Page 111 of Camera Shy

“Lennox,” I call out, “you scuba dive, right? Is fish cancer…a thing?”

“I think so,” she replies absentmindedly, rummaging through Dex’s fridge for the loot. “I know sharks and whales can get cancerous tumors.”

“The door,” I instruct her. “I put the marg mix in the door compartment. But if a fish had cancer, what would you do…surely, you can’t operate on a fish? Can you? Or would you just try treatment? Are there fish oncologists?” I watch Cherry swim back and forth, not even close to her usual pace. It’s a leisurely stroll and far from her normally spazzy behavior. I don’t understand. The fish guy was just here yesterday. I told him I was concerned and he double-checked the pH levels, and the temperature of the water. He even ran a test for minerals and nutrients. The tank is flawless. In his own words, it’s the fish version of a luxury resort with an open bar.

“Did you seriously just say fish oncologist?” Lennox asks. When I look toward the kitchen, she’s staring at me with a befuddled expression.

“I’m a little attached to this Cherry Barb. She’s my little buddy. Cherry has been keeping me company all summer.” I stroke the glass, careful not to tap, still worried from the inside of the tank it sounds like an earthquake. “I’m going to ask Dex if he’d let me keep her. But I don’t know how to take care of her if she’s really sick.”

Lennox’s jaw drops. “You know those probably cost about eight dollars, right? About the cost of a venti Starbucks drink… Just saying…”

I drop my jaw and feign horror, but make another mental note to ask the aquarium guy next week what to make of all this. A thick black stripe down the side of her body has to be an indication of something awry. If Cherry is getting sick, the other fish could be getting sick too. There has to be something I’m missing. When did that stripe even develop? I didn’t notice it until now.

Albeit for the past few days, I’ve been working manically, reviewing investor relations reports for Legacy’s major competitors for the past decade. I’ve been studying what has been working for their competitors and what hasn’t to get as close as possible to a brand strategy guaranteed to put them at the top of their market. No easy feat.

By the time I trudge into the kitchen, now doubly distracted, Lennox has filled two glasses with the bright pink cocktail. “Cheers.” We clink our glasses together and take a small sip before she asks me, “What’s your hunch?”

“Huh?” I crunch on a small piece of ice that slipped through my lips, completely forgetting about my sensitive tooth. I smack my palm against my cheek. “Ow, shit. Sorry, what?”

“Earlier in the bathroom, you said you had a weird hunch. Is everything okay with your project?”

I squint one eye at her. “You sure you want to know? I’ve been told I can drone on about work.”

I’m actually dying to talk to Mason about what I found, but right now I don’t feel like I can trust him. Four years in business together…and it’s the first time I feel like we’re working for different end goals. It’s unnerving and I hate it.

“Drone away. I’m really interested in your job. The way Finn’s studio has been going, I may need an extra job. Can I work for you?”

“Seriously?” I scrunch my face at her in surprise.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m decent with graphic design, and there isn’t anything I can’t learn. Everything I know about photography, Finn taught me…so…” She shrugs. “I’m just really impressed by you. I’ve always known I wanted to go the entrepreneur path. I just wasn’t sure what to do or how to do it.”

Hm, interesting. “If you’re serious, Lennox, I’ll help you. I’m in between things right now, but as soon as I figure out what’s going to happen with Legacy Resorts…one way or the other, I will help you.”

She shoots me a small smile. “Thank you. Anyway, sorry to digress. Please continue…”

“I dug into Legacy Resorts’ financials, and they are doing fine. Are they disgustingly profitable? No. But the business is far from failing, so why oh why would the board of directors be pushing to sell? What exactly is the problem that needs to be addressed?”

“And your hunch?” Lennox asks, raising her brows to the point they disappear behind her straight-cut, long bangs. She’s died her hair freshly purple again. It’s such a good look on her. I love the vibrancy. Maybe I should consider a little color in my mousy brown locks.

“That there’s something unsavory going on. It seems like a decision in the best interest of a specific person versus the company as a whole. Call me Magnum PI, but I’ve been looking up the entire board, individually. I need to get to the bottom of why these very well-off, business-savvy board members would want to let go of thousands of employees, screw over their shareholders, and basically bend over backward to their direct competition. It makes no sense unless the company is secretly near bankrupt. But I already turned over that stone and found nothing.”

“If you need help,” Lennox says with a sly smile, “social media stalking is kind of my specialty.”

I snort. “I wish it were that easy. But the stuffy middle-aged board members don’t seem to be active on socials. I’ve been digging through public earning reports…it’s quite riveting,” I say, emphasizing the sarcasm in my tone. “I’m actually grateful it’s Friday. I need a break and am due for some fun.”

My reward for tireless, sleepless, thankless days of work for a contract or job offer I haven’t even earned yet? Finn. Motherfucking Finn Harvey and his dirty words and rock-hard body…all night. All I have to do is get through this stupid photo shoot.

“Ah, speaking of fun…” Lennox takes another sip from her drink, enjoying the attention as I stare at her like a fish on a bait line.

“What? What’s fun?”

“You know Ruby’s?”

“The strip—I mean gentleman’s club?”

Lennox nods. “The bar manager, Cass, is a friend of mine. She hosts her birthday there every year. They shut down the entire club for a night and throw a costume party. It’s huge. All the dancers, bouncers, close friends, and even a few celebrities usually make an appearance. It’s not just fun…it’s Vegas fun. It’s the Friday after next. You should come.”

She’s wearing that pleading look Palmer wears when she wants me to change out of my sweatpants and go clubbing with her. But a birthday bash at a Vegas gentleman’s club seems a little out of my league. “If by costumes you mean pasties and G-strings, I’m going to have to throw you a ‘no’ on that one.”

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