Entitled . HS

NINE. *

"You're going to the New Authors Conference?" Grant asked me as we sat down to order lunch at the restaurant across the street from Sinclair. I didn't really want to spend the money to eat out today, but there was a lot to cover that I didn't want to talk about in the lounge at Sinclair. So, here I was, ordering an $18 turkey sandwich.

"We are. It was really more of an ambush than an ask. The two of them were practically telling Harris that the only way they would let him go as the Sinclair rep was if I went and did the work alongside him, since he doesn't know what the hell he's doing."

"That's not quite fair, is it? I thought he was getting better?" Grant replied.

"He is. Actually, I'm barely hand-holding at this point. For someone who did almost no courses at college on the subject, he is picking it all up pretty fast." I looked over at Hannah, who had clearly heard things from Declan and Lawson, considering her connection to them, that and the fact that she was rather quiet at the moment was giving it away.

"It is also the family business," she defended. I couldn't tell if that was meant in a negative way, or not.

"Right, but if my family were in the basket-weaving business, I wouldn't know how to weave baskets just because they do."

"I get that, but you would know a well-crafted basket when you saw it, right? Knowing good literature is in their blood and that's what editing is. Knowing something good when you see it, or when you read it. Picking the best ones out of the bunch."

"I suppose, but I think he's done a really good job acclimating to a job he didn't want and really doesn't like to do." They looked back and forth between each other and Grant gave me a little look. "What?!"

"Dare I say that you're starting to actually enjoy working for Harris Sinclair?" Grant asked.

"Enjoy is maybe a bit strong, but he's not so bad when you get to know him a little better," I said and they shared the same look they did a few minutes ago, but Grant was really laying it on thick. "Knock that shit off. You both know what I mean."

"Fine. Fine. I can tell when you want to change the subject. So..." Hannah said as she wiggled her eyebrows, "why don't you tell us about the gentleman you went home with on Friday night. I know it wasn't Austin, so who is he?"

"How do you know about that?" I asked. I was sure the color was draining from my face with how my cheeks were tingling right now. I smiled, suggestively, at first, and they both started losing their mind with cat-calls and whooping, which just drew more attention to our table than was necessary for the subject matter.

"Benji said you took off because you had some hot date waiting for you in his bed." Of fucking course he did.

"Fine. I did go home with someone on Friday night. Happy?"

"Um, ma'am, we are going to need more details than that," Grant said. He took a bite of the food that was just delivered to our table in the middle of them losing their minds while he waited on my answer. "I've never seen you in such a good mood on a Monday morning. Might that have something to do with your Friday night company?"

"Yes it does. Good sex will do that to a girl. And it was good," I said as I momentarily relived some of the hours I spent in bed with Harris. "Like surprisingly good,"

"What's his name? Did we see him on Friday night?" Shit. I didn't think through coming up with an alibi.

I tried to act all cool about it. "You probably did. He was at one of my tables most of the night. His name is...Edward. Well, Eddie."

"And what does Eddie do, besides take home bartenders?" Hannah asked me, because she was always more concerned about the man's credentials outside of bed than I was because she was always on the hunt for her future husband. It wasn't her fault entirely. She'd been trained her whole life to only get into bed with a certain type of person.