Page 97 of The Bad Girl List

“It took seven emails and two phone calls before Sophia told me you aren’t with Presidio anymore,” Tim says.

“What?” I glance around the van to be sure my family is still busy applying sunscreen.

“I wasn’t trying to pry, Dom, but I was rather insistent that you take over the redesign project. Sophia told me you left Presidio last week.”

I struggle to find something to say. Did Sophia tell him I left voluntarily, or did she tell him I was fired? I guess it doesn’t really matter. Tim is too polite to call out the fact that I lied when I was at their house on Sunday.

Mom calls around the back of the car to me. “Dom, are you ready, honey?”

“What do you say, Dom? Can I pick you up for lunch and talk to you about a job opportunity?”

A job. A legit job. And Tim likes my work, so whatever he has in mind might just be a good fit. I can’t pass this up.

“I’ll wait for you at the front of the park,” I say, cupping my hands over the receiver. “Thanks.”

I hang up, put on my best pained expression, then walk around the car.

“Here’s the sunscreen.” Mom holds out the tube out to me. Seeing my face, she says, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t think I can go hiking.” I hunch over my stomach and push my fingers into my abdomen. “I have really bad cramps.”

“I have some Tylenol,” Mom says, digging into her fanny pack.

“No, Mom, I think I just need to lie down. My head is starting to hurt. I already called an Uber. You guys go ahead.”

“What’s going on?” Annika pokes her head over Mom’s shoulder.

“I have bad period cramps.”

Annika studies me through narrowed eyes, then nods. “Ah, shit, cuz, sorry to hear that. I know they were bothering you last night. I was hoping you would feel better today.”

Thank you, Annika. “They’re worse, actually. I had to call an Uber. I don’t want to mess with the plans, though. You guys go without me.”

As the lie comes out of my mouth, I realize this just might count for number four on the list: sneaking out. I might not be crawling out the window, but I am sneaking away from my family to do something I don’t want them to know about.

It takes me another few minutes to convince my family to go without me. Annika mouths text me before disappearing around a wall of trees onto the hiking trail. I shuffle toward the front of the park where I’m meeting my supposed Uber driver, staying slightly hunched over in case any of my family pops back out from the trail and spots me.

Tim Moretti is parked just outside the entrance in a black Tesla. Does everyone in the family have a Tesla besides Trevor?

“Dominique.” Tim pushes open the passenger side door for me. “Nice to see you. Hop in.”

I pause before getting into the car, wondering if this is a bad idea. Should I really get into a car with a man I barely know? “Where are we going?” I ask.

“There’s a taco truck out by Zeke’s. You know where Zeke’s is, right? Trevor mentioned you guys had drinks there one night.”

“Yeah. Hold on, just let me tell my cousin.” I send Annika a quick text to tell her where I’m going and who I’m with, then hop in the car.

Tim keeps the windows rolled down as we head out of town. His car is spotless on the inside. It smells like it’s just been cleaned.

He keeps up a constant stream of small talk as we ride. He asks how my family is doing, how I’m enjoying my vacation, and which wineries I’ve been to. We even laugh about my family going to the casino with Gramps Moretti and the old-timers.

He finds lots of ways to slip in comments about Trevor. That’s where Trevor went to junior high. That’s the dirt lot where Trevor used to ride dirt bikes with his friends. That was the street corner where Trevor found his first homeless animal–a cat–and insisted on bringing her back to the winery.

I play along, answering his questions and making appropriate sounds of interest when he talks about Trevor, all the while wondering where the hell this is all going and if this is really about a job. He never once asks me about my work experience or education. It seems more like an extended, albeit off-beat, resume of his son.

We finally pull into a gravel parking lot with a taco truck. About a half mile away, I spot Zeke’s. The vineyards of Dry Creek Valley lay spread around us.

“This place is a staple for all the wineries and vineyards around here,” Tim says. “The owners have been coming to this little spot in the road for over twenty years.” He switches off the car and turns to face me. “Dom, I’ll cut to the chase. When I found out you weren’t with Presidio anymore, I was really disappointed.”

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