Page 22 of Death is My BFF

Caught.

He set my resume down and folded his hands together. “You should know, Rudolph was my favorite reindeer.”

It took me a second to get it. The car accident. Devin must have told him I’d hit a deer. Trepidation clutched at my chest, as I recalled discovering Death’s cigarette on the ground by my car. I shook myself from my thoughts and focused on the celebrity before me.

“Ha-ha, very funny. I didn’t hit the deer on purpose, you know.”

“That’s what they all say.” Amusement lit up his face. “Believe me, you would know if I was trying to be funny. I was trying to be cute.”

Was he flirting?

“Damn things are overpopulating anyway,” he continued.

“Consider it your good deed for the month.”

I accidentally snorted at his dark humor. I should have just let out a hog noise after that humiliating sound. “About my car,”

I began.

“We’ll get to your car. Relax. You’re makingmenervous.” He stood to pour himself a drink of what I assumed was whiskey on the rocks. “Here. For any stress.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Have a sip.”

“No, thank you.”

“Iinsist.”

His voice held an element of control, which intimidated me.

Despite my complete aversion to alcohol, I brought the drink to my lips and sipped. I expected the whiskey to burn hotly down my throat. Instead, I tasted sugar. “Is this . . . iced tea?”

He raised his glass in a salute. “Peach.”

“You keep peach iced tea in a whiskey bottle?”

“You should be a detective.”

“Why’d you make me think it was alcohol?”

He half shrugged. “Just testing something.” On that strangely enigmatic note, David lifted his drink to his mouth, watching me over the rim. “Tell me more about the accident last Friday.”

“I was driving home from a party—”

“Drunk?” He placed the bottle of “whiskey” on his desk with a clink. He watched my reaction carefully, which was unnerving. I had a feeling that was his intention. This was one weird interview.

“I wasn’t drunk,” I answered.

“Ever been?”

“No, it’s not my thing.” I looked down at my glass and frowned.

Then why did you try this, assuming it was alcohol?“Anyway, I was the designated driver for my friend. Your dad tried to signal me that my muffler was sparking. That’s when I noticed my brakes weren’t working, and we hit the deer.” I politely left out the part about his Fast and Furious father shredding the side of my car like a block of cheese with his Lamborghini.

“Sounds like you’re lucky to be alive,” David said.

A lump rose in my throat. All I could do was nod. He had no idea.

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