house and take stuff! Like, I would have totally given her some money if she asked for it, didn’t she know that? It’s just soooo uncool and—”
I put a finger to my lips and made a shushing noise.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I know. Babbling. Stop now.”
Her place was spacious, nicely furnished, and, I immediately surmised, not possibly affordable on her $500 weekly intern’s salary. If the ample square footage didn’t tip me off, the commanding view of Manhattan did.
“Nice place,” I said as I trailed her from the small foyer into the living room, where the foldout couch was still unfurled.
“I just painted in here,” she said. “Do you like the color? It’s from the Ralph Lauren Urban Loft collection. It’s called ‘Sullivan.’ ”
“Do you call it ‘Sulli’ for short?” I asked.
“No, but I think I’ll start,” she said, smiling.
“You’re lucky they let you paint it yourself. I’ve heard of places like this where they make you use whatever contractor the landlord prefers because they’re afraid the tenants will be too sloppy.”
“Well, my dad owns the building,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. I’d figured Daddy was loaded. I didn’t realize he was that loaded.
She added quickly: “I pay him rent, though.”
Market rate, I’m sure. She flopped down on the bed, propping herself on one elbow and stretching out her gorgeous, bare legs underneath her. She left room for me to sit on the bed.
I chose a nearby chair.
“Does your dad own other buildings?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.
“A few. Real estate is just a hobby.”
“And his day job is…”
“Investing.”
“Riiiight,” I said.
“Don’t do that,” she snapped.
“What?”
“You’re making assumptions about me!” she said. “I only told you he owned it because I thought you wouldn’t make assumptions.”
“I wasn’t making—”
“I’m not a spoiled little rich girl,” she said. “I’ve worked for what I’ve gotten.”
“Okay,” I said, but apparently wasn’t convincing.
She eyed me.
“Look, everyone has a dad,” I said. “Yours happens to be filthy rich and friends with a guy who runs a newspaper. You don’t need to apologize to me for having advantages in life. I’d only hold it against you if you hadn’t done something with them. I didn’t exactly start this race in last place myself.”
“Thanks for understanding,” she said, and we bonded for a moment, just a pair of hardworking spoiled little rich girls—even though the only real estate my parents owned was a two-story colonial.
“So you can say it now,” she said.
“Say what?”
“That you told me so.”
“Well, I guess I did,” I said. “But I have to admit I’m feeling a little responsible for what happened, because I didn’t quite tell you everything.”
“What do you mean?”
I guided her through my discovery of Akilah’s nonorphan status, finishing it off with how I tried to get the story yanked but was overruled by Uncle Hal’s space heater fetish.
She pouted.
“I thought we were working on the story together,” she huffed. “You were going to have them pull the story without telling me?”
“I was planning to tell you everything at the bar,” I said. “But I guess I got there right after you left to pick up Akilah.”
“Oh.”
“About that…”
She rolled over on her stomach, smothering her face in her pillow. I couldn’t help but admire her tight little ass as she loosed a muffled scream and kicked her legs in a minitantrum.
“Ahh hhhann oooeee ahh ddiii daaa,” she said.
“Come again?”
She lifted her head: “I can’t believe I did that.”
“You want your lecture now?”
She nodded and fixed me with a big blue-eyed gaze.
“Okay,” I began. “It goes like this: as a reporter, you’re going to be constantly tripping on people who need help—sometimes a lot more help than you can possibly give them. You will, of course, care about
I put a finger to my lips and made a shushing noise.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I know. Babbling. Stop now.”
Her place was spacious, nicely furnished, and, I immediately surmised, not possibly affordable on her $500 weekly intern’s salary. If the ample square footage didn’t tip me off, the commanding view of Manhattan did.
“Nice place,” I said as I trailed her from the small foyer into the living room, where the foldout couch was still unfurled.
“I just painted in here,” she said. “Do you like the color? It’s from the Ralph Lauren Urban Loft collection. It’s called ‘Sullivan.’ ”
“Do you call it ‘Sulli’ for short?” I asked.
“No, but I think I’ll start,” she said, smiling.
“You’re lucky they let you paint it yourself. I’ve heard of places like this where they make you use whatever contractor the landlord prefers because they’re afraid the tenants will be too sloppy.”
“Well, my dad owns the building,” she said.
“Oh,” I said. I’d figured Daddy was loaded. I didn’t realize he was that loaded.
She added quickly: “I pay him rent, though.”
Market rate, I’m sure. She flopped down on the bed, propping herself on one elbow and stretching out her gorgeous, bare legs underneath her. She left room for me to sit on the bed.
I chose a nearby chair.
“Does your dad own other buildings?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.
“A few. Real estate is just a hobby.”
“And his day job is…”
“Investing.”
“Riiiight,” I said.
“Don’t do that,” she snapped.
“What?”
“You’re making assumptions about me!” she said. “I only told you he owned it because I thought you wouldn’t make assumptions.”
“I wasn’t making—”
“I’m not a spoiled little rich girl,” she said. “I’ve worked for what I’ve gotten.”
“Okay,” I said, but apparently wasn’t convincing.
She eyed me.
“Look, everyone has a dad,” I said. “Yours happens to be filthy rich and friends with a guy who runs a newspaper. You don’t need to apologize to me for having advantages in life. I’d only hold it against you if you hadn’t done something with them. I didn’t exactly start this race in last place myself.”
“Thanks for understanding,” she said, and we bonded for a moment, just a pair of hardworking spoiled little rich girls—even though the only real estate my parents owned was a two-story colonial.
“So you can say it now,” she said.
“Say what?”
“That you told me so.”
“Well, I guess I did,” I said. “But I have to admit I’m feeling a little responsible for what happened, because I didn’t quite tell you everything.”
“What do you mean?”
I guided her through my discovery of Akilah’s nonorphan status, finishing it off with how I tried to get the story yanked but was overruled by Uncle Hal’s space heater fetish.
She pouted.
“I thought we were working on the story together,” she huffed. “You were going to have them pull the story without telling me?”
“I was planning to tell you everything at the bar,” I said. “But I guess I got there right after you left to pick up Akilah.”
“Oh.”
“About that…”
She rolled over on her stomach, smothering her face in her pillow. I couldn’t help but admire her tight little ass as she loosed a muffled scream and kicked her legs in a minitantrum.
“Ahh hhhann oooeee ahh ddiii daaa,” she said.
“Come again?”
She lifted her head: “I can’t believe I did that.”
“You want your lecture now?”
She nodded and fixed me with a big blue-eyed gaze.
“Okay,” I began. “It goes like this: as a reporter, you’re going to be constantly tripping on people who need help—sometimes a lot more help than you can possibly give them. You will, of course, care about
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