Free Entice (Hearts of Stone #2) by Veronica Larsen Page B

The truth is, I don't have a good excuse for why I never got around to returning her texts. I read them and avoided responding right away because her questions required explanations I don't yet possess. Like where I'm going to live.
    "Okay, fine," she says, "but you've got to get all your stuff out of here. You do know that, right?"
    "Yes. Obviously, I'm aware."
    "Good. I don't want them holding our deposit—"
    "Elle, I get it. I promise I'll have my stuff out after Christmas. I'll stick it in storage if I have to. Consider it done."

    My friend Amelia's the only person I bothered to text when I arrived in San Diego Monday evening. But when she invited me out for drinks tonight, I didn't think she meant to a North County bar.
    "Why'd you want to come here?" I do a slow circle to take in the crowd. "This place is a buzz-kill. My old high school is, like, half a mile away. I thought you'd want to head downtown."
    Amelia leans in, her long, brown hair falling over her shoulder. "There's a conference going on up the road. At the Park Hyatt Aviara. Huge, conservative conference. We're talking half a billion in donations each year, all funneled to right wing projects. But here's the thing, no one really knows which ones. It's all insanely secretive, from the location to the guest list. But guess what? I had a source leak the location to me two days ago."
    "I didn't realize you wrote political pieces."
    "I don't, usually. But this information fell into my lap when I was working on another story. I need to sink my teeth into something meaty. Something that'll convince my boss I can do more than fluff pieces. I need to break the front page."
    "I'm not following," I say. "How does us coming here help you with that?"
    "There's no getting into the conference, obviously. Security is too tight. But, I mean, let's be real. This is the only decent bar in half a mile radius. Some of those overworked suckers from the conference are bound to end up here."
    "I doubt anyone important will come to a place like this," I say. "This place is stuffy, but not that stuffy."
    "Big wigs aren't the ones that leak information. I'm talking small fish. Assistants, crew members, stressed out security guards."
    We scan our surroundings, where we stand, hovering around a pair of barstools. Protecting them like they are the sacred lands of our ancestors, all but hissing at anyone who tries to nonchalantly slide in and take one. We aren't even sitting on them. It's just nice to leave our options open.
    "I guess this place will do," I say, shrugging. "At least the cab ride's cheap. Not to mention the drinks. I happen to be in a celebratory mood tonight."  
    My problems are far from resolved. I don't have a job secured and still have no idea where I'll live. But this is where I'm different from my sister. She broods over things whereas I have the keen ability to focus on the tiniest rays of hope. At least long enough to enjoy a drink and dance to some overrated tracks.
    "And what are you celebrating?" Amelia asks.
    "My almost landing a maybe job interview."
    " That's right ." Amelia holds up her beer to my glass of gin and tonic.
    I tilt my head at her. "Since when do you drink beer?"
    "Since I wrote a piece on all the ways your cute drinks can be ruffied at a bar."
    "Nice." I take a hesitant sip of my drink.
    I want to dance, but the music overhead isn't exactly the type I can shake my butt to. It's the sidestep and finger snapping music. Those moves don't exorcise stress. At least not for me.
    Amelia and I drain our drinks before long and order new ones. The conversation turns to the nuances of my predicament.
    "Let me get this straight," she begins, "you have to get all of your stuff out of your apartment in two weeks and you still haven't started looking for a place to live?"
    "I've been looking for a job."  
    "You've been shelving."
    "What?"
    "You know…putting problems up on shelves. Pretending they aren't there. You do that."
    "Okay," I say, casting my