Page 5 of Reptile Dysfunction
“Work.” I slide the phone back into my pocket. “Which reminds me, I really do need to prepare for tomorrow’s interviews. And check on Mom.”
“Fine, fine.” He sighs dramatically. “Rain check on dinner? I’m thinking Marcello’s on Thursday. I already have reservations.”
Of course he does. “I’ll check my schedule.” Or he could ask my father to keep him updated. It’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes.
“Your father thought it would be good for us to… reconnect properly since you’ve been back.”
I almost shut him down even harder, but then decide that the idea of a “conciliatory dinner” to smooth things over with Dad does have appeal, even if the company doesn’t. “Thursday works,” I hear myself saying. “Just dinner, though. Nothing fancy.”
After finally ushering Bradley out, I return to my laptop and the domain registration page. With newfound resolution, I click “Purchase.” The confirmation screen blinks at me, exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.
My phone buzzes again:Your 5:15 pm coffee tomorrow better be worth my time, Whitaker.
I tap out a reply:If you get there before me, I take it black, one sugar. And I’ll wear more appropriate footwear, Scout’s honor.
His response comes almost immediately:Doesn’t matter what you wear. Just bring better questions. Oh, in case you forgot, you said you were buying.
Challenge accepted. Grinning, I pull up my research notes and assemble questions that would give my father heart palpitations if he knew I was asking them.
The official Revelation Day article can wait. The real story—the one about intimidating Gorgon enforcers with eyes that flash amber when they’re angry—that’s the one I’m after. And Thaddeus doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s going to help me tell it.
Every instinct I’ve developed as a journalist tells me there’s more to him than the brooding swim instructor act. Behind those penetrating eyes and impressive muscles lies a history that nobody in Harmony Glen is talking about.
But they will. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from growing up as the newspaper owner’s daughter, it’s that every sanitized narrative has dirt swept under its pristine surface.
And I’ve never been afraid to get my hands dirty.
Chapter Three
Thad
The coffee sits untouched on the table in front of me—black with one sugar, just like she ordered. And it’s getting cold, because Sloane Whitaker is officially twelve minutes late.
“You’ve checked your phone four times in two minutes,” Iris observes from the next table as she sips smugly from her cup. Of course, the Silver Swimmers, the Triumvirate of Trouble, are here. The universe wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I’m not waiting for anyone,” I lie. “Just checking the time.”
Dorothy snorts into her chai latte. “Then why did you order two coffees, dear?”
My snakes twitch in irritation, a few craning toward the elderly Gossip Guild with what I hope reads as menace—and not middle-school embarrassment.
“Don’t you three have somewhere else to be?”
“Not until six-thirty,” Mabel says cheerfully. “Knitting club today.”
Before I can mention that none of them have their knitting bags with them, the door chimes. Sloane walks in wearing jeans, a crisp white button-down, and flats so sensible they practically file a tax return. Her honey-blonde hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, and she carries a messenger bag instead of what I assume was yesterday’s designer purse.
The snakes at my temples rise with interest. Backstabbers, every last one of them.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, sliding into the chair across from me. “My supervisor at the newspaper called and wanted to review some line edits. It was one of those tasks I thought wouldn’t take more than five minutes. I apologize.”
She sounds breezy, but the way she adjusts her bag—setting it neatly beside her like it’s shielding her—tells me she’s not here just for a puff piece.
“Excuses already?” My tone’s harsher than it needs to be, but I don’t walk it back. “Not a promising start to your hard-hitting exposé.”
If my tone bothers her, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she gestures toward the coffee. “You remembered. I’m impressed.”
“Just being polite.” I nudge the cup in her direction. “Harder when you’re late.”
