“That’s because you settled down with Alicia, and she keeps you in line,” Jamila said.
I half-expected him to deny it, but he hugged me tighter and said, “She does.”
“Don’t forget I’m the one who connected you two.” Jamila shot him a smug smile.
“Never,” he said. “Though I doubt you had marriage in mind when you recommended her as a consultant—and my boss.”
If they kept up their best-friend banter, I’d never get to the bottom of Jamila’s problem. I pulled away from my brother. “Being called paranoid by theWall Street Journalis kind of a big deal.”
“Exactly.” Cooper pointed at me. “There were paps at Mila’s office today. That doesn’t seem like something that’s going to die down.”
“Like, more than five?” I asked.
“Not more than twenty.” Jamila waved an elegant hand. Her nails were short but impeccably manicured and painted a vibrant purple.
“Holy crap,” I said. “That’s serious.” She needed help. I got out my phone and searched for the article. I scanned through it, half-listening to my brother and his friends.
“Take the rest of the day off,” Cooper said. “On Monday, I’ll send Mateo with you. He’ll hold off the paps and get you into your office safely.”
She snorted. “I’d look like some damsel in distress trailing your meaty cousin. Everything will settle down over the weekend. I can’t afford to take the day off. We’re scheduled to release the app in June.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at it. “Sorry, I gotta take this.” She pushed off the sofa and strode from the office.
“This is not good,” I said, scrolling through the article. “They’ve painted her as a paranoid wacko. Who the heck is this PI? Do you think they were the source of the press leaks?”
Jackson shrugged. “Not if they want to keep their business. If Jamila finds out they sold the story, she’ll ensure they never work in San Francisco again.”
Cooper nodded. “You don’t want to be on the other end of Jamila’s vengeance.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “She can’t afford to come across as a vindictive nutjob.”
“A little preventive aggression never hurt anyone,” Jackson said.
“Never hurt anyone?” I scoffed. “Ask Martha Stewart how that worked out. Women can’t get away with what men can.”
Both men stared at me blankly.
I rolled my eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. I think I can help.”
“Sure, Nutter Butter.” Fortunately, Jackson was out of noogie range.
“I can.” I stood as tall as I could in my flip-flops and baggy pants. Raised in the tech world, I’d lived in the spotlight all my life. Even longer than Jamila. “I have some ideas.”
Jackson snorted, deep in his throat, the way he always did when I said something he felt was ridiculous. “You’re always complaining about how much time culinary school takes. When would you have time to help Jamila?”
I looked down at my feet. The scarlet polish was half gone on my right big toe.
“Oh, no.” Jackson’s voice dripped with sympathy. “You didn’t drop out, did you?”
I’d come here seeking his sympathy, but as it turned out, his sorrowful tone was the worst. “Not exactly.”
“Fuck. My perfect little sister got kicked out?”
“Maybe?” I rubbed my toe against the edge of the thick rug. “I, uh, liberated a lobster from my butchery class.”
“Really?” He barked out a laugh. “Lobsters are basically overgrown bugs. It’s not like it appreciated your help.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Larrywasappreciative of not being murdered.”
“Larry?” Jackson’s voice rose with hilarity. “You namedsomeone’s dinner?”