trish and I share a surprised look; neither of us knew about that one. It must have happened after we got here. My dad must be going crazy.
“Mr. Mantoni.” I take a deep breath, hoping my voice doesn’t come out shaky. “Did you—is Jason—does he still work here?”
He narrows his beady eyes and runs a hand over his chin. “You don’t need to know the answer to that.”
“Yes I do! We all do.” I gesture around the table. “We’re a team.” I picture Jason’s agonized face when he told us about his dad. He’d trusted us. We can’t let him down.
The Manicotti scowls and looks out the window toward the mountains.
“Laurel’s right,” Elijah says. “We are a team. And I think Jason’s innocent.”
I give Elijah a grateful smile.
The Manicotti’s sharp gaze darts around the table. “All right. Remember the first day? Only two of you voted to let Jason stay when he was late. How many of you would vote for him to stay now?”
My body tenses. This isn’t something to be decided by a vote. Either he’s innocent or he isn’t.
“I agree with Laurel,” Trish says. “Jason needs this chance. He was thrilled to work at Stockwell Suds. I don’t think he’d mess it up.” She glances at me, then at her dad. “He has good reasons not to drink.
I turn my grateful smile on her. She nods, but keeps her eyes fixed on her dad.
“So that’s three in favor.” He lifts his chin at Ashley. “What you do think?”
Ashley’s gaze sweeps the table nervously. “I…yes. I’d vote for him stay.”
Mr. Mantoni isn’t happy. He turns his glower on Carlos. “I suppose you agree.”
Next to me, Carlos shifts in his chair. He removes his hand from my knee and looks out the window, then at the Manicotti.
“I’m not sure. I understand why everyone wants to believe him, but—” He stops and clears his throat. “But I’m not convinced he should stay.”
Stunned, I whirl to face him. “What the heck, Carlos?”
His lips compress, and his eyes are distant, not warm and empathetic like I expected.
Emotions roar through me like a tornado—anger, frustration, desperation. And raw, jagged hurt. How could he do this to Jason? To me? I shove my chair back from the table and stand up.
Time to storm the Death Star.
Mr. Mantoni calls after me, but I ignore him, running out of the sky box, down the hall, then down the stairs. I rush past Ms. Romero’s desk and pound on Dad’s closed door.
“Laurel!” Ms. Romero exclaims. She stands up and crosses the office. “Sweetheart, stop. You can’t keep—”
The door flies open and my dad towers over me, glaring. “Now’s not the time, Laurel.”
“It is,” I say, pushing past him. I slam the door behind us, then belatedly look around the room. Ms. Simmons sits at his conference table, along with two men I don’t recognize. Oh wait—one of them is Cal Stockwell. I recognize him from Denver Nuggets games.
My determination dims briefly, but I need to be Luke Skywalker and finish my mission, even though I’m flying blind.
“Laurel, you need to leave.” Dad is in full Vader mode. Even his voice sounds scary. He glances at his guests. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior.”
“I’m sorry to burst in here,” I say breathlessly. “I assume you’re meeting about Jason Riggs.” I square my shoulders. “I’m here to defend him.”
My dad groans and squeezes his eyes shut. Ms. Simmons cocks an eyebrow. Cal Stockwell glances at the other man, who shrugs.
I take a breath and plunge ahead. “I’ve known Jason since we were kids. He’s a good guy. He’d never do something to risk this internship. He needs it.” I glance at my dad, who looks apoplectic, then at Cal Stockwell. “And he worships you.”
Cal leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sure didn’t act like it.”
I swallow and chew on my lip. My confidence is fading by the second. What was I thinking storming in here? My dad is going to kill me.
“The thing is, I know Jason doesn’t drink. I’ve been to parties with him. He always drinks soda or water.” I shoot a nervous glance at my dad, whose steely gray eyes flick around the table, then back to me. Yep, definitely gonna kill me later.
“Also, he…he…” I glance at Dad. “Did you tell them?”
Everyone turns to Dad, who grits his teeth. “No.” His eyes bore into mine as he bites out the next words. “What you shared with me was private, Laurel. Stop and think.”
His words are an ice bucket dousing what’s left of my righteous fire. Dad’s right. I can’t tell strangers about Jason and his dad. Maybe if I bake Dad one hundred brownies he’ll forgive me. Maybe.
“You had something to say,” Cal says in his lazy drawl. “What is it?
What can I say that won’t violate Jason’s privacy, but still communicate his innocence?
