That was as far as I had gotten in the clip of an English sports program in which three hosts were debating—but mostly praising—The Atomic Foot’s ruthless business strategy for attracting a deal that would put him on the list of the top five most well-paid soccer players in the world.
But that was all I’d needed to hear—all I needed toremember.
I was a pawn, I reminded myself, turning away from my reflection. And “Mick” was a player in every sense of the word.
This outfit meant nothing. It was just a consolation prize for so naively falling in line with his ruthless plan.
I snatched up my phone from the charger and texted my brother.
10 am sharp on Saturday! Don’t forget!
Then, I grabbed my keys and headed to work.
CHAPTER21
Kayla
“Okay,two questions. One: Where did you get that top? Girl, it istoo cute. And two: Why are you here so early?”
About an hour after my arrival at the Suns’ sprawling front office on the top floor of a sleek complex overlooking the team’s outdoor practice field, I looked up to find Suzie standing at my cubicle’s entrance.
However, I didn’t excitedly tell my bestie where I’d gotten the top, like I would have just a week ago—before I returned from Paris, a shell of my former self.
Instead, I answered, “I’m just working on the end-of-year report for your meeting with the owners.”
“Thank you?” Suzie’s reply came out as more of a question than a gratitude. “But you know that report’s not due for another couple of weeks, right?”
“Yeah, I know that!” I snapped before I could stop myself. “But we don’t always have to do things last-minute, do we? For once, let’s do the practical thing and actually get ahead of the due date so it doesn’t blow up in our faces!”
“Okay, why do I get a feeling that you suddenly deciding you just have to reconcile all our past year’s numbers two weeks before they’re due isn’t just about you being the best payroll administrator on my team?”
Instead of snapping back at me, Suzie came farther into the office and set her large mom bag down on my desk. “You know, I’m here for you if you ever want to talk about what happened in Paris.”
“Yes, I do know that, and I’m sorry for snapping.” My burst of anger dissipated on a weary sigh. “But, no, I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to do my work.”
Ahead of time, if that’s what it takes to fill up all my empty days.
Speaking of which, an idea suddenly occurred to me.
“Oh, hey, are you and Jay free this weekend?” I asked her. “I have to drop something off at the closest thrift store on Saturday morning, but after that, I was thinking the three of us could go to Lake Havasu.”
“Lake Havasu? Like, in Arizona?” Suzie shook her head. “Why would you want to go there?”
“I dunno,” I answered. “It just occurred to me while I was in Paris that I’ve never really been anywhere. And, hey, did you know Lake Havasu is where the old London Bridge is located now?”
Suzie furrowed her brow. “You mean, like the one from the song?”
“Actually, the one that was built to replace the one in the song—but close enough. And it’s not in London anymore.”
I swiveled around in my office chair to give her a breakdown of the whole story. “Basically, London was going to tear it down back in the late 60s, but some American investor was like, no, let me buy it, and I’ll rebuild it in Lake Havasu. So, he did—then he died of a drug overdose less than 10 years later—because, you know, L.A. in the 70s. But the bridge is still there. Less than a six-hour drive away. Jay would probably love to see it.”
“You want to take a grade-schooler who’s usually all about his video games on the weekends to Arizona to show him abridge?” Suzie asked with a skeptical look.
“Yeah! Why not?” I meant to sound enthusiastic, but my voice took on a weird, almost panicked note. “I mean, has he ever been to Arizona? Has he ever been anywhere but here in L.A., where he’s always been every freaking day of his life?”
Suzie regarded me for a couple of beats, then appeared to decide to say, “Actually, we do have plans. Maybe next month? I know Jay’s off one of those February Mondays—oh, and hey, I saw your mom last week, and she was saying something about maybe the three of us getting together on Sunday after the playoff game to discuss the new Clara Quinn book. I was planning on downloading it on audio to get ready for it. So, I’m not sure either of us would have been free to spend a weekend in Arizona anyway.”
“Zephyr was the one who kidnapped her,” I answered dully.
