You've Got Fail(67)

I groaned into my palms. “Thank god it’s over.”

He chuckled. “Oh, there’s more. Have I ever told you that I had a poster of you with the Vampire Empress over my bed and one time I—”

“Please, stop.” Vomit seemed like the only option at this point. That or seppuku.

Laughing, he stowed his phone and rose to rummage through the grocery bag. “Suffice it to say, I enjoyed your texts. I checked them whenever Tiffany and Villena gave me a break. I figured you’d need a particularly potent hangover tonic this morning.” He pulled out some Gatorade, Tylenol, and bread. “Got any hair of the dog?”

“I drank it all.”

“Respect.”

“I should have talked to her more, heard her out. I was just, I don’t know, stunned that she’d been planning it all along.”

“She’s a complicated woman.” He pulled out what looked like a ginger root and some sort of herbal tea packets. “Now we need a game plan to get her back.”

“What?” I rubbed my eyes and stared at him.

“You need her back. Your texts were painful, man. She’s the only cure for what you’ve got.”

“Even though she tried to con me.” Was I agreeing or disagreeing?

“Sure.” He walked over and handed me the open Gatorade and a couple of Tylenol. “But she didn’t. Instead, she ratted herself out at the last minute. That takes guts. Especially if she needed the money to help her sister get out of trouble with some guy from Rocky?”

“What?” I downed the Tylenol with a swig of Gatorade.

“I don’t know. One of your texts said the Rocky guy was after Scarlet and her sister.”

“Pauly.” My neurons fired in a sloppy dance. “His name’s Pauly. Her sister owes him fifty-thousand dollars.”

Jason whistled and slipped some bread into my toaster. “That’s some real cheese right there.”

“Her sister is a savant. She can count cards. I think that’s how she got in trouble with Pauly. Something to do with her abilities.”

“She can count cards? No shit.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, muscles popping all over the place.

“Scarlet can read people. That’s her talent. She’s great at figuring out what makes people tick and then going after it.”

The toast popped up, and Jason grabbed the slices, tossing them in the air and catching them while saying, “hot, hot, hot” before laying them on a paper towel and bringing them to me.

“If she can read people, her talents are wasted with petty crime.” He sat on the couch and tapped his fingers on his chin while I nibbled at the toast. “I think I’m having a thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I need to think on it more before I can tell if it’s a real thought or not.”

“That made my head hurt more.”

“Eat your toast.”

My phone rang, but it was in the bedroom, and I wasn’t interested.

“Want me to get it?” Jason offered.

“No. It’s probably Elias. He’s the only person who has boundary issues enough to call me.”

“Okay.” He popped open a Gatorade and drank half the bottle in one go.

The phone fell silent, but started ringing again in seconds.

“I’ll get it.” He popped up and walked into my bedroom. “It’s Linda.”

“The fuck? It’s way too early for her to be calling.”

“Dude, it’s noon. She’s probably already had half a bottle of McCallan.”

“Good point.” I took the phone from him and hit the answer button.

“Willis?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell happened last night? Why is Jina Feinstein from the New York Daily News running an exposé on Scarlet Rocket and outing you as the real writer? What the hell did you do last night?” When her voice went into slurry, screechy territory, I held it away from my ear.

Jason took it from me. “Linda, it’s Jason. No—no—” He rolled his eyes. “No, we aren’t lovers.”

Drunken inner fanboy squee.

“I’m just over here trying to help him get his life together. Hey man, eat your toast… Calm down, Linda.”

“My life is over.” I took a bite, crumbs spewing all around me. “The blog is”—I stared at my toast—“toast, and the book is going to tank.”

Jason walked into my bedroom and shut the door. He talked to Linda for a good five minutes as I sank into a pit of deep, sticky despair. I demolished the toast and drained the Gatorade.

When Jason reappeared, I only had one question. “How bad is it?”

He dropped my phone on the coffee table then relaxed on the couch. “Linda was slurring more than usual.”

“Great.”

“She said she doesn’t know what the fallout will be, but that you should ‘hang onto your ass.’”

“That’s it?”

He looked at the ceiling. “The word ‘ruined’ was thrown around a lot. Then she said Milli Vanilli ended just as badly, then added that one of them died from the shame.”

“I don’t think that’s what killed him.”