On my computer screen, Carlos grins like whoever took the photo was a friend. His eyes sparkle with humor and a dimple peeks out on the left side of his mouth. Like everyone else, his profile lists clubs, activities, and college major interests. For the past three years, he’s worked at a restaurant called Encantado on the west side of town. He’s done everything from washing dishes to cooking to waiting tables.
Curious, I look up the restaurant online. A website pops up with photos that are a bit fuzzy and out-of-focus. The interior shots of the colorful restaurant are fun, except for the focus issues. I click the “about us” button and strike gold.
“The Rubio family has owned Encantado for nineteen years. Encantado means ‘charmed’ and our restaurant reflects the warmth and love we share as a family. We love to welcome friends to our family table and hope you will be charmed by our people and our menu.”
Nice ad copy. I wonder if Carlos wrote it? I study the family photo, wishing it was clearer. I assume the middle-aged couple are his parents. Carlos stands next to his mom. On his other side is a boy who looks about ten, and next to him are two younger girls who must be twins. Fanning out from the dad’s side of the photo are several people who look to be in their twenties and thirties, and an older couple who might be grandparents.
Everyone has dark hair and beautiful eyes. And gorgeous smiles. My fingers itch to retake the photo so it does them justice. I’d like to reshoot the restaurant photos, too, at better angles and with better composition.
“Hey.”
I almost jump out of my chair when Carlos appears at my desk, then fumble with my mouse to minimize my browser.
“What’s up?” I try to look bored, not at all obsessed with retaking his photo.
He runs a hand through his dark hair, the hair I now know is a family trait. He’s wearing khakis again today, and a pale blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms.
“Sorry about how things went earlier.” His gaze locks on mine and my oxygen levels plummet. “You’re part of the team, too, Laurel.” He glances toward the table. “Trish was…out of line.”
“Maybe she just said what everyone else is thinking.” I draw circles on my desk with my finger. “That I’m a spoiled rich girl who’s only here because of her dad.”
Carlos shoves his hands in his pockets. “That’s not what I think.” He sounds frustrated. “I don’t know what’s up with you and Trish, but not everyone is your enemy.”
Guilt snakes through me. It was decent of him to try to make me feel better.
“Sorry, I just…I don’t know.” I force a half smile. “Even Miss Emmaline doesn’t like me. I feel like the unwanted little sister everyone has to put up with.”
He blinks, those chocolatey eyes wide and surprised. “But you’re…” He clears his throat and glances away, then back again. “I guess it’s hard being the boss’s daughter. But that doesn’t mean everyone hates you.”
My pulse throbs in my ears and wrists, which is ridiculous because whatever this is, it’s not flirting. It can’t be.
“We’re going to grab sandwiches at the deli,” he says. “You want to come with us?”
“I…uh…” I remember my plan to take photos for the Faces of Denver contest. “I have plans. But thanks for asking.” Ask me again another day, I want to say, just you.
He shrugs and steps back. “Maybe join us after lunch? We can’t agree on a Death Star plan. Maybe you can be the deciding vote.” His lips quirk up. “Again.”
“Okay.” I want him to like me. Not like that, because that’s a pipe dream, but as a person with good ideas. An equal.
He slants me a quick smile, flashing the dimple, then heads back to the table as the eighth rule flashes like a scoreboard in my mind: NO FRATERNIZING!!!
Eight
The warm Colorado sun beats down as I merge with the lunch crowd filling the sidewalks. Out here, I’m just a girl with a camera, not a spoiled “daddy’s girl” or a spy. Tension eases out of me as I pause to put on my rhinestone-studded sunglasses, a gift from Lexi.
LoDo, Denver’s lower downtown area, is vibrant and diverse, full of historical buildings that have been repurposed and given new life. I have a long list of places to photograph. Today I’m starting with the oldest painted advertisement on a Denver building.
I head toward an alley off Fifteenth Street, where I find an entire building wall painted in old fashioned letters advertising Studebaker Carriages and Buggies. The letters are faded, but that’s hardly surprising, considering they were painted in 1883.
