“Dad, listen to me! Jason doesn’t drink because his dad does. Way too much.” I silently beg Jason for forgiveness as I reveal his secret. “Look at his face.” My voice is a ragged whisper. “Look at the shadows under his eyes. Look at the bruise on his cheek he tried to hide with makeup today.”
My dad’s flinty gray eyes blink rapidly, anger quickly replaced by shock. He presses the button on his phone. “Katherine, I’ll have to call you back.” He lowers the phone to the cradle and folds his hands on his desk.
“Tell me what you know, Laurel Anne.”
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 v
oted 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.
Spies, Lies, and Allies Page 26
