“Vivian, the moment you walked in with your hair looking like it’s been through a hurricane, I knew something was up,” Rita declared, arching an eyebrow. “And don’t even think about denying it. You didn’t pick up my calls this morning, and you always pick up my calls. So, spill.”
Vivian’s cheeks instantly flushed a deep pink. She felt herself scramble for some kind of denial, but it was useless. She could feel Rita’s eyes piercing right through her, and her stomach tightened.
“Huh? Something was up?” she tried to laugh, scratching the back of her neck. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, focusing her gaze on her salad instead of Rita's knowing look.
But Rita wasn’t buying it. Her smirk grew wider, almost predatory, her