As I select my lens and filter, adrenaline buzzes through me. I love photography because I forget about myself and become one with the camera. I become a giant lens, taking in what’s in front of me, blinking and adjusting until I capture what I see with my heart as well as my eyes.
Time passes quickly as I fill my memory card with photos. My pace is quick as I head back to work, energy pulsing through me. That’s what happens when I do what I love. Rounding a corner, my breath catches at the sight of an enormous sidewalk planter full of colorful blooms, but someone has graffitied the planter with an obscene phrase.
The contrast of the beautiful and the profane intrigues me, so I move closer, squatting down so I can zoom in.
“Hey, look, it’s Jimmy Olsen. Where’s Superman?”
Carlos and Elijah stare down at me, both of them wearing sunglasses so I can’t read their expressions.
Flustered, I stand up and brush off my skirt. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself,” Elijah says, grinning. “Are you a professional paparazzi or what?”
Carlos’s expression remains inscrutable, so I focus on Elijah and his mirrored sunglasses.
“Not exactly. It’s just a hobby.”
“Sweet setup for just a hobby.” Elijah gestures to my camera, a Nikon D750. He’s right. It was my Christmas present last year, after I was bitten by the shutterbug––Dad’s dumb joke, not mine.
“Where’s everyone else?” I want to change the subject from my expensive camera. I feel self-conscious, knowing that neither of them could probably afford it.
“We ditched them.” Carlos finally speaks, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
That makes me laugh. We head toward Dad’s office and somehow I end up next to Carlos, which only amps up my adrenaline buzz.
“So, this was your ‘other plans’ for lunch?” Carlos asks. “Taking pictures?”
Ouch.
“Yeah.” I take a breath. I owe him an explanation since he was so decent earlier. “Taking pictures makes me happy and I’m pretty good at it.”
Neither of them speaks as we traverse the final block to Dad’s office. When we reach the office, Carlos holds the door open, gesturing for me to go first. I pause inside the lobby, removing my backpack and stowing my camera.
“I’m grabbing a Coke from the kitchen,” Elijah says. “See you upstairs.”
I expect Carlos to follow Elijah, but he doesn’t. Instead he falls into step next to me as we cross the lobby.
“Wanna try another joke on Miss E?” His teasing smile kick-starts my heart.
“No, that might tip her over the edge.” I hope I sound unaffected by his smile. “Besides, I only do jokes in the mornings.”
He laughs as we head upstairs. I wish I could change things so that it was just Carlos and me working here this summer. And maybe Elijah.
“How long have you been into photography?”
“About a year or so. It just sort of…grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.”
We start up the second flight of stairs and I wonder if he thinks I’m a dork.
“I know what you mean.”
“You do?”
We’ve reached our floor. He glances down the hall to the sky box, then back at me.
“Yeah. I think everybody has something they’re passionate about. Or if they don’t, they’re missing out.”
He studies me, his expression thoughtful. I’d like to believe I see
flickers of romantic interest in his eyes, but that’s not it. I think he’s trying to figure me out, or maybe he still feels obligated to be nice to me.
“You going to join us?” he asks. “I’d like your opinion on our Death Star strategy.”
“I have a really bad feeling about this.”
Carlos frowns.
“Star Wars quote, when the Ewoks capture Han Solo and are about to roast him for dinner. Also, when Han and Luke and Leia are about to be squashed in the trash compactor.”
He cocks an eyebrow, but that doesn’t stop my inner nerd from providing further clarification.
“Actually,” I continue, “in all the movies somebody says that line, with slight variations.”
The cocky smirk slides firmly into place and I shrug, embarrassed.
“Never mind.”
“Now you definitely have to join us. We could use another expert.”
He’d better not be mocking me.
“I should check my email first and, uh, do some…stuff.” Like try to find you on Instagram. Snapchat. Tinder.
“Okay. I’ll let you know when we need you, Sheldon.”
I gasp. I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. His grin is devilish as he saunters off, whistling.
Sinking into my desk chair, I make myself focus on non-Carlos related topics. Kendra texted me this morning with a reminder to work on female solidarity in the office.
Make friends with the girls! Ask how you can help them.
