“What’s up, Party Girl with a Hyphen?” Josh asks. He leans back in his chair, making himself comfortable.
“I got a really interesting email from my boss a little while ago,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “What’d it say?”
“It seems I’ve somehow managed to secure a huge new account for my firm—an account I’ve apparently been working on while I’ve been here in Vegas, all while getting shitfaced and barfing on your shoes—an account that’s so big and important andlucrativemy boss told me to ‘stay in Vegas as long as needed.’”
“Wow. Sounds like a big account. Congratulations.”
“What did you do, Josh?”
He bites his lip. “Not a whole lot. I just picked up the phone and called a friend, that’s all.”
“Josh, what’s going on?”
He smiles broadly. “It seems one of the owners of the hottest nightclub in Las Vegas, a good friend of mine—a guy named Reed?—remember him?—well, Reed met you the other night and you two got to talking and you wound up blowing him away with athousand amazing ideas for raising the visibility and branding for his club. And now, understandably, he wantsyoupersonally, and onlyyou,to work on a massive PR campaign for his club all month. He’s redoingallthe branding, at your suggestion, which is a huge job. Of course, he understands what a major inconvenience it is, having your personal, undivided attention for so long all the way out here in Vegas, so he was very happy to pay a ridiculous premium for your exclusive services—up front.”
I’m speechless.
“Pretty straightforward.” He beams a huge smile at me.
“But... is there an actual campaign? Something I actually have todoin exchange for this payment?”
“Well, there’s no actual PR campaign,” he says. “But, yes, you have todosomething in exchange for the payment. Of course.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And what would that be?” I feel heat rising in my cheeks.
“Well,obviously, you’ve gotta help us topple the Evil Empire and save the world.” He shrugs. “You’re a fucking PR-genius, Kat. If I didn’t already know that about you, you sure proved it in spades a minute ago.”
I blush.
He puts his hand on my knee and leans forward like he’s gonna kiss me, and my breathing catches in my throat. He leans closer, his eyes burning, and I close my eyes, bracing myself for his warm lips against mine. But, nope. No kiss. Instead, I feel the sensation of his fingertip pressing lightly against the cleft in my chin.
I open my eyes.
His blue eyes have darkened.
“We all need you here, Kat—you just proved that. And speaking for myself personally, I have no desire to save the world without my Party Girl with a Hyphen by my side.”
Twenty-Eight
Kat
For hours and hours, Sarah and I have worked alongside Henn, gathering and assembling evidence for Sarah’s report while Josh and Jonas have worked tirelessly on the other side of the room, researching, analyzing, and formulating the big-picture strategy for whatever the heck we’re finally gonna do with the report when it’s done.
“Dudes, I’m turning into a pumpkin,” Henn finally declares, his face the picture of total exhaustion. “I can’t uncross my eyes.”
“Go crash, Henny,” Sarah says. “You’ve already given us plenty of stuff to work with for the rest of the night.”
“I won’t sleep too long. There’s still an ass-load worth of shit to do. I just need a power nap.”
“Hey, Americanos and Red Bulls can only stave off the physical needs of the human body for so long,” Sarah says.
“I’ll see you pretty ladies later.” He stumbles away, bleary-eyed.
“What about you, Kitty Kat?” Sarah asks. “You need a break?”
“Hell no,” I answer. “I’m an evidence-assembling machine. Just give me another task and I’m on it.”
