Casanova(15)

He pointed his pen at me with an approving raise of his eyebrows. “That is very true.”

I smiled. “The change of pace would be nice.” And the check William handed me yesterday would allow me to sell my car and buy a new one here. My rental was eating into my savings.

“Let’s run you on a trial.” Mr. Reeves opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a plastic folder. He handed it to me. “These are the last few articles Quinn typed up before she left. See what you can do with them, and I’ll read over the ones you gave me. Be here at eight a.m. tomorrow with at least one of those articles done and ready to run. If I’m impressed, I have something I’d like you to do for me. That sound okay to you, Ms. Montana?”

“Lani.” I smiled, picking my purse up from the floor. “Perfect.”

We stood and shook hands.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lani.” He opened the door to his office and held it for me to walk through. He did the same with the outer door to the small building, and I bid him goodbye before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

The hot, humid air was only worsened by the thick yet gentle sea breeze coming of the ocean at the end of the block. The breeze was warm, damn it. I might have grown up in that thick, sticky air, but I was so used to it not being humid that this was quite uncomfortable.

Ugh.

I tugged the strap of my purse up onto my shoulder properly and ran my fingers through my hair. I had no idea what time it was, so I pulled out my phone and glanced at the clock. It was a little too early for lunch, but my eyes were drawn to the tiny message icon in the top, right corner.

I stepped back against the wall to avoid the runner making his way toward me. He half-heartedly threw up a hand in thanks as he passed me, so I called a, “You’re welcome!” and typed in the passcode for my phone.



Unknown: I hope you know I don’t plan on dressing up.



I frowned and hit reply.



Me: Sorry, who is this? I think you have the wrong number.



The reply flashed on my screen before I reached the end of the block.



Unknown: Remember the time I made you write up my book review of Romeo and Juliet and you did that book by Jane someone to teach me a lesson?



My heart thumped as it sunk to the pit of my stomach. Brett. Damn it. How did he get my number?

I diverted into the coffee shop on the seafront and took my place in line.



Me: Remember the time you didn’t have my phone number? I do. I liked it.

Brett: You got sassy.

Me: No, I learned how to stop taking shit from people like you.

Me: And it was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. God.



I hated myself for rising to that bait. But, hey. He totally deserved that. He never asked me to do it again. Sure, he asked me for help, but he never made me do it.

“Can I just get a regular latte, please?” I asked the person behind the counter.

“Sure. To go?”

“Please.”

The girl grabbed a cup. “What’s your name?”

“Lani.” I smiled and looked at my phone as it buzzed.

“Lana?”

“Lani.” I tried not to roll my eyes. Was it that hard, really?

The girl put the cup down. “Lani—Lani Montana?”

I tapped the code into my phone and peered up. I didn’t recognize the blond-haired girl now looking at me with wide eyes. “Um, yes?”

She broke out into a wide smile. “It’s Yvonne. Yvonne Fisher.”

I blinked at her stupidly for a moment before the image of a seventeen-year-old with braces and an awkward persona flashed in my mind. “Oh my god! We had AP Lit together, right?”

She smiled either. “We did!”

Do I have to make small talk now?

“Wow. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you there.” I swiped my card down the machine as my phone vibrated in my hand. Crap—I must have switched the setting. I hated touchscreens at the best of times. I glanced down at the screen and saw Brett’s number with another message. “Sorry. This is important.” I smiled and walked to the other end of the counter, my nose in my phone.



Brett: That was it. The one where he had too much pride and she had too much prejudice.

Brett: I didn’t Google it, by the way.

Me: Asking your mom doesn’t count.

Brett: Shit.



An old, unwelcome feeling tickled across my skin. I knew why. That exchange felt a little too much like when we were best friends.

I shivered. That sensation really was out of place. We weren’t best friends, and I sure as hell shouldn’t be texting him like we were.



Me: Is there a reason you’re texting me? Because I just told Yvonne Fisher this was important and I have yet to see how it is.

Brett: You wound me.

Me: Yeah, I can see the gunshot hole from here.

Brett: Where is here?

Me: Hopefully the other side of town to you.



“Lani?” Yvonne asked. “Here’s your coffee.”

“Oh, thanks.” I took the cup from her and glanced back down at my phone. He hadn’t replied. Good.

“Hey, Brett Walker is outside. Is he waiting for you?”

“Son of a—” I stopped when she looked at me with wide eyes. “It’s hot,” I offered lamely.