Trish and Ashley are both busy on their computers. Ashley has a vase of fresh flowers on her desk. Star Wars action figures are my desk decorations. I’d brought them in for fun but looking at Ashley’s sophisticated bouquet I suddenly feel young. Sighing, I sweep the tiny plastic figures into a drawer and close it with a bang. Trish glances up at the loud noise and meets my gaze, frowning.
This hostility has to stop. What would Qa’hr do? Filled with determination, I cross the room.
“Hi.” Use the Force, Laurel. “Do you want anything from the kitchen? I saw cupcakes in there earlier.”
“Maybe an apple,” Ashley says with a snowy white smile.
Trish twirls her nose stud. “I don’t like cupcakes.”
“Um, okay. Something else, then?”
Her eyes stay on mine, which is unnerving, but I don’t blink.
“An espresso,” she finally says. “No sugar.”
“That fits.” I wait for the smackdown, but it doesn’t come. Instead, her pale lips twitch. Was that an almost smile?
“Be right back.” I leave before I lose my nerve.
…
After I complete step one of my make-friends-with-the-girls plan, I resume my online investigating, starting with Facebook and Trish’s name. Nothing, but that doesn’t surprise me. Most people my age aren’t on Facebook, or if they are, their pages are sanitized for grandparent viewing. I discover a locked-down page for Ashley, with a much sexier profile photo than the one on her LinkedIn page, and I also find a sanitized Elijah page.
I know all about Jason’s page, since I’ve stalked it for years, but he hasn’t posted anything for weeks.
Once again, I’ve saved Carlos for last. His cover photo is a family picture, full of all the people from the restaurant photo and then some. The younger kids wear cone-shaped birthday hats…and so does Carlos. He also wears a giant “18” button on his shirt. It’s sweet that he’s posted such a goofy family picture for everyone to see.
An audible sigh escapes me as I drink in Carlos’s family photo and scroll down to check out his posts. He’s disgustingly cute in all of his pictures, even the random, blurry ones his friends have tagged him in. Also, he’s got a lot of girl friends. Girlfriends. Whatever.
I linger over one photo in particular—whoever took it was highly skilled, or maybe just lucky. Carlos sits on a bench in a church courtyard. He’s wearing a suit and tie and he’s flanked on either side by two little girls dressed in frilly white dresses. Maybe it was their First Communion or a wedding. They’re clearly besotted with him, their adoring faces turned up like twin reflections. He grins down at one girl, while a hand rests protectively on the other girl’s shoulder.
Nobody should be allowed to be so swoon-inducing. There should be a Facebook filter to protect girls like me from randomly stumbling upon such adorableness.
“Ready to join us?”
Gah! I grab my mouse, closing my browser. I need to be more careful. I have no idea what I’d say if he busted me cyber-stalking him.
“Uh, um.” I’m incoherent, plus I’m blushing because my thoughts eagerly jumped to fantasizing about kissing him.
“Paper clip emergency?” he teases, one side of his mouth quirking up.
“You’d be surprised. There was a run on file folders and I almost got trampled to death.”
His grin widens and I’m relieved I managed to come up with a joke in spite of my embarrassment.
“If this meeting blows up in my face, you owe me.” I grab my Hello Kitty notebook.
“It won’t.”
I shrug as we walk toward the table. “It might,” I mutter under my breath.
He glances at me. “If it blows up, I owe you a Hello Kitty…something.” He gestures to my notebook. “Obviously you’re a fan of the feline.”
That makes me blush, and I take a seat next to Elijah.
“Okay, back to work, everyone.” Carlos moves toward the giant pieces of paper stuck to the window. He pulls a marker from his back pocket and taps a sheet of paper. “We need to vote on our marketing strategy. We’ve only got three grand and need to be smart about how we spend it.”
“Which is why you should go with my idea.” Elijah preens, his bright gaze sweeping around the table.
Trish rolls her eyes. “Sponsoring a podcast? I don’t think so.”
“Which podcast?” I ask.
“Geek Squeak.” Elijah makes a fist and brushes it against his chest in an “I know I’m brilliant” gesture.
