The story was written up and received national attention.
Erica’s name was in the byline, so she took everyone to the Wine Cellar to celebrate the newspaper part of the story. The taped part of it was still being shopped around.
One night over drinks, Jake asked why it was taking so long. It’d been two weeks since Kian’s interview with them, and Erica explained that there was not much of a rush. He hadn’t scheduled any new interviews for them to be scooped, and they wanted to wait till more time was put between his last interview and the one with them.
She’d said, “If we hear that he’s interviewed with someone else, trust me, that tape will be bought, paid for, and released within a day. They’ll want to hear what he said in our interview.”
I’d been puzzled by that last statement, but I hadn’t asked any questions. When Jake let it go, I felt relieved. I didn’t want to know what else Kian had said. And since he’d left town, I went back to avoiding the news and even my email.
His face wasn’t everywhere as much as it had been. There was no news about a retrial, so the coverage was beginning to die down, but I knew when they sold their interview, it would cause another buzz. Erica promised there was stuff in that interview that he hadn’t shared anywhere…and again, I wasn’t asking. I didn’t want to know. Well, I did, but I was keeping a clear head on my shoulders. Not knowing was better.
No Kian meant no risk of losing my normalcy.
I liked being normal. And normal meant I couldn’t be late for work. I glanced at my phone and saw I was already five minutes late. I screamed.
“What’s the drama?” Erica appeared in my doorway.
Flying to the closet, I grabbed the first uniform shirt I saw and stuck my arms through the sleeves, yanking it over my head. My jeans were hastily pulled on. “I’m late for work.”
“Oh.” I could hear her grinning. “Not me. I’m on vacation this week.” She sighed. “It’s been wonderful.”
I gave her a two-second warning. “I’m going to be sprinting out of here, so if you’re in the doorway, I suggest you move aside.”
Erica laughed but stepped back as I barreled past her.
Keys. Purse. What else?
A phone started ringing in the apartment, but I had my phone. It wasn’t mine, and I didn’t have time to figure it out. I dashed out the door. “Have a good night getting drunk!”
“Will do!” Erica hollered after me. “Wait—”
I was already at the stairwell and hurrying down. Skipping the bus, I paid the extra money and hailed a cab.
When I got to work, I braked in the entryway.
Henry had taken my place. He saw me coming and had a smug smile for me. “You snooze, you lose.”
No customers were waiting.
“Fuck off. Where’s Paul?”
“It doesn’t matter. He appointed me here himself, and he said that you’re on silverware duty when you get in, so have fun being bored for the rest of the night.” He sang the last part, “With no tips.”
I growled. “You sound like a mosquito. You’re a pest like them, but it’s too bad I can’t step on you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You might be my nemesis this year, but who knows what will happen in a year? You still have two year of studies, whereas I have three more years to climb the ladder here. If you come back next year, I’ll be your boss.”
“Right. You’ll be Head Busboy. So threatening.”
He sniffed and looked down his nose at me. “Threaten away, Jo, but you have to admit, I have a point. If you come back as a hostess again, after graduating in a couple years, I won’t be the pathetic one.”
The pip-squeak had a point, but I took a page from Wanker’s book and flipped him the bird anyway. If only I had a pair of glasses to push up my nose, it would be the cherry on top. As it was, I just extended my arm as I walked to the bar section.
The bartender was polishing a wine glass when I tossed my bag into a cupboard and grabbed the case of silverware. Bruce gave me a weird look when I hopped up onto a barstool.
Reaching for one of his washcloths, I asked, “What? There are no customers in here. I’ll go in the back when they show up.”
“That’s not it.” He gestured toward Paul’s office. “He’s been looking for you the whole morning.”
“I’m only thirty minutes late.”
“Forty minutes late.”
I shot him a look. “Thanks for the correction.”
He winked, smirking at me, before he put the glass away and leaned both arms on the counter. Bruce was already fit since his other job was modeling for fitness magazines, but that pose made his arm muscles pop out even more, and he took on an imposing air. “I’m serious, Jo. He didn’t look pissed. He looked worried.”