Chapter 1 #2
“But I’m talking about print.” I will not let her goad me. “As of right now, I’m thinking about print.”
“But that’s your problem, Gina.” Jenny S.
sips her decaf coffee like it’s been imported straight from the coffee fields in Guatemala.
“Print is dead. Everything is online now. No one cares about your antiquated ideas. Even the revenue at the paper mainly comes from online ads and not our rapidly declining circulation. We only still have a physical paper because Whisper Cove is full of rich old farts that don’t want things to change.
” Don’t do it, Gina. Do not bring up the fact that we all know she’s been sleeping with a rich old fart, and it’s not because he’s hot.
“It was just one of many ideas that I had.” I stare back at Holly, who looks bored.
Holly wants to win a Pulitzer. She wants to be involved with hard-hitting stories, and I know she’s not impressed with any of us.
That is the only reason I don’t take the way she talks to me personally. She talks to everyone like shit.
“I need everyone to put their heads down this week and really get those brain cells working.” Holly turns off her PowerPoint presentation and heads toward the door.
“We will reconvene later this week, and I want everyone to present at least one good idea. Our readership wants hard-hitting stories. Stories that uplift. Stories of peace, of love, of war.” She grabs her Louis Vuitton handbag and lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“This is a newspaper, folks, not a yearbook for the local high school. And we are working adults, not cheerleaders or...” She looks over at me.
“Geeks. Let’s get it together.” And with that, she leaves in a flourish.
“Did she just call me a geek?” I ask an astounded Emma, who appears just as taken aback as I was.
“I mean, I get it. The Jennys are definitely cheerleader types, but am I really giving off a geek vibe? Am I a twenty-five-year-old geek? I don’t even play video games.
I was never in band or drama club.” I sit back and run my fingers through my ponytail.
“It’s my appearance, isn’t it?” I shake my head before Emma can respond.
“Don’t say anything. I know it’s my clothes.
” I make a face. “Is this why Patrick is playing games with me?” I stare at my best friend, whose open blue eyes give away every thought she has in her head, and I groan. “It’s because I’m not sexy, isn’t it?”
“No,” Emma says quickly. “I’m sure that’s not it.”
“Don’t lie.” I lean back in the black chair and watch as the two Jennys and the other reporters leave the small room and head back to their desks or maybe to lunch.
“I was going with the whole grain Gina look because I thought men liked women who weren’t all put together, but maybe I’ve gone too far.
” I look at the Birkenstocks on my feet and the chipped nail polish on my toes.
I am far away from the pre-dating Patrick Gina, who used to get her nails done every week, even when she couldn’t really afford it.
“Did he tell you he was into that look?” Emma asks, pulling out her phone and texting someone back.
“Not in those words. He said he enjoyed being low-key and under the radar. He said he didn’t care about designer clothes as much as he did designer watches.
He said he wasn’t in his line of work because he was materialistic, but rather because he liked spreading the wealth.
” My head pounds as I rethink our earlier conversations and my own interpretations of his words. “Maybe I got it wrong?”
“I mean...” Emma puts her phone down on the desk and gives me her best, I love you, and I’m not judging you, but you’re an idiot look.
“There are other ways to take what he was saying, Gina. If I’m honest, I don’t think Patrick is or was looking for a crunchy granola girl.
He was trying to explain his line of work, or rather his source of income. ”
“But we don’t know what his line of work is.
” I jump up and rub my palms across my jeans.
I notice a new hole in the fabric and hold my breath.
This was the third pair of these jeans that had come apart in less than two months.
I didn’t know if I was wearing them too much or if they were just so cheap that they weren’t made to last. I had a feeling it was a mix of the two, and I vowed to buy higher-quality jeans the next time I went shopping.
“I mean, we know it’s likely not legit. But if you love him, I suppose you can figure something out.” Her voice trails off as I glance at her with an are you crazy look. “You can force him to stop his life of crime.”
“I don’t love him. We’ve been dating for two months, and I’ve seen him three times.
We haven’t even had sex yet, but I told you I think he’s waiting for marriage.
” I am still not sure how I feel about that.
