After Dark (The Night Owl Trilogy #3)(5)

I pushed aside Last Light and opened my new notebook from Mike.

At the top of the page, in cramped, slanting caps, I wrote:





EXHIBITIONISM





Chapter 3





HANNAH


Pam wanted to see me after lunch.

I worried a nail as I carried my salad out of the Mediterranean deli.

If Pam wanted to see me, I’d probably done something wrong. Shit. What could it be?

I sat at the last empty table outside and started stuffing forkfuls of lettuce into my mouth. I ate mindlessly, concentrating instead on how I might have pissed off my boss. Hm. No contract negotiations were under way. We had no new authors. Was I reading too slowly? Did I discard a promising manuscript?

A shadow fell across my table.

I looked up at a pretty, petite woman with fawn brown hair.

“Oh!” she said. “You’re Hannah Catalano.”

I nodded. Since our TV appearance, Matt and I were pseudo-celebs in Denver. Now everyone who recognized Matt also recognized me. He was “that crazy author who faked his death” and I was “the adorable girl he loves.” It could be worse, we joked.

“Do you mind?” The woman glanced at the chair across from mine.

“Go for it,” I said, and she set down her tray. “It’s so busy today.”

“Must be the nice weather.” As the stranger sipped her drink, I noticed a delicate gold band around her ring finger, encrusted with three diamonds. My chest tightened.

The woman caught me staring and she blushed.

“I just got engaged. And so did you, right? You and that author?”

“Uh … yeah.” I pushed an olive around my plate.

“This is the craziest coincidence.” The woman squinted and glanced over her shoulder, then leaned toward me. “My friend used to date him. Can you believe that?”

“Huh?” A gust of wind rocked the umbrella above our table. It shifted and a shaft of sunlight pierced my eyes. Friend … dated Matt?

“I know, right?” The woman laughed. Her earrings flashed like fishing lures. “The stories I have heard. You are so brave to be marrying him. Is he really into all that weird stuff?”

“I—” I shielded my eyes. Jesus, I needed to see this woman. Was her friend Bethany Meres, Matt’s evil ex? And what did she mean by “weird stuff”?

“God, I probably shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” She lifted her tray. “A table just freed up over there, so I’ll give you some peace. Nice meeting you.”

The woman hurried off and I sat there staring after her.

I wanted to march over to her table and demand more information, but my lunch break was up. I pictured Pam waiting in her office with an executioner’s ax. Fuck …

I got one last good look at the woman—straight, fine hair to her shoulders, a small, fit body, and a brightly printed Coach purse—and carried my tray back into the deli.

*

Pamela Wing and her partner, Laura Granite, awaited me in the office. I rarely saw Laura around the agency and the sight of her stopped me in the doorway.

These women looked severe.

Laura beckoned, her perfect eyebrows arching. Pam nodded at me.

Okay … I knew this scene. They would feed me some lines about a gap in my skill set, or disappointment with my progress, their hope for more growth. This isn’t working out, Hannah.

“Great to see you, Hannah,” said Laura. Laura was a leggy brunette, in her fifties at least and alarmingly attractive.

My boss, Pam, looked stern as usual.

I perched on the edge of the offered chair.

“Nice to see you as well,” I said. Be brave. Go out with dignity. I tried to smile at Laura, though I think I grimaced. “How was New York?”

“Same old,” she drawled, her city accent thick. Though the Granite Wing Agency was Denver-based, Laura spent weeks on end in New York City. “I got you something.”

“We got you something,” Pam put in.

They laughed together.

A small turquoise box with a white ribbon sat on the desk. I lifted it and read the lid: TIFFANY & CO. “Oh … thank you,” I managed. My stomach gurgled and my hands shook as I untied the ribbon. Stupid f*cking nerves.

Inside the box was a long felt pouch, and inside of that a classic Tiffany T-clip pen, all sterling silver except for a thin blue accent.

The pen lay cool and heavy across my palm.

I stared at it, dumbfounded.

Then I stared at Pam as she said, “Hannah, Laura and I would like to bring you on as an associate agent here. What do you say?”

I looked between Pam and Laura, back and forth, blinking owlishly. I wasn’t getting canned. I was getting the promotion I’d coveted for months.

“Do you think I’m ready?” My fingers closed around the pen.

“I’ve been very impressed,” Pam said. “You’ve been with us for almost a year. You learn fast and your dedication is obvious. Excepting your recent absence—” Pam sniffed. Oof, my absence. She meant the three weeks in April when I broke up with Matt and hid at an Econo Lodge and drank way too much gin. “You’ve shown great aptitude for this work.”

“This is what I want,” I said.