Finlay:We can play detective when I get home.
Nick:Counting on it. Gotta go. Zach hid the remote. If I don’t find it, Delia might kill him. Love you.
I sent him a string of hearts, one for each of them.
Finlay:Kiss the kids. I love you, too.
A door banged shut in the hall. I cracked the bathroom door and peeped toward Vero’s bedroom. Her door was closed, and I heard the slam of a drawer inside it.
This wasn’t a grudge she was going to be quick to let go of, and a few hours alone might be the best thing for her.
My phone buzzed again, this time with a text message from Sylvia.
Sylvia:Call me. It’s urgent.
I dabbed on some lip gloss and ran a brush through my hair. I had only a few minutes to get ready before Javi and Ramón would be ready to leave, and I didn’t have time for this.
Sylvia:I’m serious, Finlay. This cannot wait.
With a muttered swear, I dialed Sylvia’s number.
“I’m on my way out to run an errand and I only have a minute, Syl. What’s the emergency?” If this had anything to do with the color of Nick’s underwear, I was hanging up.
“What’s this I’m seeing about you and your accountant breaking into a fancy PR firm and shaking the place down?”
My hairbrush clattered into the sink. “Where did you see that?”
“Remember your neighbor Stacey and that whole underwear thing? Some woman commented in Stacey’s thread, claiming to be a friend of the coworker of the sister of the receptionist at the PR firm in question. She said you and your accountant blew in there yesterday like a tornado. She said you had two private security guards with you and you made quite a ruckus.”
“There must be some mistake. That definitely wasn’t me.”
“The receptionist claims she saw your ID.”
“It was an author photo. That doesn’t count!” I argued.
“So, itwasyou!”
“Fine! It was me! But you can’t believe everything you read on the internet, Syl. We didn’t shake anyone down, and we didn’t cause a ruckus.”
“She said you set off an alarm.”
“Thatwas a technical glitch!” I buried my head in my hand. “Please tell me they didn’t share any photos.” I could explain away a rumor that we’d been there, but there was no way I could erase physical proof. Not without calling Cam.
“No photos.Thatwould have caused quite a stir.”
I blew out a sigh of relief. Sylvia’s call only reaffirmed my decision to make Vero stay home during our reconnaissance mission tonight. The last thing we needed was for someone to ID her at a bar. “I’m sorry for the bad press, Syl. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Don’t apologize. That little PR stunt got you twenty thousand new followers.”
My head snapped up. “It what?”
“You’re on fire, Finlay! Stacey’s crotch-watch hashtags really blew up. Facebook, Instagram, X… it’s even on TikTok! The poll had thousands of entries—boxer briefs were the general consensus, but I’m standing by my vote. I’ve always pictured Nick as a tighty whities man myself, even if Mrs. Haggerty did say she saw him in a pair of those clingy red Jockeys once—she said he has nice thighs and he filled them out really well, by the way—but changing my vote would feel too much like cheating, and I wouldn’t want to spoil all the fun. Stacey’s really good at coming up with content. I was thinking we could offer her a job as your social media manager. She’s got a gift for stirring up drama.”
“Tell me about it. Look, Sylvia. I really need to go.”
“One last thing… If you can send Jared some photos of those two hot security guards you took to the PR firm, that would be helpful. Preferably shirtless. We can share the pics on your fan page. Readers go crazy for that stuff.”
“Goodbye, Sylvia.” I disconnected the call.
