Jojo winked at me and returned to her desk.
I clicked a few times to navigate to the computer’s settings, and then selected Change Username/Password.
USERNAME: ELLIE2POINT0
PASSWORD: RIGHTDIRECTION001
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bluegrass played through ceiling speakers placed throughout the MountainEar building. I thumbed through a stack of pictures from the recent half marathon, shaking my head.
“You don’t like the music. I figured you were a rock chick,” Wick said, walking into my office.
“I tune out the music,” I said, laying the pictures down on my desk, fanned out. “It’s the pictures. They’re terrible, Wick. Who took them?”
“She’s right,” Jojo said, sitting on the loveseat across from me. She crossed her legs, her snow boots still wet from her walk inside. “I’ve seen them. They suck. You’ve got to quit letting Mike turn in that crap. Just quit using him period.”
Wick frowned. “There’s no one else.”
I nodded toward Jojo. “Her coverage of the art walk was stellar. Why not just use Jojo?”
Jojo smiled and stood. “Because Jojo has an office to run.”
“Who took those?” Wick asked, pointing to the frames on my desk.
“Oh,” I said, turning them slightly. “I did. Just something to remind me what I’m trying to do.”
Jojo walked around my desk, picking up a frame holding a picture I’d taken at my parents’ house the weekend before. I had snapped just half of the black and white portrait of Finley hanging in my parents’ main hall—taken when she was just fourteen. Even back then, she was stunning.
“You took this? Who is this?” Jojo asked.
“My sister,” I said, my voice quiet. I hadn’t spoken to Finley since I’d woken up next to Sterling. She had left me a few voicemails, but she also understood that I might not want to chat about her vacation by the sea while I was stuck in a snow globe.
“It’s actually pretty good,” Jojo said. She looked at Wick, and he agreed. She picked up another frame, and then set it down. “What camera are you using?”
I shrugged. “Just a point-and-shoot my sister bought me. A Nikon, I think. It’s over there.” I pointed to a bag in the corner.
Jojo strutted over and rifled through my things, pulling out the camera and holding it up. “I started with this one. I can teach you a few basics over lunch. Take some pictures tonight, and show me tomorrow.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because your job description might broaden.”
“I’d love to do lunch, but I’m sort of on a budget. I brought a sandwich from home.”
“It’s your fourth payday. You can’t afford lunch yet?” she scoffed. When I didn’t answer, she continued, “My treat. Don’t bother arguing. I’ll win.”
Wick nodded. “She’s right.”
“Okay. I have a few things to wrap up first.”
Jojo left for her desk, and Wick disappeared into his office, closing the door. I was glad he was in a good mood. Thoughts of Sterling and the many possible reactions Finley could have about our moment of temporary insanity ran on a loop in my brain, and I was working on maybe three hours of sleep.
I finished answering Wick’s emails, and then pushed my roller chair away from my desk. The phone buzzed.
“Ellie, line one,” Jojo squawked over the speaker.
“For me?”
“Yep.”
I picked up the phone and pushed the button for line one, wondering if it was a bartender complaining about something not working at Turk’s, or Mike hoping I’d give him good news about his crap pictures.
“This is Ellie,” I said, waiting for several seconds until the voice on the other end began to speak.
“I’m … I’m sorry to call you at work. Congratulations on the job, by the way.”
I hunched over, as if that would help to muffle the conversation. “You can’t call me here, Sterling.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But Finley isn’t returning my calls.”
I rolled my eyes. “She never returns your calls. Stop being paranoid, and stop calling me. Don’t think I don’t remember you passing me whatever the fuck that pill was. What did you do? Roofie me?”
“I—this isn’t my fault.”
“Then whose fault is it?” I hissed. “I don’t even remember what happened.”
“Neither do I!” he snapped. “You were upset. It was supposed to just make us chill. It was something new I scored from Preston.”
“Preston?” I hissed. “You gave me something you got from Preston? You could have killed us both!”
“You didn’t have to take it. You can’t put this all on me.”
“I trusted you,” I said, gripping the phone and trying to yell at him as quietly as possible. “But you’re right. I accept my part in what happened. You might love her, but she’s my sister. I’m trying to turn things around so I can prove to her that—if she does find out—I’ve changed.”