of been worried about you, but when you rushed in, you looked so gorgeous the reason I was waiting went right out of my head.” He sobered, hopped to his feet, then helped her to hers. “Hailey, I’ve got to talk to you. And you have to stay in this room with me until you’ve answered my questions. I’m not trying to come on like some Rambo jerkweed chauvinist, but come on. Something’s up.”
“Rambo jerkweed chauvinist?”
He didn’t smile back. “You disappear all the time, you come back looking like somebody’s beat you up, your mind’s on something else—a lot.” He took a breath, then let it out. “I’m the new guy and even I know something’s wrong. I talked to Audrey the Receptionist while we were waiting for her girlfriend to pick her up the other night, and she said you were totally fine, and that you’re kind of a nut about your privacy, which I totally respect—”
“He said, butting into her privacy.” But she was smiling, so he plunged ahead.
He tried again. “I know we haven’t known each other very long—”
“Only a week! Isn’t that amazing?” She looked so happy when she said that, every thought went out of his head except for, Must kiss pretty girl more now, yes, yes . “It feels like longer.”
“Huh?” Must kiss pretty . . . Linus shook himself. “Right. But you’re in trouble, Hailey. Aren’t you? Tell me. Let me help.” He took a breath. Waited. Thought, Yep, I’m really gonna ask her this. Said: “Don’t get mad, but you’re It Girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
CHAPTER
NINE
“Okay. I know it sounded crazy, but I just had to—wait. You said yes. You admitted it.”
“Yes. Also, I hate that name. Rhymes with Zit Girl and Pit Girl and Hit Girl—people all over the Web think I’m plagiarizing Mark Millar.” She’d finished adjusting her clothing and now stood on one foot, rested her hand lightly on his shoulder, then slipped her other shoe back on. “Now then. Since you didn’t hack my digits, that means—”
“Hailey, come on. If you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, you’ve at least got to agree to call a cop!”
“I’m It Girl.” She actually shuddered as she said it. “That’s what’s going on. My God, I actually said it out loud and everything . . .”
“No, come on. Okay, I admit, it was a silly idea, okay?”
“Why?” She’d slipped her other shoe on, and was now unbuttoning his shirt (hooray!) and then rebuttoning it (boo!), this time with the appropriate buttons going into the appropriate holes. His head was still so full of her scent and her smile he was amazed he’d gotten any buttons into any holes. “What’s so silly? Other than the absurdity of a grown woman finding out she’s living the life of an escapee from a graphic novel.”
He’d been almost sure, but her quick response threw him. “Look, I know you’re in trouble. Please, please let me help. Okay, so you’re not It Girl . . . It was a dumb idea. I mean, you work hard for us—when you’re here—but you’re kind of, um, disorganized . . .” He gestured; files were everywhere. “And you’re always late or leaving early; and even when you’re not at work, you’re always rushing off somewhere. You’re never around when . . . um . . . when . . .” Just like that, he’d talked himself back into the silly idea that Hailey Derry was It Girl.
“All those things you said, they’re true.”
This was not how it went in the movies. The cornered superhero would have all sorts of reasons why they weren’t Superman or Vomit Girl or Hernia Boy or whomever, and they’d be able to back it up with airtight alibis by faithful butlers, statements that were typed and notarized. They didn’t say, “Yep, you got me. You have found out my deep, dark secret. Woe, now the truth is out! Anyway, try not to blab it all over town.”
“Look, I’ll prove it.”
They didn’t say that , either.
Then Hailey rummaged through a desk
“Rambo jerkweed chauvinist?”
He didn’t smile back. “You disappear all the time, you come back looking like somebody’s beat you up, your mind’s on something else—a lot.” He took a breath, then let it out. “I’m the new guy and even I know something’s wrong. I talked to Audrey the Receptionist while we were waiting for her girlfriend to pick her up the other night, and she said you were totally fine, and that you’re kind of a nut about your privacy, which I totally respect—”
“He said, butting into her privacy.” But she was smiling, so he plunged ahead.
He tried again. “I know we haven’t known each other very long—”
“Only a week! Isn’t that amazing?” She looked so happy when she said that, every thought went out of his head except for, Must kiss pretty girl more now, yes, yes . “It feels like longer.”
“Huh?” Must kiss pretty . . . Linus shook himself. “Right. But you’re in trouble, Hailey. Aren’t you? Tell me. Let me help.” He took a breath. Waited. Thought, Yep, I’m really gonna ask her this. Said: “Don’t get mad, but you’re It Girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
CHAPTER
NINE
“Okay. I know it sounded crazy, but I just had to—wait. You said yes. You admitted it.”
“Yes. Also, I hate that name. Rhymes with Zit Girl and Pit Girl and Hit Girl—people all over the Web think I’m plagiarizing Mark Millar.” She’d finished adjusting her clothing and now stood on one foot, rested her hand lightly on his shoulder, then slipped her other shoe back on. “Now then. Since you didn’t hack my digits, that means—”
“Hailey, come on. If you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, you’ve at least got to agree to call a cop!”
“I’m It Girl.” She actually shuddered as she said it. “That’s what’s going on. My God, I actually said it out loud and everything . . .”
“No, come on. Okay, I admit, it was a silly idea, okay?”
“Why?” She’d slipped her other shoe on, and was now unbuttoning his shirt (hooray!) and then rebuttoning it (boo!), this time with the appropriate buttons going into the appropriate holes. His head was still so full of her scent and her smile he was amazed he’d gotten any buttons into any holes. “What’s so silly? Other than the absurdity of a grown woman finding out she’s living the life of an escapee from a graphic novel.”
He’d been almost sure, but her quick response threw him. “Look, I know you’re in trouble. Please, please let me help. Okay, so you’re not It Girl . . . It was a dumb idea. I mean, you work hard for us—when you’re here—but you’re kind of, um, disorganized . . .” He gestured; files were everywhere. “And you’re always late or leaving early; and even when you’re not at work, you’re always rushing off somewhere. You’re never around when . . . um . . . when . . .” Just like that, he’d talked himself back into the silly idea that Hailey Derry was It Girl.
“All those things you said, they’re true.”
This was not how it went in the movies. The cornered superhero would have all sorts of reasons why they weren’t Superman or Vomit Girl or Hernia Boy or whomever, and they’d be able to back it up with airtight alibis by faithful butlers, statements that were typed and notarized. They didn’t say, “Yep, you got me. You have found out my deep, dark secret. Woe, now the truth is out! Anyway, try not to blab it all over town.”
“Look, I’ll prove it.”
They didn’t say that , either.
Then Hailey rummaged through a desk
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