Chapter Forty-Two
T he North Hollywood Diner would be a cozy, fun place for lunch, only I was sitting across from Chad—not my favorite person—and he had brought a friend, our co-worker Chloe, whose eyes were currently shooting daggers my way.
Under different circumstances, I’d enjoy eating at the restaurant, with its checkered floors and rows of red vinyl booths. Fluorescent lighting cast a glow over the Formica counters. The scent of coffee and fried food offered up a cheerful setting for those who weren’t being stared at by hateful colleagues.
The last time I’d seen Chloe had been at the Beverly Majestic, when I had left with Greyson. I had every intention of talking to her about that night. This felt like an ambush—because it was.
I deserved it, I suppose.
“What was I meant to do?” I said, appetite dulled, even as my burger and fries teased my nostrils with its delicious aroma. Neither Chad nor Chloe seemed to have any issue scarfing down their food. Chad had a splotch of tomato sauce on his chin. Chloe helped him by wiping it off with a sad looking napkin.
That done, she turned her critical gaze on me. “What you did at the Beverly Majestic was humiliating.”
“Greyson is a friend.” I shrugged to show I was loyal, at least.
“I’ve been working on that story for weeks.” She looked hurt. “You’re trying to sabotage me.”
“Absolutely not. I didn’t find out until the last second you were focusing on my friend.” I leaned forward. “You kept his name from me.”
“It’s interesting you two were seated together,” said Chad.
“Exactly.” Thank goodness one of them was thinking straight.
Chloe still looked pissed. “It doesn’t bother you that Greyson’s girlfriend turned up dead in his pool?”
I took a sip of my Coke. “I’m aware of some evidence that proves his innocence.”
“You have to tell Jewel about it,” she said. “That’s news.”
“Technically, evening news,” said Chad. “What evidence do you have he’s innocent, Willa?”
“It’s private, for now.”
They balked at that.
“I’d never sell a friend out.” I pointed at them. “Which includes you.”
The word friend was used loosely between the three of us.
“If we can’t trust each other,” said Chad, “we’re all fucked.”
That was dramatic but I respected this situation was challenging for him. Still in the grieving process, Chad probably wasn’t himself.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I said, trying to placate him.
Chloe shoved fries into her mouth, and it looked like stress eating. “I was at the hotel, talking with Greyson, and you walked out with my story.”
“There’s no story,” I said.
Chad pointed at me. “He’s a member of that club.”
“What club?” asked Chloe.
Chad turned to her. “It’s in Manhattan Beach and caters to the rich.”
“Jewel goes there, too,” I threw in.
“How do you know that?” asked Chloe, her frustration building.
“I staked it out.”
Chad’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t think to tell me?”
“Chad, that was me helping you,” I said. “I was waiting until I had more intel.”
“You’re not a serious journalist.” He pushed his plate away.
The barb hurt me. “That’s not fair.”
I had literally entered Pendulum and put myself in harm’s way.
Sensing their disapproval that I hadn’t touched my food, like I thought I was too good to eat a burger, I lifted the top half of the bun and squirted ketchup on it. Then I ate a fry, the saltiness filling my mouth and stirring my appetite at last. Lifting the burger with both hands, I took a bite and chewed, juice dripping down my chin.
I dabbed at my mouth with a napkin, self-conscious of making a mess. But it was delicious, and I was hungry. I took a few more bites, trying not to notice their scrutiny.
Chad leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Dean gave his life to journalism. He deserves the same dignity that he gave others.”
I set my burger down. “I agree.”
Chloe pointed to my mouth. I used my napkin to dab the ketchup there.
“You ready?” Chad asked Chloe.
She glanced at me. “Go on. Ask her.”
I wiped my hands on a fresh napkin. “Ask me what?”
“This is too important to fuck up,” he said, glancing at Chloe. “I don’t trust her not to snitch.”
Confused, I glanced from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you truly serious about journalism?” Chloe asked.
That made me flinch. “Yes, I am.”
“Then fucking prove it,” said Chad.