“He has good reasons not to drink.” I blow out a breath. “I’ve known him for years and I can promise you he doesn’t drink beer, Mr. Stockwell. He wants to learn from you. He doesn’t want concussions from going pro and he’ll never make it in Hollywood but he doesn’t realize how smart he is and he…” I trail off.
I’m a lousy witness, a babbling dork who just did more damage than good. I hang my head in shame. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” Mortified, I slink to the door, but to my surprise Dad follows me, closing the door behind us.
“That was unacceptable,” his whisper is furious, way scarier than if he yelled. Not to mention his eyes are glaciers.
“I know. I’m sorry.” I bite my lip and sneak a glance at Ms. Romero, who’s pretending to ignore us as she types on her computer.
Dad leans back against the door, squeezing his forehead. “Laurel, honey. You’re killing me here. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this.” He scowls. “Without revealing Jason’s family situation.”
My sister’s words come back to me. “Dad always does the right thing.”
Dad sighs, shaking his head. “Lewis claims he left Jason alone for a few minutes to talk to a few Stockwell employees, and when he returned Jason was swilling a beer.”
Lewis is lying. I know it; I just have to prove it.
“So did you…did you…fire Jason?” The last two words are a whisper. Tears fill my eyes as the images hit me like a volley of punches—my dad firing sweet, goofy Jason. How Jason’s dad will punish him. How he’s lost a shot at the scholarship because of Lewis.
“Not yet,” Dad says. “I told him to stay home today while I assess the situation.”
Relief floods through me and I launch myself at my dad, enfolding him in a hug and burying my tear-streaked face in his chest.
“Thank you,” I mumble into his starched shirt. He heaves an exasperated sigh and gives me a quick squeeze.
“I need to go back in there and do damage control.” He pulls out of the hug and pins me with a stern look, but his glacier eyes have thawed. “Don’t ever do that again.”
I nod vigorously. “Promise.” I swipe at my tears. “The Manicotti says you always give people second chances.”
Dad’s eyes narrow. “Don’t call him that.”
“Sorry. Forgot.” I’m not sorry.
Dad puts his hand on the doorknob. “Ms. Romero, will you please make sure we don’t have any more interruptions?”
She stands, her face full of apology. “Of course. I’m so sorry but—”
“It’s all right,” Dad says. “Apparently my daughter is unstoppable.” His lips twitch, but he turns away before I can confirm he almost smiled.
…
“The tweets,” I speak in an urgent whisper to the interns. “It has to be Lewis. We just have to prove it.”
We’re on the rooftop, huddled under an umbrella table. All of us except Carlos, who went to lunch by himself. I’m furious with him, and sad, and just…just… I can’t even put my feelings into words.
Trish nods. “It has to be him. He’s always bitching about the intern program.”
“And the tweet about Jiang,” I continue. “He was probably jealous of her promotion.”
Elijah looks grim. “Can you show us the other tweets?”
“Yeah.” Trish’s fingers fly across her phone screen, then she hands it to Elijah.
“Whoa. These are harsh.” He glances at me, a deep frown slashing across his forehead, then passes the phone to Ashley.
“Oh my gosh,” she says, her blue eyes wide with shock. “No wonder Mr. Mantoni’s so upset.”
“I know.” We have to stop @PRTruth. “Do you guys want to help me save Jason’s job?”
Trish’s lips quirk. “Like Scooby-Doo and the Gang? I call Velma.” She smirks at Ashley. “Obviously you’re Daphne.”
Ashley shrugs and smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
I point at my chest. “I thought I was Velma. I’m the nerd, after all.”
Trish grins. “True.”
“Well, I’m not Shaggy,” Elijah says. “I guess I can be Fred, except he wasn’t very smart.”
Trish’s eyes dance with mischief. “My dad’s gonna hate us sticking our noses in this.” Her grin is devious. “You meddling kids!”
We laugh at her Scooby reference and Elijah waggles his eyebrows. “He doesn’t have to know.”
“I don’t care if he finds out,” I say. “No offense, but I’m sick of trying to pacify him.”
“Join the club,” Trish mutters.
“Jason’s more important than getting yelled at,” Ashley says, and my respect for her skyrockets.
“The Resistance will not be intimidated,” Elijah announces solemnly, and Trish stretches out her arms for fist-bumps from both Elijah and me.
“They wanted teamwork?” I say. “They’re going to get it.”
But I refuse to think about the one guy I never dreamed would bail on our team.
…
Nobody gets much intern work done after lunch. Carlos returns, but he doesn’t speak or make eye contact with any of us. My heart feels like it’s squeezed in a vise, but I can’t let that distract me.
