“I don’t know,” Cristina says uneasily.
I push the book back into its place on the shelf. “I’m not going to worry about it. Come on. I didn’t ask you to lunch so we could stare at my boring office. Let’s grab something to eat.”
“I’m so glad you called.” Cristina dabs her mouth with a napkin. “Gloria’s never disappoints. This empanada is amazing.”
I nibble my own golden-brown pastry. The inside is lovely—cumin-infused ground beef with a citrusy tang. The filling sings in my mouth as the buttery crust melts on my tongue.
I moan. “This is the only thing that could make me feel better today—a meal from Gloria’s.”
“Your wish was my command, milady,” my friend jokes.
Gloria’s sits near the end of Main Street, next door to Sparkle Bar, the local watering hole. Across the street is city hall, where only an hour ago I marched inside and dropped off thekillpaperwork for the resort.
Then I called Cristina.
The streets of Mystic Meadows bustle with tourists. The unicorn statue in the middle of it all shines bright, its hooves high in the air like it’s leading the town to victory.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” my friend asks. “You never eat this many carbs for lunch. So I’m guessing either your mom called to announce Brittany’s running for president and has a real shot of winning, or you’ve ended a relationship. Since you’re not dating anyone, my bets are on the White House.”
“I eat carbs,” I argue.
“Not deep-fried ones—and not three at a time.”
I eye the trio of empanadas sitting on my plate. “You have a point.”
“So, what’s up? Wait. Did they try to get you to come work in the family business again?”
“No. That ship sailed a long time ago. I did them a favor by taking a position in licenses.”
Mainly I didn’t join the family business because I’m not the star. I’m not some big influencer. Everything with me is so messy my mom doesn’t even see me. If she did, she’d probably turn toward Brittany even more.
Cristina nods in understanding. “So, how is the new job going?”
I groan.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
I steel myself and admit glumly, “When Rowe returns from her honeymoon, she’s going to kill me, is how it’s going.”
“What are you talking about?”
I put this as delicately as possible, given the fact that one of my best friends doesn’t know about my stupid fingers or that I can see ley lines. You saw how Cristina reacted to the book. What will she do if she finds out about mycurse—I mean, gift?
“There are, um, certain zoning regulations that aren’t in line with the Summit the Maddoxes are building. I told Stone very politely and he wouldn’t listen, so I may have gotten some police tape, wrapped it around the building, and went to city hall, filing paperwork to suspend their construction permit.”
As I speak, Cristina’s eyes get wider and wider and wider. She finally blinks. “I’m sorry. Did you say youkilledthe Maddox resort?”
I cringe. “When you put it that way, it sounds awful. But believe me, there’s a good reason for it.”
“You told Stone Maddox— Have you seen him by the way? Pane is handsome, but there’s something about Stone. He’s not as polished as Pane, a little rough around the edges. In a good way. Here I thought you were going to tell me you met him and had wild sex on his desk. Not that you killed the project.”
“Cristina . . .” I chastise.
“I know, you don’t have wild sex. But I can’t imagine Pane would allow construction to be wrong. He’s built before. The family knows what they’re doing.”
“Yes,” I reply slowly, “but Mystic Meadows is different. We have ley lines.”
My friend puffs out her lips as she considers this. “But how does that matter when it comes to construction?”