“That’s perfect!” I squeal. “The hosts are hilarious—smart and nerdy and they love Star Wars. We could send them a speaker, and they’d rave about how great it is.”
Everyone is quiet, staring at me like I’m crazy. Heat creeps up my neck. Enthusiasm is never cool, I need to remember that. Especially geeky enthusiasm.
“You do realize this is a fake campaign, right Laura?” Ashley asks.
“Laurel,” I correct through gritted teeth. “And of course I know that. I just thought it was a great idea, that’s all.” I shrug at Elijah, who telegraphs me a thank you with his eyes.
“Nobody listens to podcasts, do they?” Jason asks. He doesn’t say this in a mean way, more like he’s confused.
“Sure, they do.” Carlos’s jaw tightens, and I try not to stare. Now that I’ve scrutinized his Facebook photos, I feel like I have a glimpse into who he is, and I might like that guy more than I should.
“Name one person you know who listens to them. Besides Elijah,” Trish demands.
“My sister,” Carlos responds, a defiant glint in his eyes. “My favorite AP teacher.” His eyes flick to me, making my heart do an expert imitation of Thumper. “I like the idea,” he tells Elijah, “but I’m not sure how broad their reach is.”
“About three hundred thousand listeners each week.” Elijah waves his phone in the air. “I just looked it up.”
“Wow.” Even Jason looks impressed. “That’s weird. I don’t know anyone who listens to podcasts.”
Another chunk of Jason’s imaginary pedestal crumbles. It’s a good thing we never dated; I don’t know what we’d have talked about.
Ashley tosses a shiny wave of blond hair over her shoulder. “Well, I like my idea,” she purrs. “Everyone likes the Sharper Image catalog.”
“I think my Comic Con idea is best.” Trish pouts.
“It’s a great idea,” Carlos agrees, “except travel costs are high and booth space is expensive. We need something that hits a ton of people at once. Some way to get
it into the pop culture zeitgeist.”
Whoa, this dude is smart. And sexy. My pulse rate zings.
“The Big Bang Theory,” I blurt out, and everyone turns to stare at me. I swallow and plunge ahead. “Imagine an episode where Sheldon gets one as a birthday present and tests it out. He’ll love it. Maybe Leonard steals it.” I decide to go for broke. “Star Wars is huge on that show. Remember when Amy and Bernadette made a Death Star cake? And when Sheldon builds the Lego Death Star?”
No one speaks. I wish for a hole in the floor to swallow me up. Then a slow grin spreads across Carlos’s face and his eyes lock onto mine, like he’s sending me a private replay of his earlier Sheldon comment.
“Genius,” Elijah says. “I bow to you.” And he does, leaning forward so his forehead smacks the table, making me laugh.
“Yeah, right,” Trish snarks. “We’ll just call Hollywood and make that happen.”
I hesitate, because what I’m about to say might make her hate me even more. But it’s also a chance for me to prove my value as more than a supply-fetching assistant.
“Okay, so the point of clients hiring a company like Emergent is for their expertise and connections, right?”
“Right.” Carlos nods. “So how could Emergent make The Big Bang Theory happen?”
“Well…my dad went to college with one of the show’s producers. They stay in touch.”
“For real?” Elijah’s whisper is reverent.
“You think he could get me in for a casting call?” Jason’s whole face lights up with excitement. “If I somehow manage to go to college in Cali?”
“But I thought you wanted to study international business.”
“Well, yeah, but that’s a backup plan. I’d rather be an actor.” He ducks his head, his cheeks reddening. “I don’t know if I’m good enough for prime time, but maybe?”
Is this his big dream? My heart twists in sympathy. He’s got the looks for it, but he can’t really sing, or, um, act. He’d have way more luck going pro in the NFL than hitting it big in Hollywood.
I give myself a mental shake. Who am I to shoot down someone else’s dream?
“I could take some headshots for you,” I offer. “You know, for future casting calls. And for college apps, if you do major in theater.” I smile, more to bolster my confidence than his. “I’ll make it fun, promise.”
Spies, Lies, and Allies Page 9