“You’re back.”
“Yeah, I thought you could use some lunch.” I thrust the to-go bag at my dad.
“You’re an angel.” He rips into the food. “I’m starving.”
I point over my shoulder toward my desk. “There’s some paperwork I need to sort, so I’ll go ahead and do that.” Not a lie.
“It’s Sunday. You can do it tomorrow,” he says through a cheekful of potato salad.
“Ha! Because my insane social life is calling.”
He grunts and shoves a quarter of the sandwich in his mouth, his eyes on insurance claim paperwork. Between his food and his work, I hope he doesn’t notice me pulling employee files.
My organizing over the last few weeks makes it easy to locate the folder I need. I cross to my desk with a stack of applications pressed to my chest. I flip through pages as quietly as possible, feeling half PI and half stalker slimeball.
There’s a tiny voice in my head that says I could always just ask Lucas, but something tells me he won’t be as forthcoming as his employee file will be. And there’s always the risk that my questions will provoke Gage.
The files are in no alphabetical order, and I continue to move through them until finally my eyes land on the name.
Scribbled in blue ink.
Lucas Menzano
“His last name is Menzano,” I whisper, as the heavy surname falls from my lips.
“What’s that?”
I jump at the deep rumble of my dad’s voice and drop the file of employee paperwork to the floor. “Shit! You scared me to death.”
My heart pounds and I scurry to pick up all the loose pages.
His boots come into view. “Whattdya need with employee files?”
I peek up at him scowling down at me with a half sandwich in his hand. “Oh . . . um, just putting them in a-alphabetical order, Dad. They were a mess.” I laugh nervously and right myself, dropping the gathered pages on my desk.
“Huh . . . good idea.” He grabs his keys. “I’m headed out. Probably won’t be back in, so I’ll see ya at home. Thanks again for lunch.” He shoves his mouth full of food, snags his keys, and he’s gone.
I breathe a little easier now that he’s gone and I can continue my skeevy snooping in private. I hate hiding things from my dad, but the truth would prompt too many questions that I don’t have the answers for.
As soon as I hear his truck engine fade into the distance, I sort through Lucas’s file, looking for his application. Guilt washes over me at this complete invasion of his privacy and my fingers still. I shouldn’t be doing this. I got his last name. That should be enough.
The temptation to take one more look weighs against my conscience, making my fingers shake. Maybe just a quick peek, as long as it’s on accident while I’m putting them in alphabetical—
My phone vibrates. I jerk and squeal like a little girl.
“Holy shit!” My hand covers my throbbing chest, hoping to slow my racing heart. “What the hell is wrong with me today?”
I grab my phone with my free hand. “Hello?”
“Hey, honey.”
I groan internally at the all too peppy sound of Trevor’s voice. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Nice to talk to you too.” He chuckles and I roll my eyes.
I find Lucas’s name again. Menzano. Is that Italian? It sounds Italian.
Why does that name sound so familiar?
“Hello? Did you hear what I just said?”
“Oh, sorry, no. I’m at work, got my head buried in paperwork.” It’s mostly true. “What was that?”
“I said I made the first cut for the job in Los Angeles!”
My heart plummets to my gut and my body sinks like dead weight into my desk chair.
“Isn’t that amazing? They just called.”
“Wow . . .” That should’ve been me. “That’s great, Trevor. I’m . . . I’m really happy for you.”
“Right? I’m happy for me too! They want me to bring in one unique work and if I pass that, I’m hired.”
More good news about how Trevor is living the life I’ve worked my ass off for while I’m stuck back in the life I hate.
“This station is cutting edge, Shy. They’re looking for dynamic people who’re passionate and can put a new twist on news reporting.”
Fucking awesome, Trevor. Why don’t I go shove my face in a vat of horseshit to celebrate?
“I think, I mean, I don’t know this yet, but I think they might find your on-air outburst pretty fucking cool.”
I perk up, his voice suddenly coming in clear and chasing all other things from my thoughts. “Really?”
“Yeah, apparently one of the news reporters they just hired was fired by KSB for slashing the tires of a pedophile while covering the sicko’s court hearing.”
Wow, that means . . . “Are you saying . . . Do you think—”
“Yep, I think they’d love you. I’m going out there next week. I’ll sniff around, drop some hints, tell them about you, okay?”
My heart leaps in my chest. “Trevor, thank you! Really, thank you so much.”
“Sure thing, honey.”