“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
“You still have the address?”
“Of course. See you soon.”
“See you.”
I hung up smiling, determined to push thoughts of Damian aside and return to the book.
Jenn stabbed her fork into a tangled mess of spaghetti and lifted a long strand into the air like some dramatic prop.
“I think I’ve found the world’s longest spaghetti,” she said, swinging it like a pendulum before slurping it down.
“Impressive,” I muttered around a bite of pizza.
She grinned and pointed at my slice. “I’m about to dig into that.”
“I know. The pizza here is amazing.” I cut another piece. “But tell me, what’s up with Mike lately?”
Jenn’s face went dark. “He’s been getting calls from some woman at work. Rings him constantly. Says it’s about a project, but he’s hiding something.”
I set my pizza down. “Have you talked to him?”
“Of course. He tells me I’m paranoid and to stop worrying.”
“He’s not making it easy to trust him,” I said evenly. “Still, I hope you’re wrong.”
She fixed me with a hard look. “And you? What’s going on with Damian Miller?”
“First, he’s notmyDamian Miller—he’s my boss. Second, nothing’s going on.”
Jenn raised an eyebrow. “You’re terrible at lying.”
I hesitated. “I was in his office last week. High-rise, luxury everything. Even the lobby felt like a palace.”
“And?” she pressed.
“He’s… interesting,” I admitted. “Kind of attractive.”
Jenn smirked. “Kind of? The man’s a Greek god in those photos.”
“He told me he’s been thinking about me since he first saw me in the store.” My neck warmed with a faint heat.
Jenn slapped my thigh. “Daisy Elfhorn, you’ve got it bad. But honestly, I can’t blame you.”
I snatched the pizza back. “I don’t have it bad. He’s my boss, and I’m staying professional.” I said it because I had to. I said it because I wanted to believe it.
“Well, good luck with that.” She grinned. “But you seem to like it here. The work and the change of scenery suit you.”
“They do.” I tilted my head, steering the topic. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s better. Home a week, getting physio.”
“And the trial—the guy who hit her and ran?”
“He won’t get away with it. Trial’s next year.”
“Next year?”
