Page 21 of Finding Storm

The menu my new best friend was carrying is tossed on the table in front of me. “What do you want to drink?” she barks at me.

I see Jasper’s eyes rise at the tone of her voice.

“Coffee. Black,” I mutter. “Jasper?”

“I’m good.” He picks up his coffee cup.

I can see his lips twitching a smile.

Great. He’s figured it out that I banged her at some point. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out by the tension radiating from her or from the holes I feel her eyes burning into the side of my head.

But if he didn’t know, then the, “Asshole,” she hisses at me before she departs confirms it.

The first thing he’s going to write in his article is about how I previously screwed the hostess who served us. Never mind that she’s crazy or slept with me because she’s obsessed with Jonny. No, I’ll be the bastard in the situation.

Fucking fabulous.

Zane’s gonna love this.

“Is there a problem?” Jasper asks, his eyes moving between me and wherever my bad error in judgment has retreated to.

“She wasn’t keen on our last song.” I give him a smirk and pick up my menu. “So, what’s good to eat here?” I go for a subject change.

But it’s not always that easy with journalists.

So, I wait for him to probe some more. Thankfully, he doesn’t.

“Well, if you’re a pancake man—and who isn’t, right?” He grins, showing me slightly yellow teeth. Odd to see that here in LA where everybody’s smile is blinding white. “Then, the Austrian pancakes are top-notch. But the Maine Lobster omelet is sublime as well.”

“Pancakes it is.” I need the carbs after last night’s escapade.

We make small talk until my coffee arrives, which is thankfully brought over by a waiter.

Still, I check it for signs of poison or floaters. Just because she didn’t bring it doesn’t mean she hadn’t made it or dropped anything in it.

It looks okay. I gingerly give it a sip.

Tastes okay too.

We both place our orders with the waiter, who takes our menus away with him.

I relax back into my chair. I feel my cell vibrate in my pocket, but I ignore it. I never get my cell out during an interview. It’s rude as fuck to do so. Honestly, I can’t stand it when you see people sitting together at a table, eating or whatever, and they’re on their phones, ignoring each other.

I guess I picked it up from Tru. She doesn’t allow cell phones at the dinner table at home or when we eat out together.

I take another drink of my coffee. A bigger gulp now that I’m ninety percent sure it’s not poisoned.

“I appreciate you coming down to talk with me today.”

“Well, it’s a free lunch. Of course I’m here,” I quip, and he laughs.

“You mind if we start the interview now, or do you want to wait until after we eat?”

“Now’s fine.” Sooner we’re done, the sooner I can leave.

“You don’t have a problem if I record it?” he asks, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. “Saves me from missing anything.”

“Sure.” I shrug.