I looked from my lap to his books to his CDs to his lair.
“Gwen, you there?” Hawk called.
He got unoccupied. For me.
He wanted me to trust him with emotional fallout.
I stared at his lair. It still gave me nothing.
Even so, I knew Troy was wrong.
“I’m here,” I said quietly, “and I’ll do you that favor.”
“Thanks, Sweet Pea,” he said quietly back.
“My girlfriends are coming over later, is that cool with you?” I asked.
“Yeah, babe.”
“Elvira has decided she’s my girlfriend,” I shared.
“No surprise,” he replied.
“Do you need to get reoccupied?” I asked even though he wasn’t giving me an impatient or preoccupied vibe but I was guessing if he was forwarding his calls, he did it because he was in the middle of something important that required his full attention.
Attention he shifted for me.
Shit.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Okay, I’ll let you go.”
“Later, babe.”
“Later, Hawk.”
Dead air.
I flipped my phone shut and gazed unfocused into his lair.
Then I flipped my phone open again and called information to get the number for my insurance agent because I needed to report my drive-by.
Chapter Twenty-One
Queen of Crash and Burn
“Ohmigod! This place is so cool!” This was Tracy, who was sashaying into the warehouse looking around like she just hit the candy garden with chocolate stream at Willy Wonka’s. Her eyes caught site of Elvira who was in the kitchen. “Hey girl! What’s up?”
“Job satisfaction, beanpole, what’s up with you,” Elvira replied on a huge smile thus taking the sting out of her nickname for Tracy (I hoped).
If Cam was yin to Tracy’s yang, Elvira was yang to all of our yins. She had to be no more than five foot four. She was round. Her skin was smooth, perfect mocha. Her hair was cropped at the back and sides but there was a thick, heavy bang at the front with blonde streaks in it. And she was so far from wearing commando gear it wasn’t funny. If Hawk’s dress code allowed Elvira’s outfit, I wanted a job there. Short, mustard yellow sweater dress, off the shoulder neckline and thigh-high, spike-heeled, fire engine red suede boots.
Elvira was in the kitchen creating what she declared were “boards” except she was creating them on Hawk’s big, square, midnight blue plates. She was doing this because she came into the warehouse laden with bags from Crate and Barrel and Fresh and Wild, places, she informed me, she took off work early so she could pay a visit. These bags contained brand new martini glasses (a set of four, long stemmed, ultra sleek), a martini shaker, a mammoth wedge of brie, a French baton, grapes, apples, assorted olives, gherkins, red onion marmalade, assorted crackers, assorted chocolates and an enormous chunk of pâté.
Oh, and she brought the ingredients for cosmopolitans.
She had me at the martini glasses. The rest of it made me declare my undying love for her and I told her she’d officially been accepted into my girl posse.