Casanova(106)

LANI



Three weeks later



“Let me get this straight,” Raven said, her hand stuck inside a glass as she dried it with a cloth. “Nothing has happened. Literally nobody cared, and he’s still wondering why.”

“Pretty much,” I answered. “Honestly, I think his ego got a little big.”

“A little?” Camille snorted. “His ego was bigger than Texas. Of course he thought somebody would care.”

“To be fair,” I said, “We all thought it would be a bigger deal than it was.”

Raven put the glass down in front of me. “I think it was somewhat overshadowed by Anton’s sketchy tactics. You should have heard the conversations in here the day after you published your article. Nobody could begin to believe that he’d been so sneaky in his methods of finding out.”

I frowned. “But I didn’t say anything about how he found out.”

Camille scratched beneath her ear.

“Camille,” I said slowly.

She threw up her hands. “What was I gonna do? The guy screwed over my brother. Brett might be a giant pain in my ass, but he’s still my brother. We shared a womb, for Chrissakes.”

Raven grinned conspiratorially. “Did you tell everyone he eavesdropped on a private conversation?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I may or may not have commented on his website article anonymously.”

I spun on the bar stool. “Camille!” I lightly pushed her. “What did you say?”

“That I’d heard he recorded it,” she murmured.

My jaw dropped. Oh my god. “That was you?”

“Hey,” she said, jabbing a finger in my direction. “Journalists aren’t the only ones prone to lying.”

“I don’t lie,” I protested, whacking her finger away. “I embellish. Tweak. Fiddle.”

“That sounds like you’re reading some fucked-up erotica out loud,” Raven told me, grabbing a cocktail shaker. “But I’m so fucking impressed, I’m pouring some lunch time drinks. Then I’m going to make you look over my prospective menu.”

“Menu?” Camille asked.

I nudged her. “Yeah. For the food. Don’t you listen?”

She looked at me. “As a rule, no.”

I rolled my eyes.

Raven did too. “Whatever. I need you to help me because I can’t find a goddamn chef. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Maybe your menu is too complicated,” Camille suggested.

“Nope.” Brett walked out of the back room, looking at a notebook. “This is all basic shit. Burgers, chicken wings, fries...Salads and all that healthy shit girls eat.”

“You ate a salad last night,” I said, whipping the notebook out of his hands when he joined us at the bar. I scanned her proposed menu. “There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“Good,” Raven said. “Because if the guy I’m interviewing tomorrow is no good, then I’m gonna have to swallow some pride and ask my brother.”

“Why would that be swallowing your pride? Isn’t your brother a good chef?” Camille asked.

“Yeah,” Raven said. “But he’s already working in Key West for the summer. He brought his best friend home, who I happen to hate. Think Lani coming home kinda hate.”

“Oooh,” I replied. “Let me guess. His best friend is a chef?”

“Yes.” She gritted her teeth. “And I don’t want to ask him.”

“Well, that sucks,” Brett said, pulling me off the stool. “But we’ve gotta run.”

I did a double-take. “We do? Where? Why? What?”

He pulled me right out of the cocktail bar and into the hot lunchtime sun. Stepping into the sticky humidity was like walking into a brick wall, and I instantly fanned myself with my hand.

“Why did you just drag me out of air-conditioned heaven into this hell?” I demanded.

“Because your sister just called. She’s hungry and is craving grilled cheese and tomato soup from the cafe and that’s your job.” He grinned and unlocked his car.

“You know that isn’t a craving,” I said dryly. “That’s a wanting. They’re wildly different.”

“Whatever. You didn’t have to go to Wal-Mart at three a.m. two nights ago for red hot Cheetos.”

“No, you’re right. I would have gone into the cupboard in the kitchen where there are four bags of those Cheetos waiting for her three a.m. cravings.” I paused before I got in the car. “And for future reference, the heartburn things are in the drawer just above that cupboard for convenience.”

“Great. Now you tell me,” he muttered, getting into the car before I did.

“All you had to do was ask!”

“Kitten, the last time I tried to wake you up, you slapped me in the face.” He glanced at me and started the car.

I shook my head. “I didn’t slap you. Your face was in the way of my hand, I already told you that.”

“You can’t spin it just because you slapped me.”

“Do you want to give yourself a blow job?”

He laughed. “No, I want you on your knees giving me a blow job.”