When I was younger, being with a man who was waiting to sleep with me until we got married felt so romantic, and I would have been over the moon.
Now I’m almost thirty (in five years, but still) and have been with a few men, but the idea seems nerve-wracking.
“He’s super religious?” Emma asks as we head out of the office and into the bustling room that houses dozens of cubicles for the writers and graphic designers who work for the paper. We head to our cubicles in the corner, and I grab my bag of salt and vinegar chips as we take our seats.
“Not that I know of. He never mentions church, doesn’t wear a cross or anything, but Lindsey down at Pearl’s Fine Jewels called my grandma and told her he made an appointment this afternoon, so Grandma and I think he may get me a ring.
” I stuff the potato chips into my mouth quickly because I’m not sure how I feel about the prospect of getting engaged to Patrick Adams. On the one hand, he’s cute, really cute.
He’s tall and muscular, with bulging biceps.
He’s full of tattoos, with dark eyes and dark hair.
He looks like he could have been in the cast of Goodfellas, only he’s much better looking than all the actors in the movie.
He moved to Whisper Cove from Staten Island about a year ago, and he seems to do really well for himself.
However, we’ve never had sex, and while that’s not the end-all be-all of a relationship, it would be nice to know if we have chemistry.
He’s also not the best kisser in the world, and we’ve never been on any real, meaningful dates.
I know most people would wonder why I even think of him as my boyfriend, but that’s because he calls me almost every night.
He says he wants to fall asleep to my voice while I tell him all about Whisper Cove and the people who live here.
It’s kinda romantic. Well, it would be if we were fifteen and were forbidden from seeing each other.
But at the ripe old age of twenty-five, going on to spinsterhood (according to my bitchy little sister, Tina), I’m ready for more.
“A ring.” Emma practically chokes on the coconut water she’s drinking. “What do you mean by a ring?”
“You know what I mean: diamonds and gold.” I giggle and offer her some chips, which she rejects because Emma doesn’t believe in snacking.
Not just in the day, but ever. Which is totally weird to me, but whatever.
She’s still my best friend, and she still buys snacks for whenever I come over to hang out.
Granted, I don’t particularly like the snacks she buys—freeze-dried green peas aren’t exactly calling my name when there are Cheetos and Oreos around.
And don’t get me started on dates. No, they are not as good as milk chocolate and cotton candy grapes.
But I try not to be too ungrateful…. I just remember to bring my own snacks when I go over.
“But why is he going to a jewelry store to get you a ring?”
“Emma, you’re the smartest woman I know, so why do you think?”
“You’d say yes?” She sits back and crosses her legs.
I admire her knee-high dark-gray suede boots and mentally remind myself to look for an affordable pair of suede Oxford boots later that evening.
“Because why are we talking about you asking him to define the status of your relationship if you think he’s about to propose?
Gina Gloria Spellman, what on earth is going on here? ”
“I don’t know, but I have a plan to find out, and I need your help.
” I don’t tell her that I’m worried he’s going to rob the jewelry store or that I’m nervous he’s casing the joint for a later burglary.
If I say the words out loud, it will make them true, and I’m not sure how I could continue dating him then.
Because then I would be confirming my suspicions that he was no good.
“My help?” She groans and shifts her chair closer to mine. “What sort of help do you need?” She whispers like we’re CIA operatives planning some covert mission as opposed to me trying to figure out what’s going on in my frankly quite ludicrous love life.
“Do you mind if I explain it to you as we walk into town? I want to grab a coffee at Cristy’s, and well, we’ve got about twenty-five minutes to get Operation PA ready and in motion.
” I jump up, grab my handbag, quickly reapply some lip gloss, and stare down at my friend, who’s looking at me with huge, distrustful eyes. “It’s not that bad, trust me.”
“Fine, but I'd better not regret this.” Emma slowly stands up, and we head out of the office. “You better not get me into trouble, Gina.”
“Don’t worry.” I give her my best Sunday School smile. “There’s nothing illegal about what we’re going to do. Nothing illegal at all.” If anything, I think to myself, we could be preventing something illegal from happening, but I’m not going to tell her that.