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We pause by a stopping cab. The passenger gets out, and as I’m about to get in, a hand grasps my arm. “Ava?”
“Hi,” I say before I turn around, spinning on the spot to find one of my clients from Monroe. “Robert. How are you?”
“All the better for seeing you.”
“How’s the book coming along?” Being one of the longest-serving news anchors on American television, this man knows more about everything than a person should. The first part of his memoir is one of the most anticipated biographies, and the fact I landed him is the remedy I needed to perk me up. A perfect reminder that I am brilliant at my job. I was born for it. It’s in my blood. And this man, our work together, is proof of it.
“It’s coming…slower without you. I keep telling your father that Mar—”
“Miss! Are you in or out?” the cab driver yells out of the window.
“Anyway, I better let you go.” His wrinkled hand squeezes my shoulder, and I know I shouldn’t do it, but with me being a Monroe and all, I wasn’t made to sign a noncompete. It wasn’t written into my contract. Besides, I’m not poaching Robert, I’m just making sure that all the work he’s put into his manuscript doesn’t go to waste.
“Here.” I extend one of my new business cards. Concrete gray with the orange CPM logo foiled across it. “Friend to friend, if you ever need anything, call me. Okay?”
He holds it up, looking it over with a squint. “You’re a good girl, Ava Monroe.” He sounds like my gramps—another thing that makes me smile.
“Miss!”
“I better go,” I tell him, sliding into the taxi. “Remember, you can call me anytime.”
“Take care, Ava.” He wanders into the café we just left, and right as the driver is pulling away, I see them—Damon’s right-hand man and Marsh.
What the hell are they doing together?
With Lacie on a call, I pull up Marsh’s social media accounts and search for Dexter Thorpe and their connection.
“Eww, what the fuck are you doing?” Lacie snatches my phone out of my hand. “Babe, you don’t ever stalk your slimy ex on social media. Unfriend and unfollow right the fuck now, Ava!”
“I’m not stalking.” I try to grab my phone back, but she scoots to the other side of the car.
“Who’s Dexter Thorpe? And why are we searching for him?”
“I’m searching for him; you’re invading my privacy.”
“It’s my job as best-bitch-friend. But seriously, who is he? He’s got entitled douche-canoe stamped all over him.”
“He’s the VP of CPM.”
“And?”
“And he and Marsh just walked into the café together. After Robert.”
“So…”
“Nothing, I guess. It just seems odd.”
“They went to college together.” She shrugs, passing me my phone with Dexter’s profile open.
They both attended Stanford at the same time. I scroll down, but the rest of his profile is set to private. Damn!
Maybe it’s a coincidence. Robert lives close by, and the café is popular enough that you have to make a reservation.
“Unfriend.”
“What?”
“Unfriend Marsh. I’m not letting you get out until you’ve done it and I’ve seen it.” Her brow quirks as she watches me follow her orders.