Ashley and Trish have a whispered conversation while scouring Twitter, looking for clues and breadcrumbs. Ashley hurries to my desk with a post-it that says “Jason” and ten digits. So she has his cell number? Not surprising. I smile in gratitude and text him immediately.
Are you ok? We have to talk asap.
Elijah dives into the dark web, looking for anything related to @PRTruth.
Jason texts me back, then I sneak out to the hallway to call him.
“I didn’t do this, Laurel, I swear.” He sounds like he’s choking back tears and my heart aches for him. “I’m hanging out at a friend’s house. My dad thinks I’m at Emergent. He’d…well, you know what he’d do if knew I was about to get fired.”
“You’re not getting fired. Tell me what happened.”
“It was a great day, meeting everyone at Stockwell. Cal was cool, asked me about my football team and stuff. Then everyone went into the tasting room, it’s like a real bar, and started drinking beer. I ordered a Sprite. I was just hanging out talking to some of the people who work there.”
“Did you see Lewis take a picture of you with his phone?”
He pauses. “Maybe. I don’t know. He was taking a lot of photos. He did selfies with all the ex-ball players hanging out with Cal.”
Of course he did.
“I swear, Laurel. Sprite is all I drank.”
“I believe you, Jason. Hang in there.”
Back at my desk, I download the incriminating photo from Twitter, determined to prove it’s fake. I stare and stare, and finally I see it. I can’t believe no one else has noticed, or that it took me so long.
In the photo, Jason’s sitting sideways at the bar, holding a beer glass in his right hand as he talks to someone. But when I look closely, I see that his fingers are too narrow; they look almost feminine. Not at all like a quarterback’s hand. Lewis must have colored the liquid in the glass, then tried to Photoshop fingers back on the glass.
My pulse pounds in my throat as I triple check to make sure I’m not crazy. I’m about to run downstairs to show my dad when Carlos appears at my desk.
He picks up my Han Solo figurine. “Too bad I’m not more like this guy.”
“What do you mean?” My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but I’m distracted. I need to find my dad.
He glances up, his eyes troubled. “I know you’re pissed at me, and I don’t blame you. But I had to be honest, Laurel. And the truth is I’m not sure about Jason.”
“But I am.” Especially now. “Why don’t you trust me? Why are you ignoring what he confided to us?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long minute. I’m about to demand Han’s return when he speaks, not meeting my eyes. “Maybe your feelings for him have clouded your judgment.”
“Feelings?!” I yelp. “What feelings?”
He finally looks me in the eye. “You know what I mean.”
We stare at each other as I struggle to breathe, to speak. Does he think I still like Jason?
“But…but I don’t…feel that way, not anymore.” I need to set Carlos straight, but more importantly I have to get out of here.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. The way you defended him today, it sure looked like you still have pretty strong feelings for the guy.” There’s a stubborn tilt to his jaw and he won’t look at me. Is he jealous? This is ridiculous.
“I would’ve done the same for you, Carlos.” I gesture across the room where everyone is pretending not to eavesdrop. “For any of them.”
He sets Han on my desk. “I hope that’s true,” he says, turning away.
I want to chuck Han Solo at the back of his head but instead I sprint past Carlos and down to my dad’s office.
“He’s out for the afternoon, sweetheart, with Mr. Mantoni.” She smiles slyly. “Can’t bust down his door today.”
No, but I can blow up his phone with texts, so that’s what I do for the next hour. He must have his phone in Do Not Disturb. Or maybe he’s blocked my number.
I’ve shown the photos to everyone except Carlos, because he left early. Not that it would’ve changed his mind.
“This will end tomorrow,” I tell everyone. “Lewis will be fired and Jason can come back. As soon as I see my dad, I’ll show him the proof.”
After everyone else has left, giving me props for my discovery, I open my Hello Kitty notebook to doodle my frustrations while I wait for Dad to return. I flip through the pages for a clean piece of paper and freeze when I spy tiny print scrawled under a sketch of me with Princess Leia hair rolls eating a donut.
“I kissed a nerd and I liked it.” Followed by the 10 digits that are programmed into my phone—numbers I’ve never texted, and never will.
I can’t believe I missed seeing this. It makes what happened between us today all the more painful. Sighing deeply, I stand and walk to windows. I gaze at the Rocky Mountains in the distance, immovable and awe-inspiring. After this internship gig is over, I’m going to spend time in the mountains with my camera to re-center myself.
But that can wait.