Page 124 of Now That It's You
“Yes, Lana?” Cooper points with the hand not gripping a stroopwaffle. “You have something to share with the class?”
I maturely do not command my brother to bite me. “Organic gardening’s very on-trend, and there’s a reporter at Entertainment Weekly who owes me a favor,” I report. “I guarantee they’d do a puff piece if I ask.”
My siblings nod like I’ve thought up the cure for chronic hiccups. Could be they’re humoring me, or maybe it’s an excellent idea.
“We’re having dinner tonight with Tia.” Cooper grins, still tickled to speak as we. Marriage suits him. So does having his pretty cop wife primed to bust out a baby any day now. “I can ask Tia if she’ll talk about her role in the gardens,” he adds. “She helped with agricultural setup.”
Mari bounces my infant nephew in his holster on her chest and Sawyer responds with a squawk. “Good idea.” She pats her son’s back. “Aren’t the gardens more Dal Yang’s domain?”
Aaaaand, we’re back to Dal.
“That’s true.” Lauren slides her eagle eyes to me. “He wanted more fresh produce in the restaurant.”
Big sister’s watching me, searching for clues to how I feel about Dal. She’ll have to do better because, dammit, I’m a professional. So what if his name plops a fizzy pink bath bomb in my belly?
“Tia consulted on the project, but Dal spearheaded it.” I meet Lauren’s piercing gaze with my perkiest PR smile. “And your husband built the deer-proof enclosure, so I’d love to include him in interviews.”
She smiles, placated, and I pat myself on the back. Knowing which buttons to push is part of my job. My key to public relations success. The reason I’m really fucking good at putting the best possible spin on anything life flings our way.
Almost anything.
My gut spits out the bath bomb with an uneasy lurch. There are parts of this job—this role as the Judson family’s official sunshine spinner—that I don’t love. So what? It’s not like my brothers and sisters love their jobs all the time.
“All right then.” Big brother Dean folds his hands on the table. “I agree Dal Yang’s got the leading storyline this season. Let’s tee him up for that.”
Mari nods and types something on her laptop. “Let’s clear things with the appropriate parties and get rolling.”
We all stand up, assignments in hand. A figure of speech, since Mari’s plugging marching orders in our spreadsheet that tracks who’s doing what. Baby Sawyer flails his little starfish hand and gives me a toothless smile.
“Hey, buddy.” I tickle him under the chin as my siblings start for the door. “Got a kiss for Auntie Lana?”
Gabe bumps me like a butthead as he files past. “Auntie Lana sounds like a laxative.”
“Or an antidepressant.” Cooper slips into his Hollywood voice as they head for the door. “Now presenting Auntie Lana—may cause dizziness, fatigue, and anal leakage.”
Flipping the bird at my idiot brothers, I let Sawyer wrap a finger—index, not middle—in one chubby fist. “Who’s the cutest baby in the world? That’s right, it’s you!”
Mari nudges her glasses up her nose. “Did you have a question?”
“Nope!” I paste on my perkiest smile and aim for nonchalance. “Just offering to talk to Dal Yang about the community gardens piece. I’m meeting someone for dinner at Serenade tonight, so I can stop by early and?—”
“That’s great, thanks.” My sister scrolls to that field and types in my name. “You’ll have the best luck anyway. He bit my head off last week when I asked him to set up a therapy session.”
That sounds like Dal. “I can mention the therapy thing when I talk to him.” I’ll do no such thing because I want him to like me. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Put it in the spreadsheet,” she calls as I sashay toward the door. “Nice mug, by the way.”
I glance at the insulated cup in my hand and smile at the cheerful inscription.
Don’t tell me what to do unless you’re naked.
I chug some coffee and mentally scroll through my day. I’ve got a press conference at four and dinner at seven with my favorite reporter from the Today show. But for the next few hours, there’s time to kill.
My phone pings in my bag and I fish it out, wincing when I see the screen.
* * *
MOM: Call me, baby girl.
