Page 31 of When Stars Collide
He shrugged. “From what little I was able to read, she shows some talent. Not up to our standards. Maybe after some years under her belt she will be, but I’ll let you go through it and you can tell me know what you think. Just don’t make it your top priority.”
I grabbed a Banker’s box and began loading it with the rest of the pamphlets, literature, business cards, and other materials left on our table.
“You know, I really appreciate you taking part of your weekend to help me out here.” Phineas closed the box he’d packed and set it down on the floor. “Why don’t we take this stuff back to the office and I’ll buy you lunch to show you my appreciation?”
“That sounds great, but my boyfriend is in from Virginia, and with the way he and my roommate are when he visits, I’m not entirely convinced they won’t burn the apartment down without my intervention.”
“Oh, this weekend was his monthly visit? Now I really feel like a total jerk.”
“You should.”
Any shock permeating his face quickly vanished, replaced by a half smile that Jessica Lawson would have lost her fucking mind to have been on the receiving end of. Grabbing the collapsible dolly from underneath the table, he unfolded it. “Why don’t you call him and invite him along?”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Peter can be a little … brash.”
“Imagine that,” he snorted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Phineas loaded the boxes onto the dolly and proceeded to grab one end of the royal blue cloth we used to cover the table—Drake Publishing’s signature color. Following his lead, I grabbed the other end and, together, we went about folding it. “Only that anyone with you is going to have to be quick on their feet. It’s not a bad thing; really thins the herd. Animals tend to weed out their weakest links. Bison, sharks, polar bears, even donkeys do it.”
“Then consider Peter a true jackass.”
*****
I smiled as I caught sight of Peter Monroe uncomfortably entering the trendy, bougie bistro Phineas had chosen for lunch. He was dressed in his usual attire—a flannel shirt over a short-sleeved T-shirt emblazoned with the name of a band of some sort. Today that band was Weezer. I could sense his discomfort even before he arrived at our table. This wasn’t really his scene. To be honest, it really wasn’t mine, either. Phineas had insisted on it, stating that they had the best cassoulet in the city—whatever the hell that was. Peter spotted me and smiled, but his grin was only momentary when he took in the sight of me in my blazer and Phineas, who was dressed to the nines as always.
“Hey,” I greeted him, standing up and giving him a hug. “You’re still in one piece, which means things with Jo must not have gotten too out of hand while I was gone.”
“Nah, Jo only managed to set off the smoke alarm once this time while she was frying eggs for breakfast. It was touch and go for a second, though, because this time there were actual flames involved.”
I turned to Phineas. “And you thought I was kidding.”
“It was more I’d hoped you were kidding.” Phineas stood up and extended his hand out to Peter. “You must be Peter. I’m Phineas Drake.”
Peter took Phineas’s hand. “It-It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he uncharacteristically stammered.
“I’d like to apologize to you for asking Mena to work on a weekend. I hadn’t realized you would be in town today, and I know the two of you don’t see each other very often.”
“That’s not a problem. She’ll make it up to me the next time she’s in town.”I raised my eyebrow at him.“What? I just won’t do laundry for the week prior to your visit. Consider us even, then.”
I smacked him in the arm, playfully, just as the waitress came by to take our drink orders.
“Mena has told me a lot about you. She’s quite vociferous when it comes to your weekends together. It seems like the two of you really know how to have a good time no matter where you are.”
Peter nodded. “Mena manages to make things interesting, for sure.” He glanced at me, a smile tugging at his lips.
“That she certainly does,” Phineas added.
Our waiter came to take our order. Phineas’s eyes sparkled with approval when I chose to take his suggestion and ordered the cassoulet. Peter even took a walk on the wild side, for him, anyway, and chose one of the bistro’s signature paninis.
“She must really have faith in you,” Peter said, handing his menu to our bow tie-clad waiter. “I can’t get her to try anything new.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” I muttered under my breath, barely loud enough for Peter to hear me. His cheeks flushed a bright red.
