Page 31 of Wicked Heat

I cross my arms as I push the thoughts away. “You about ready?”

She glances at the mounted clock, then nods. “Give me another fifteen. Lisa will be here then,” she adds, referring to another manager. “We’ve got plenty of time, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” My flight isn’t until eleven-thirty tonight, and it’s barely seven. Kari’s driving me to LAX in Maisy, and I’m letting her borrow the car for the three weeks I’ll be doing the Manhattan pilgrimage since hers is in the shop.

“Cool.” She takes my cookies and hides them away under the counter.

“Hey!”

“Oh, please. You’ll get them back. Come on,” she adds, coming around the counter and nodding her head for me to follow.

“Where are we⁠—?”

“While you wait, I figured you could plug all the holes.” She pushes through the glass door that opens onto a lovely beach-front patio.

“The holes?” I am totally confused. “What are you talking ab⁠—”

I gasp, stopping cold as the far-corner table comes into view.

Maggie. Fucking. Bridge.

She’s sitting right there, a yellow pad on the table in front of her and her fancy quill pen between her fingers.

“What?” Kari asks, her brow furrowed as she turns to face me. “She said there were still some things to cover, and I thought⁠—”

But I’m not listening anymore. Instead, I toss her my keys. She misses, and they clatter onto the wooden decking. Across the patio, Maggie looks up, sees me, and starts to wave. I turn my back on her and head inside.

Kari’s right behind me. “What’s wrong?”

“That woman is vile,” I say. “Why would you set this up? How do you even know her?”

“I don’t. I mean, I know she’s a reporter, and she said she wanted to get some more details about⁠—”

“I’ll catch an Uber.”

“What? No. I’m driving you. I just need to finish up, and you can talk with⁠—”

“I’m catching an Uber,” I repeat, but my shoulders sag a little despite my fury. “It’s not you,” I say. “I just need to go. And you can’t leave now, so…”

“But—”

I lift my hand. “I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ll explain.” Irritation dances like a snake in my gut because I shouldn’t need to explain. She shouldn’t be railroading me with reporters. But I know she was just trying to do me a favor, and how’s she supposed to know that Maggie is a pain in my ass?

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Her voice is low. Steady. Like I’m a bomb and any change in tone will set me off.

Who knows? It might.

“I’m sure,” I say, then offer her a half-smile. “Can I still have the cookies?”

The relief that spreads over her face is palpable. “Of course. Hang on.” She trots back to the counter, then returns with the box. “Try not to eat them all on the way to the airport.”

I roll my eyes like she’s joking, but she’s not. I’m a stress eater, and Kari knows it. And while I’m now certain she didn’t do it on purpose, we both know that I’m now totally stressed out.

“I’ll save one or two for the plane.”

“Out of two dozen? Sounds about right.” She grins, then moves in for a hug, which I gratefully return. Yeah, I’d freaked out on her, but I know she didn’t mean to throw me under the bus.

“See you in a couple of weeks,” I tell her, then hurry out the door, juggling the cookie box in one hand and trying to pull my phone out of my back pocket with the other. Easy enough, but I have to put the box on Maisy’s hood in order to find the rideshare app. I put in the order and am relieved to see that the driver’s only a couple of minutes away. So I grab my suitcase from the backseat, sling my purse over my arm, and curl my fingers through the very handy handle built into the top of the cookie box.