Unsurprisingly, all the teams nail the television category, so it’s on to the next one. By now Charlie has polished off two beers in quick succession and I realize his khaki-clad thigh is pressed against mine. I can’t decide whether it’s deliberate on his part. If I move over an inch, half an ass cheek will be hanging off the seat. Then again, I kind of like the way it feels, being this close to him, not that I would admit it out loud. That’s what my mother would’ve called an ‘inside thought.’

  Charlie surprises us by helping with two answers during the round on British Royals.

  “Why, Charles Dickens Darwin the Fifth, I did not expect you to be the dark horse on that one.”

  His grin seems to be powered by beer and joyful satisfaction. “You can thank my mother. She’s obsessed with the royal family.”

  “What has this generic draft beer done to you? Normally you have an excellent poker face, but right now you’re very transparent.”

  He leans closer, his expression bordering on devilishly sexy. “Am I?”

  I flick his forehead. “Yes.”

  He straightens. “Well, you have one of the worst poker faces I’ve ever seen. I can tell when you know the answer before you even open your mouth. It’s written all over your face.”

  I don’t take it as an insult. “Deception isn’t one of my strengths.”

  “We lawyers have to play our cards close to the vest. It’s part of the job.”

  “Well, not that you asked, but I prefer this Charlie, the one who wears his feelings on his face.” I don’t know what possesses me—probably the beer I finished—but I pick up the purple Sharpie and write across his forehead. To my delight, he laughs and calls me nuts.

  The next category is announced—Flora and Fauna. I lock eyes with Ben and smile. He’s a plant aficionado and Laura is an animal expert. This round should be a bloodbath.

  As Manny fires off the first question, Charlie leans forward and scrutinizes my face to the point where I’m worried he’s noticed a zit that hasn’t surfaced yet.

  “What is it, Mr. Thorpe? Does my face tell you I know the answer?”

  He leans back, continuing to study me with an intensity that makes my head buzz, or maybe that’s the alcohol.

  “No,” he finally says.

  “Aha! You can’t read my face.” I jot down the answer.

  “Just because you’re confident doesn’t mean you’re right,” Charlie whispers, and his mouth is so close to my earlobe that it sends an involuntary shiver through me.

  “You seem chilly,” Charlie says. “Maybe you should wear a long-sleeved shirt next time.”

  “You’re hilarious.” Then it’s my turn to laugh when the answers are announced and mine is correct.

  I raise my empty glass. “Victory never tasted so sweet.”

  He touches his forehead. “This washes off, right?”

  “I’m sure it will … eventually.” I lean forward so that my nose is close to his. He somehow manages to smell minty fresh in the midst of all this stale beer and smoke. “What are you feeling right now?”

  His blue-green eyes meet mine. “Drunk.”

  “That’s not a feeling,”

  “I beg to differ. Have you ever suffered from bed spins?”

  I pull back to regard him. “I’m talking about emotions, Chickie. How do you feel right now?”

  He shrugs.

  I sigh. “Angry? Sad? Disappointed?”

  “None of those things.”

  “That’s good at least.”

  Laura raps on the table between us. “Pay attention, you two. The final category is Geography.”

  I’m mildly disappointed. I was hoping for sports so we could make better use of Charlie.

  Ben leans forward. “Remember, we only need three correct answers to win.”

  Laura grimaces. “I’ll have to defer to the rest of you. I’ve always struggled with geography. The best I can do is the seven continents.”

  I look at Ben. “You know country flags, right?”

  He nods. “And the oceans.”

  Charlie gives a dramatic clearing of his throat. “This might be my time to sparkle.”

  “In that case, I should’ve used Angela’s marker. Theirs has glitter.”

  The first two questions stump us, but Charlie seems fairly confident in his answers, so we stick with them. He jots down answers to the remaining questions without hesitation, although his penmanship is dubious at this point.

  “You’re sure?” I ask.

  He caps the Sharpie as a sleepy grin overtakes his face. “Care to wager?”

  “Thanks, I’ll pass.”

  Turns out Charlie was right about the first two questions. Unfortunately, so is Gloria, which means InGloria’s Bastards are now tied with Balrog’s Revenge. The pressure is on.

  “The answer to number three is Czechoslovakia.”

  Charlie pounds his fists excitedly on the table, nearly knocking over his glass in the process, not that there’s any beer left. He polished another one off during the round.

  Gloria’s team moans, which is a good sign.

  Our answer to number 4 is also correct, which leaves one to go. We huddle together, waiting for the answer.

  “The final answer is the Ganges river.”

  “We won!” I reach over to hug Ben, but he’s already hugging Laura. I turn and slap hands with Charlie instead.

  “Of course we won. I’m a Thorpe. It’s in my DNA.” He looks around the room with droopy eyes. “What do we win anyway?”

  Manny drops a book of coupons on the table. “Great game, everybody. See you next year.”

  Charlie stares at the coupon book. “This isn’t a trophy.”

  “No, this is better. They’re all local establishments. I’m sure they would appreciate the business.”

  He picks up the book and thumbs through it. “What’s a Peter Pan Pizza? Do they sprinkle it with fairy dust?”

