She shushes me with her hand, putting a finger to her lips.
I clamp my mouth shut and wait, watching as my best friend’s face turns an entirely different shade, lips puckering, nostrils flaring.
Three seconds later, she tosses her phone to her chair.
“Welp. That didn’t go the way I thought it would.” Her hand is on my computer, slamming the cover shut with a thwack. “You’re not signing that.”
“Hey!”
“What did I just say?” Her hands are on her hips now—she’s in that bossy stance she always takes when she’s got an ax to grind; the one that always makes me wonder why she’s in IT and not an attorney like both her parents are.
“What did Eli say?”
“He told me that he’s the one who drew up the NDA, and he heavily suggested Duke send it over.”
“So…Duke doesn’t actually want me to sign it?”
Molly rolls her eyes. “Don’t be daft. No one forced him to send it, Posey. He had a choice, and he made it.”
“But Eli is the one who told him to send it.”
“I don’t give a shit whose idea it was. You’re not signing it.”
“What difference does it make?” I shout, flustered. “I’m not telling anyone we slept together, and I would never tell anyone he was here, so why can’t I just—”
“It’s the principle of the thing!” she hisses at me. “You are not signing it. I swear to God, I will take this laptop home with me if you so much asdare.” Molly pauses. “Unless you want to.”
“I literally just received it. You need to calm down.”
“No, you need to get more fired up. Why am I the only one who seems upset? You know what Duke is implying? That you’re going to sell him out to the tabloids for a fast buck.”
“Oh.”
I frown.
“Yeah—oh. And you know what else he’s implying? That you’re like all the other girls who can’t be trusted. The ones who hang around outside the stadium, hoping one of the players will notice her and take her home for the night.”
“He does not think I’m like that.”
“Oh? So you’re friends with benefits, then.”
I nod.
“Has he called?”
“No.”
“He hasn’t called. Has he texted?”
“No, but he doesn’t have my number.”
“Posey, I have your number. All he’d have to do is ask Eli if you’re okay with me giving it to him, and presto, he’d have your phone number. That’s how he managed to get your email address—Eli gave it to him.”
Oh.
“It’s not hard. A man would have to be a complete and utter moron not to be able to reach out to someone. With all the social media? Give me a break.” She huffs, grabbing her phone back off the chair and setting it on my desk so she can sit back down. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I’m really not. But someone needs to be straight with you, and I see this all the time now. Eli doles out those NDA agreements to random hookups for his clients all the time—sometimes before they hook up.”
That doesn’t make me feel better.