She wasn’t sure how they were working on the dog, but Gabbylet Markus’s words soothe her. There was nothing she could do now. She’d given the code over. She might as well relax. “I bet his lunch is in the kitchen still. It’s in a Pikachu lunch box.”
“So what’s this kid eating anyway?”
She had packed a bento box with baby carrots, grapes, and a gluten-free sun butter and jelly sandwich, all topped off with a little note: “Have a great day! Love, Mom.” Markus must have cracked it open, because he said, “Damn. This ain’t the free lunch program.”
Lucas was a little spoiled, but it was for safety.
“So where does this kid go to school?”
“Queen Palm School. I’ll call and let them know to expect you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Shamika, a woman who lived for gossip, buzzed Markus into the school. She could hear Markus introducing himself. He sounded like he was performing an official duty for the EOD rather than just dropping off food.
Shamika practically cooed in response, making noises like a mourning dove. Before long, she heard another voice. The principal joined to introduce herself.
“You’re a little more popular in the front office than I am.” Gabby cleared her throat.
“They seemed very friendly, a really engaged staff.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. More softly, she said, “Thank you, Markus. That really meant a lot.”
“No problem. I’ve got your back.”
She’d never wanted to believe anything more.
Tuesday, after lunch, finally about to get some work done, well, after a cup of coffee
For Gabby, the eStocks job was more about snooping than being the best executive assistant she could be. Getting to know her co-workers was paramount to that goal, meaning she needed to network, aka gossip.
“Hey, Fran, want to grab a coffee?” There was a Starbucks down the street with her name on it. “My treat.”
In her ear, Markus said, “Is that worth your time?”
Fran might be a stick-in-the-mud, but at least she wasn’t working for Smirnov—more than she could say for the EOD agents.
“Really?” Fran narrowed her eyes.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk about anything but work.” She added, “At least lately.” Who knows. Maybe Fran and Darcy used to talk.
Two professional women walking down a sunny LA street toward the closest Starbucks—finally, something Gabby could get into. A row of palm trees marked the way, each probably a hundred feet tall, and leaning the same direction, naked except for one silly bunch of leaves at the top.
Reflecting on the trees, Gabby said, “The palm tree really only had one idea: get tall.”
Fran frowned back.
“They have a real last-minute, I-threw-this-outfit-together vibe. Don’t you think?”
Fran frowned harder. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Just goes to show you really only need one idea, but you need to commit to it.” It was the lack of sleep talking—it always turned her into a pothead philosopher.
“Are you… suggesting something? I know I come across as single-minded sometimes.”
“You are being cryptic,” Markus agreed in her ear. “Are you accusing Fran of something?”
If anyone was limited by one idea, it was her. Her identity started and stopped at “mom.”
Fran was in the zone, though. “You’re right. I’ve been working too hard.” She shook her head. “I really thought I was getting ahead, about to make some real money, move up the ladder. And then, wham, someone else is hired from outside the organization and given the good work. Happens every time.”
