Most Likely (Most Likely #1) - Sarah Watson Page 0,30

on her nails in an obvious and exaggerated way.

“Oh. That’s a boredom thing,” Victoria said. “I assumed it was a style choice.” Martha laughed, and Victoria turned around so she could look out the window. “It’s so strange, all these people walking by and living their lives while we’re stuck in here.”

Martha considered telling her about the veal documentary. “Saturdays are always slow. Maybe you can talk to your uncle about his choice to show obscure foreign films that no sane person would ever pay money to sit through. I’ll bet you one George Washington that we don’t get a single customer today.”

Victoria’s eyes lit up. “I will take that bet,” she said quickly. She leaned forward, which caused her butt to press up against Martha’s knees. “Hello, good sir,” she said into the microphone. “Are you here for the obscure foreign film?”

Victoria had been blocking the window—she was still blocking the window—so she had seen what Martha had not. A real live customer walking up to the ticket booth.

“You have to press the button or they can’t hear you, weirdo.” Martha playfully shoved Victoria out of the way to reveal a customer looking very confused on the other side of the glass. Martha sighed when she saw who it was. She pressed the button that activated the microphone. “What do you want, Diffenderfer?”

Logan blinked a couple of times. “Oh. Hey, Martha. I’ll take a ticket for the matinee.”

“And I’ll take that dollar,” Victoria said to her with a smirk.

Martha muted the microphone. “You haven’t won yet, Queen Victoria. It may seem like you have the advantage now, but this is going to end just like the Revolutionary War did.” Martha grabbed the microphone and spoke into it. “You sure, Diffenderfer? The movie is obscure. And it’s Polish.”

“Actually, it’s French,” he said. “The director is Polish.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, then immediately took them out again like he was embarrassed that he knew this. “So could I get a ticket? Just one. It’s just me. I’m by myself.” Or maybe he was embarrassed about being alone.

Victoria gave Martha a triumphant smirk and pressed the microphone button. “That’ll be seven dollars, please.” He gave her the money, and she gave him the ticket. “I’ll meet you at the front to take your ticket. Enjoy the show.”

After he walked off, Martha did a slow clap. “Well played, Queen Victoria.”

Victoria curtsied. “If England had had a queen instead of a king at the time of the American Revolution, the war would have ended a little bit differently.” Then she smiled and put out her hand for payment. “That’ll be one dollar. One George Washington, please.”

Martha reached for her wallet. “Fine,” she said. “But you forgot something.” She took a coin out of her wallet and pressed it into Victoria’s hand. “George Washington is also on the quarter.”

Victoria laughed, and Martha noticed that it was a good laugh. She also noticed how warm and smooth Victoria’s hand felt when she put the quarter in it.

“Come on,” Victoria said. “Let’s sit in the back and watch the movie.”

“You want to sit through a Polish film about sadness?”

“It’s French. And that guy is cute.”

Jordan felt strong and prepared as she pulled into the parking lot of the district field office. Scott had warned her that the receptionist didn’t work on Saturdays and that she should text him when she got there. He came outside to let her in, and she saw that he was weekend casual in a pair of jeans and a preppy button-down. She felt ridiculously overdressed in Ava’s mom’s suit dress. “I have a thing later,” she blurted. “A luncheon. At a fancy place. Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. “Nice to see you again.” He put his hand out and she shook it. “Come on back.”

As she followed him down the hall, she noticed that most of the offices were dark today. They stopped in front of a large glass-walled conference room. “I thought this would be more comfortable than my tiny office.”

“Great,” she said, shifting and tugging at the edge of her dress.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

The dress was stupidly tight, and she could barely breathe. She sat carefully in the chair that was offered, tucked one stilettoed foot behind the other, and tilted her knees slightly to the right. It was the “duchess lean,” popular with British royalty, who did it to keep from flashing their royal undies, and repurposed now by Jordan who did it to keep from exploding out of