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 recenter myself.
But that can wait.
Twenty-Two
Dad and I spend most of the evening arguing. I manage to convince him the photo is fake, but he says we still can’t prove it was Lewis. Exhausted and worn out, I go to bed, vowing to hammer him again in the morning.
Unfortunately, Dad leaves before I do the next morning. Mom hugs me and says he’s stressed out, that I should take the light rail to work. While I’m on the train, Trish sends a group text to the Scooby Gang.
Check Twitter. Don’t freak out, princess.
Dread fills the pit of my stomach as I open the app.
@RockiesRoast Don’t go with @Emergent. Just ask @StockwellSuds. Local yokel @KristoffRhett can ruin your image.
This is bad. So, so bad. My dad’s been testing different blends of Rockies Roast coffee at home and is excited about wooing them as a client. Bad as it is, the next tweet sends me reeling.
@KristoffRhett keeps his daughter & beer-chugging intern on staff. #paperclipprincess #paidfornothing #nepotism #drunkintern
I panic when I read this, so much that Trish forbids any more texting until we meet in person at the bakery. None of us cares if we get to work late this morning.
“Jason’s not fired yet,” Elijah reassures me as he swoops into the bakery. “This guy just wants him to be.”
“That’s total crap what he said about you.” Trish’s eyes are as dark as her steaming espresso.
“We have to do recon today and stop this guy.” Elijah looks determined. “All these tweets prove it’s someone in-house.” He frowns. “Heck, I could be blamed, since I can get access to financial data if I poke around, but you guys know it’s not me, right?”
“Of course we do.” Trish rolls her eyes. “You’re a Boy Scout, just like Carlos.”
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those uniforms,” Elijah insists.
“Even when you were little?” I tease, and he glances away, embarrassed. “Ah ha!”
We laugh, then refocus on our mission, planning to hide out on the roof terrace after work, then snoop around the office. I have no idea what we’ll find, if anything, but doing something feels better than doing nothing.
<
br /> Back in the office, the finance crew glances at us curiously. Carlos’s eyes stay on me as I turn on my computer. I feel heat spread up my cheeks, but I don’t look at him.
When I open the urgent email Dad has sent to the entire company, I struggle to breathe.
Emergent Employees—I’m sure you’re all aware of the social media problems we’re experiencing on Twitter. Unfortunately the tweets have not stopped, and have turned personal, attacking my daughter. I won’t stand for this and I urge anyone who knows anything—and I mean anything—to come forward. We will get to the bottom of this, and if anyone is hiding information, that’s just as bad as sending the tweets yourself.
Whoa. Vader’s on a roll.
We’ve built a strong company with a collegial environment. I want to believe everyone likes their job and believes in our mission. If you don’t, and if you’re expressing that via social media and trying to harm this company, know that I won’t stand for that, either. No one attacks my company, my clients, or my family without repercussions.
Wow. I glance up and meet Trish’s wide-eyed gaze.
“I want your dad leading me into battle if we ever take on the Empire,” Elijah calls out from across the room, and the employees in the finance corner give him a thumbs-up.
My desk phone rings. “This is Laurel.”
“Laurel.” Dad’s voice sounds relieved. “Please come to my office.” He hesitates. “Why didn’t you come see me as soon as you got here?”
“Oh…I guess I…thought you’d be too busy.”
“Why would you—” His exasperated sigh whooshes into my ear. “I’m not too busy for you. Get down here. Please.”
I expect Dad to be sitting behind his desk, but instead he’s waiting in Ms. Romero’s outer office and pulls me into a one-armed hug. “You okay, kiddo?”
“Not bad for a paperclip princess.”
“Don’t say that.” The shadows under his eyes remind me of Jason. I can’t imagine the toll this is taking on him. But I have to ask him again.
“Dad, the photo—”
“We’re close, Laurel. So I’m asking you—no, telling you—please stay out of this—you and your little posse. I don’t want anyone getting hurt or impeding our investigation.”
Spies, Lies, and Allies Page 27
