Page 173 of Snap Shot

Getting a call from your lawyer's secretary after hours is never a good sign.

“Mr. Radek—er, Landon?”

“What's up, Bea?”

Her chuckles staccato. “Not much, not much. It's…”

I take a generous gulp of water while waiting for her to finish the thought.

“We,um, we have asituationon our hands.”

The chilly marble counter cools my post-shower skin as I lean against it. “What kind ofsituation?”

“My tummy feels funny. Like a sauna.”Indi's groggy voice in the background sounds off whining sirens in my head.

My pulse skyrockets. “What's happening?” I leave my water behind and pace around the kitchen island. “If it's something to do with Indi, you have to tell me. Now.”

Surprisingly, it's not weird being this informal with Bea. I thought anyone finding out about us would force me to take daily blood pressure medication, but relief washed over me when Indi told me her girlfriends figured out I was Gym Guy.

“So” —Bea takes a deep intake of air— “I may have had far too many rum and Cokes at home last night, which led to a marathon baking session at a godless hour. And when I woke up in the morning, since there's no way I could eat all those brownies on my own—it'll go straight to my hips—I brought them to the office to share, and everyoneloved them. Like, really,really, loved them. They were such a hit, at least until things started getting wonky and then I realized I've done something horribly, terribly wrong.” She exhales.

“Wrong? “

“I,um, have theslightest” —her voice squeaks— “vaguestrecollection of maybe, possibly, very probably baked something special into it.”

“Something special?”

“Yeah,special.” Her words go static like she's cupping over the phone with a hand. “I put weed in it.”

“What?” The blood drains from my face.

Indi gasps, panic apparent in her tone. “Behraz! Holy shit. There was cannabis in this? Oh, God. Oh, God. I ate two.”

“Two?” Bea calls away from the receiver.

“Yes, two! Count my fingers: one, two!”

“Bea? Bea! Hello? Stay with me.” I snap, but it's no use.

“That'stwomany,” she addresses Indi. “Ha, ha.Get it? T-w-o, too many?”

My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose before hauling ass into the bedroom to get dressed. What a fucking disaster.I try not to laugh, but it's too ridiculous.This girl served her entire office pot brownies.

“This is no time for puns, Irani! How am I supposed to drive? You're gonna have to give me a ride home!”

“Um, I don't have a car anymore, remember?”

“Indi? Bea? Anyone listening?” I switch to speakerphone and scramble into a few layers of shirts to brace for the cold.

“Uh,hiiiii.” My girl responds from the other end of the line.

My call to her is muffled through the sweatshirt I'm pulling on. “Hi, baby. What's going on?” The neck of my hoodie finally releases the headlock it's got around my skull, allowing blood to pump to my brain again. “I'm worried about you.”

“Wellllllll, my carless legal secretary fucked up and I haven't eaten anything all day except for those two pot brownsies and now I'm high—which is legal, by the way—and can't drive—driving while high is definitely not legal—and Gabe didn't pick up her phone because she's an airplane right now.”

“Gabe's an airplane?” I scratch my head.

“Yes.”

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