Page 15 of Cockpit
“I was just telling my friend the same thing, but—”
“But like the pictures you don’t have a new bio.”
“Right and honestly, I don’t know for sure that he isn’t married.”
“Let me check.” There are fingers on keys and murmurs from her as I wait. “The registration form doesn’t say. That question wasn’t answered.”
I walk over to her desk and peer at the screen. “It also doesn’t say who entered him.”
“Maybe he signed up thinking nothing would come of it, and now he’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to claim it.”
I twist my lips before saying, “Nah. From his reaction, I don’t think he entered. He doesn’t seem like the type.”
“Can’t you use some of your history growing up here to connect with him? Woo him or whatever you need to do to convince him he should do this?”
“Our history is a detriment.”
She jogs her head and looks my way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I was a snotty bitch in high school who used to hang out at the diner where he used to work—Lulu’s—and I don’t think my friends or I were the kindest of people back then.”
“The privileged kids too good for the middle-class ones who should be the hired help.”
“Something like that,” I muse, not too thrilled with the label despite knowing it’s deserved.
She nods. “Good on you for owning it. And just think, this is the perfect way to make amends for it.”
“What?” I ask through a laugh.
“Get Grayson to par
ticipate. Help get him some big-man-on-campus points for being a hot dad. And then reward him with the prizes if he wins. Maybe throw a party as a way of saying sorry for being a dick when we were younger while you’re at it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, I’m serious. That’s your new task. Get Grayson on board by the end of next week. He’s definite eye candy, which will no doubt help with publicity, and that benefits both our jobs.”
“You’re serious?” I don’t know why I ask that when I know it to be fact.
“As a heart attack.” That smug smile of hers is back. “Figure out how to soothe his ego and make him your cover boy. My report to your father will be dependent on it.” She turns her chair and faces her computer. “And if you can’t, I’ve got Braden over here whose horn I want to toot.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Can’t blame a girl for fantasizing.”
“You definitely can’t.”
“I hear congratulations are in order.” My mom’s smile grows wider with each passing second as she stares at me.
“For what?” I look to Luke, whose grin mysteriously matches hers.
“Luke told me all about being a finalist in—”
“It isn’t happening, Mom. It’s most likely some marketing gimmick to save the whales or something and—”
“And you have something against saving the whales?” Her hands are on her hips, and Luke’s snickering because that usually means someone’s in trouble.
“She said she thinks Dad has a real chance at winning,” Luke says excitedly.
