You didn’t send the flowers?
No. There’s no card?
No.
I wanna know who sent them.
Me, too.
Not for the same reason.
… which is?
I’m having violent thoughts. All I can say.
Quit.
I have a bad temper in general. Sending my gf flowers is not a good idea.
… I am not your gf.
Yet. You’re not my gf yet.
I set my phone to silent and put it in my drawer, shaking my head, a dozen conflicting emotions swirling in my head and heart, including curiosity about the flowers. Who else would send them but Tyler?
“Ellie?” Jojo’s voice came over the speaker, and I jumped. “You’ve got a call on line one.”
“Is it a guy?”
“Yes.”
“Is his name Sterling?”
“No.”
I pressed the button for line one and picked up the phone, fully expecting Tyler’s voice to be on the other line. “This is Ellie.”
“Bunny?” My father’s deep voice boomed through the receiver, so loud that I had to hold the phone away.
I slowly pressed it against my ear, speaking softly. “Daddy?”
“I heard the news. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I knew you could do it.”
“Th-thank you. Daddy, I can’t talk right now. I’m at work.”
“I know. I spoke to Wick this morning. He’s impressed with you. He says you’re the best assistant he’s ever had.”
Wick didn’t tell him about the assignment.
“I actually just got a raise, so I’ll um … I’ve found a place. I’m moving out this week.”
“Nonsense, bunny. You’ve proven yourself. Maricela is packing for you now, and your passport and plane ticket is at the house. We want you to join your sister in Sanya. Your plane leaves in the morning.”
“Who’s we?”
“What’s that?”
“You said we want you to go to Sanya.”
He cleared his throat. “Your mother…”
After a short scuffle, my mother had possession of the phone. “Really, Ellison, you couldn’t have found something less … desperate?”
“Excuse me?”
“A secretary? For J.W. Chadwick, no less. That’s just embarrassing.”
The blood beneath my cheeks began to boil. “You didn’t really give me a choice, Mother.”
“You’re going to thank them for the opportunity, and you’re going to meet your sister like your father wants, and then you’re going to start with his company, under Finley. Do you understand?”
“Is this what Sally wants?”
Mother sighed. “Your father felt Sally was too … restrictive.”
“What about the contract?”
Mother chuckled. “Well, it wasn’t a legally binding contract, Ellison. It was more of an agreement on paper.”
I took a deep breath, relieved that I could be lying on the back of a rented yacht in thirty-two hours, soaking up the sun and drinking mimosas and eating my weight in lobster and Peking duck. The question was whether Finley wanted me there.
“Have you told Finley?”
“Not yet. It’s the middle of the night there.”
“You just decided this morning that I wasn’t dead to you?”
“Honestly, Ellison. Don’t be so dramatic. We forced you to get a job, you did, so you’re being rewarded for your hard work, and then you’ll work under your sister. No one’s dead.”
“Someone’s dead.”
Mother tripped over her words. “What do you … who are you … what on Earth are you going on about, Ellison? Who’s dead?”
I swallowed. “Please thank Daddy for the tickets, but I’m not going to Sanya. I have a job here that I love.”
“You love being a secretary,” Mother deadpanned. I could hear my father asking questions in the background.
“I’m actually taking pictures for them, too, and I’m really good at it.”
“Ellison, for goodness’ sake. You’re a secretary slash photographer? Listen to yourself.”
“I’m staying.”
“This is about a boy, isn’t it? You’ve met some local, and you’re not thinking straight. Philip, talk some sense into her.”
“I’m going to be unreachable at times. If it’s an emergency, call the magazine. They know how to get in touch with me.”
“Ellison,” Mother warned. “If you hang up the phone—”
“You’ll cut me off?” I asked.
While my mother stumbled over what to say next, I hung up. I was afraid that if I spoke to my father again, I would change my mind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The lights were dim at headquarters. Half the hotshots were sitting around the kitchen table, playing cards, while the others were showering.
The only noise was the water pipes funneling through the dorm to the ten showers plus my fingers clicking on the keyboard. I had pretty much become part of the sofa since we’d arrived back to our temporary home, simultaneously resting and uploading the latest pictures. After the last picture sent, I began typing out the next installment of the MountainEar’s “Fire and Ice” series.
Tyler walked out, his hair freshly buzzed and his cheeks red from the hot shower. When he was clean, the tan line around his eyes from wearing his goggles all day in the sun was more prominent. He was wearing a heather-gray Alpine Hotshot T-shirt, navy cotton shorts, and—from the looks of it—nothing underneath.
“My turn?” I asked as he fell onto the sofa next to me.
Tyler frowned. “The shower stalls are side by side.”
“So? I’m just one of the guys, right?”
Tyler didn’t answer, but I could tell the thought of me showering next to his crewmates bothered him. Initially they’d all offered to let me shower first, but I wasn’t about to make all twenty of them wait after nearly two weeks on the mountain for me to take a shower.
I chuckled. “Just kidding. Puddin’!” I called. “You’re up! Wash the stink off!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Puddin’ said, hopping up from his padded foldout chair.
Tyler breathed out a laugh, and I nudged him with my elbow. “What’s funny?”