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That was simple. I smiled wide, climbed in the car and headed out. I told him the truth. I was honest. I was sincere. It was his fault now. Yep, he was a conspirator. He knew what I was doing and didn’t stop me. Hmmm. . . that wasn’t good. I grabbed my cell phone and called the family Lawyer. ‘Mr. Maxwell’s office,’ the squeaky voice came over the other end. I rolled my eyes. I hated that squeaky voice. So annoying. So. . . snotty. ‘This is Mrs. Croft, is Tom free?’ ‘Do you have an appointment?’ ‘An appointment for a phone call? No,’ I told her again rolling my eyes. Stupid redhead. I thought to myself. Then I touched my redhair. . . stupid bottled redhead, I changed my wording. Squeaky was a natural brunette, but during the summer she’d gone Clairol crazy and became a redhead wanna be. ‘Well, he’s in a meeting,’ she said. ‘Can he fit me in?’ I asked. ‘Let me check,’ Squeaky replied. I sighed, yawned, and waited. The elevator music began. Oh man. . . elevator music. I hated. I didn't know Cadillac made an SUV," she said."It's really a decked out Suburban with a better radio," I replied, still nervous. I took the backpack and stowed it, then shut the rear door. We stood there for a second, the girl still holding the sign. The words "BLOW YOU" seemed like they were flashing on the cardboard and it was all I could do not to stare at them."You want to get in?" I finally asked, nodding toward the passenger side. She smiled, and then we parted to head toward our respective seats."You better buckle up," I said, starting the car. She pulled the shoulder harness across her chest and fumbled with the latch as I eased onto the highway, determined not to spin my tires. Everything felt awkward, and then as I accelerated I realized that I had the transmission in second gear. Flustered, I shifted and then swerved back into my lane. I glanced at the girl and attempted a smile; my heart was pounding like crazy and I could feel sweat dripping down my temples even though.
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