Page 27 of Hot Damn
Not that I have first-hand knowledge of the photographers. Oakley called two days ago and asked if I knew who was still hunting for information and how they might stop it from happening moving forward.
I gave her the same suggestion I gave Beckett last week, give them what they want before they know they want it.
I pointed out posting pictures on their social media accounts and adding the fact he’s a single dad to his bio on the team website would be another way to keep them at bay.
Honestly, I don’t know why they would be lying in wait to get pictures of Whitney or Beckett with her. I haven’t been paying attention to any gossip doing the rounds with other reporters, but then sports isn’t my area of expertise.
Making a mental note to message Bas to find out if he’s heard anything, I shove my laptop in my bag and grab my keys from thetop drawer of my desk. A desk that won’t be mine after this week. Neither will the office be mine.
Now that I’m working for the paper as a freelance journalist I can work from anywhere, and while I’ll miss chatting with Deb from reception, I’ve never formed friendships with my colleagues. It doesn’t help when your dad owns the network we all work for.
It took years for everyone to feel comfortable with the owner’s daughter working beside them. Not that I blame them. In the beginning I did get a job here because of who I was. But I started at the bottom. And I haven’t moved further up the ladder than feature writer because I don’t want to. I like diving into a story and bringing it to life.
Dana says I should write biographies or even fiction, but I like the short form of feature articles and I don’t always write about people. Just last month I did an article about the history of Baton Rouge’s river industry. So few of the men and women who worked in the heyday of the shipping industry are left to talk to and it’s a part of my hometown’s history that I didn’t want to see slip away.
“Hey. You heading out early?”
I look up to see Deb in my doorway. “Yes. Did you need something?”
“No. Was just passing by on my way to get a coffee when I saw you packing up.” She steps into the room and shuts the door. “I wanted to have a quick word before you leave.”
“Can it wait ’til tomorrow? I’m in a bit of a rush.”
“Oh, you’re not packing up, packing up?” She glances around my office.
“No. Not for a few more days.”
“Okay, yes, it can wait until tomorrow. Why don’t we head down the street to that Mexican place for lunch around one?”
Smiling, I shoulder my bag. “Sounds great.”
“Good.” With a smile she opens the door and holds it. “I’ll let you get out of here.”
“Thanks.” I pass her and don’t stop, just look back over my shoulder and ask, “Can you lock that for me?”
“Sure. Talk tomorrow.”
“See you then.” Without a second thought to what Deb could want to talk about, I head for the elevators.
At this time of day, pedestrian traffic is light in the elevators and the parking garage, so it only takes me five minutes to be on my way. And seven minutes after that I’m pulling into the school parking lot and right up beside what I’m assuming is Whitney’s car. Frowning, I see the front passenger tire is flat as a tack.
Switching off the car and climbing out, I walk around to the other side of Whitney’s car to see the rear tire is as flat as the front one on the other side. It seems odd that the opposite tires are flat. If she’d run over something, wouldn’t tires on the same side be flat?
I don’t bother looking closer, I’ll get the tow company’s opinion on it when they come to collect the car. Turning, I head for the front of the admin building. Once I’m inside out of the heat, it’s a simple task to find the principal’s office.
It’s directly on the right after you come through the doors. And through the large window behind a desk I assume belongs to the principal’s secretary I can see Whitney, head down, fingers tapping away at a laptop, and I have to smile.
The one and only time I found myself in the principal’s office in high school, I was not looking as relaxed as Whitney.
No, I was shaking in my shoes waiting for Dad to arrive because Oakley had gotten us into trouble for letting out all the mice in the science labs.
The memory has me smiling in spite of the grounding I got after Dad took me home.
Tapping on the doorframe I wait for the principal to stand before stepping inside.
“Cami Nelson?”
“Yes.” I walk to his desk and hold out a hand. “Thank you for contacting me.”
