Page 24

“It’s late,” she says, almost as a question to why I’m still here, looking at me with a raised brow.
“I know. I’m almost wrapped up with my work,” I lie.
“Mmm.”
I wonder if she buys it.
“I’m starved though. Are you hungry? I can order us some pizza.”
She hesitates.
“If we’re stuck here, we may as well eat,” I say with a shrug.
“Okay. Sure.”
She says it without even looking at me, but at least she accepted the invitation.
“What do you like on your pizza?”
“Anything really.”
“So you’re cool with sardines and pineapple?” I joke, leaning against the doorway and crossing my arms as I wait for her reaction.
She whips her head up and looks up at me with disgust. “Gross.” She sticks her tongue out.
“You said anything.” I laugh.
“Fine. Pepperoni and jalapeno, please.”
“You’ve got it.”
As I call the pizza place down the street, the delivery men bring in the final load. Once they’re finished, I pull some cash from my wallet and tip them, eager for them to leave so I can have some alone time with Erica. This time with her is hard to come by. In fact, we’ve hardly been alone together at all. She seems to avoid me ever since our lunch together at the beginning of the week when she had again pretended like nothing ever happened. I recognized that jazz song that was playing immediately, and I knew she did too, but she played it off like it was nothing.
“Need any help?” I ask as I watch her try to place a picture frame on a high shelf. I try not to notice the way the hemline of her skirt skims the back of her upper thighs as she stands on her tip-toes, her heels popping out of her shoes.
“Sure.” She sighs in defeat.
I take the frame from her and see it’s a photo of her and her family. Bryce Gunner’s grimace of a smile stares back at me.
“I met your dad once,” I say.
“Oh?” she asks.
“At a conference years ago. He’s an intimidating fellow.”
“Yes, he is.” She laughs softly.
“You know…I’m surprised you’re here,” I say as I gently place the frame on the shelf.
“Why?”
“Because you’re the daughter of Bryce Gunner.” I turn and look at her.
“So?” She looks wary.
“Most people in your position would jump at the chance to work in that kind of family business. Yet you’re here at what was a failing newspaper…”
“I’m not most people.”