Page 30 of Drunk In Love
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” I say, surprised to get a parcel from the Financial Journal. Bree walks off towards the kitchen where Max and Westin are gathered. Brandon hasn’t arrived yet for the day.
I’m the only one in the office area.
I shake the package, not hearing anything but what sounds like paper shuffling inside. Could Zach have sent me something? He was still being guarded about our date, but I doubted he would send me something when he could just deliver it himself.
My curiosity gets the better of me. I open the mysterious package and out slips a takeout menu for an Italian restaurant named Milano’s.
“That’s strange,” I mutter under my breath. “Who at FJ would send me a menu?”
My first instinct is to toss the menu, but I think better of it since the envelope is addressed to me. I definitely don’t recognize the swirling, looping handwriting. It’s practically in cursive, which is something rarely seen these days. A light-yellow piece of paper sticking out gets my attention. I open the menu and realize it’s a Post-it note with a message:
After weeks of not hearing from him, Franco texted me that he got a new number. He’s working at this restaurant on weeknights.
Finally a breakthrough!
After tirelessly searching through records, we finally have a way to track Franco down. Was this anonymous note from Jacob? Yesterday evening before going home for the night, Zach let us all know that he wasn’t able to acquire any new info about Franco or Harrison. It was the same address that we already had. Sadly, he didn’t include a number to reach Franco. I google the address for the restaurant, and it looks like it’s in the downtown area of Little Italy. A big career change from working at FJ.
What happened that Franco wasn’t able to secure another IT job?
Looks like Max and I will just have to go downtown to meet Franco. Assuming the information provided was correct.
“What’s that?” Maxwell asks over my shoulder, passing me on the way back to his desk.
I pass Maxwell a copy of the menu with the Post-it stuck inside.
Maxwell takes a few seconds to read it. He flips the menu around, presumably checking that there aren’t other messages hidden within the paper. “Wow, finally we might be getting somewhere. Who do you think sent this?”
“Not sure. We don’t have time to worry about that now,” I answer, sitting back in my seat. “I hope you’re in the mood for Italian for dinner.”
“Always,” Max replies. “Should we call the restaurant first to make sure he’ll be there?”
“I’d thought of that,” I say to Max. “Based on how the other employees have been acting, maybe the element of surprise might help us.”
Max shrugs. “Worth a shot.”
I push my seat back to my laptop, noting the time and how we’ll need to leave soon. According to the restaurant website, dinner time starts at five.
Maxwell and I have been mostly okay since the kiss. When we return to my apartment in the evenings, we talk about the assignment and watch movies as a way to try to relax, but the energy has felt off since Zach asked me out.
I was still on cloud nine and looking forward to the date, but I hoped that Max and I were okay.
No, I have to stop worrying about my friend’s feelings. Maxwell is a grown man. If he wanted to pursue anything beyond the kiss we shared, he should have said something then. I was going to enjoy my time with Zach and put Max and his too-perfect lips out of my mind.
Or at least I was damn sure going to try.
“Are you sure this is the place?”
I glance away from Maxwell and over at the display of tables. Several are lined up against the corner sidewalk, decked in red-and-white checkered tablecloth. Couples and families were out enjoying the balmy summer evening.
“This is the address on the menu,” I answer. The photos from when I googled the restaurant made it look a little different, but I was certain this was the right one. Though there were several restaurants on this block that looked identical. I just hoped we’d manage to track Franco down and have an opportunity to question him. According to Jacob’s note, he should be here tonight since it was a weekday.
“Alright, so what’s our plan?” Max asks. Initially, when we were tasked to work together, Brandon described Max acting as my mentor. Now, due to the nature of this assignment, I was calling the shots.
“I don’t know if he’s a server or working in the kitchen, so I say we go in like we’re just a couple having dinner and see if we recognize him,” I say.
Maxwell’s brows raise when I use the word couple, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Besides, I’m hoping Franco will be somewhere we can see him. We have to hope he still looks like the photo from his state ID and employee badge.”
“Unless he’s gotten facial tattoos and dyed his hair some wild color, we should be good,” I say.