  “Pixie dust,” I correct him. “Tinker Bell is a pixie.”

  “Can I see?” Laura asks. He slides the coupon book across the table to her.

  “Will it help if I buy you a beer?” I ask.

  “I’ve probably had enough of those for one night. It’s a long walk back to my cabin from the parking lot. Wouldn’t want to fall in the lake on my way there.”

  We split into Ubers, and Charlie and I end up alone in the backseat of a Volkswagen Beetle, which seems even more compact when your fellow passenger is the size of a lumberjack. I was sure he only had four limbs until this moment. Now I’m questioning everything I thought I knew about his bodily structure.

  “How do you know so much about geography?” I ask. I’m pressed up against him in a way that makes conversation awkward yet necessary.

  “I was in the geography bee in high school. Made it to the state championships.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “I guess it would’ve been, if that hadn’t been the year my brother won an international science and engineering competition.” He scratches his cheek. “Funny, I haven’t thought about that in years.”

  “You should invite your brother here next year. Sounds like he might fit in.”

  Charlie blows a drunken raspberry. “Michael is too busy being an uptight prick to enjoy robot dog races.”

  “Well, congratulations on a well-deserved win. We wouldn’t have won without you.”

  The driver drops us off in the parking lot. Charlie staggers toward the woods and I manage to redirect him toward the cabins instead.

  “This was a fun night, Cricket. I’m glad you talked me into it.” He hesitates. “How’d you get the name Cricket anyway? Were you into insects as a kid? Or maybe a big fan of Jiminy Cricket?”

  “No. I was so quiet, my family didn’t realize when I’d spoken. My dad would ask me a question and think I didn’t answer him.” I pause for effect. “Crickets.”

  He shakes his head. “Does not compute.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your dad must’ve had a hearing problem because I can hear you fine.” His arm makes a sweeping gesture, nearly catching me in the ribs in the process. “You’re confident. You’re whip-smart. And you’re the best kind of loud.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know I am.”

  “Not about me. I mean that you’re definitely drunk.”

  “I can be drunk and still be right about you.” He boops my nose. “Some people say I’m more honest when I drink. Loose inhibitions and all that.”

  “Who are some people?”

  “My brother and sister. They have categories for me when I’m drunk. I’m either Sleepy Charlie or Chatty Charlie.”

  “Which one are you now?”

  He rubs his head. “Kinda both.”

  “Good thing we’re getting you to bed then. You can chat to Chucky until you fall asleep.”

  “Or I could chat to you.” He sways toward me, walking with loose limbs like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of the Oz. “I like talking to you.”

  I nudge him upright. “What do you like about it?”

  “It’s easy-breezy. We have a connection.” He casts a sidelong glance at me. “Do I sound crazy?”

  “You sound like you’ve had one too many beers.” I steer him toward the door of his cabin. “I agree with you, though. It’s been a fun night, Charlie Thorpe. Sleep it off and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Not if I see you first.” He salutes me and walks straight into the closed door of his cabin.

  I hold in my laughter until I’m sure he’s unharmed, then I snort-laugh all the way to my cabin.

  Chapter Nine

  I wake up the next morning feeling more hungover than I would’ve preferred. I’m not much of a drinker. One beer at a work event and I’m ready to head home. And if it weren’t for the corporate culture, I’d skip the event altogether. It’s not like I enjoy them. They’re perfunctory, like most things in my life. As much as I tried to escape the life my parents planned for me, somehow I ended up in a similar situation. Same archipelago, different island.

  Except last night. Last night was arguably a work event, but I’d been in no rush to leave. Why didn’t the law firm host trivia nights? I tried to imagine my department in a dive bar guessing answers to inane questions. Matt would be competitive, but his knowledge would be limited to sports, cars, and world wars. Zach would complain that another team cheated and grovel for points. Abby would get drunk and overshare about her sex life, or lack thereof. Joel would take the game too seriously and suck all the fun out of the room. And they’d all be sore losers.

  The memory of Cricket’s laughter rings in my head. It was a wicked, bawdy laugh that ought to belong to a gangster’s moll and not the bespectacled woman in the Tree of Mordor or Gondor or one of the ’dors T-shirt who was seated beside me all evening.

  With great effort, I swing my legs out of bed. That’s when I see two missed calls and a message from Jeannie.

  Meeting at 10. Get here.

  My heart drops to the floor. What meeting? I pick up the phone and call my assistant.

  “I’m sorry. It’s a last-minute change to the schedule.” She’s speaking in a hushed tone. “I think this is Matt’s doing.”

  The bastard is trying to sabotage me. “What’s the meeting about?”

  “Call me from the road and I’ll fill you in, but you should get moving or you’ll miss it, which I’m sure is his plan. Did you pack a suit? If not, I’ve got the one I took to the dry cleaners for you.”

  “I’ve got one, but thanks, Jeannie. You’re the best.”

  “From your lips to payroll’s ears.”

  I check the time. I’ll have to skip the shower, or I won’t make it. I’ll be pushing the clock as it is. I’d have to skip breakfast, too, and miss out on Bernie’s gluten-free chocolate chip pancakes. Bummer. I would’ve inhaled the hell out of those.

  After wearing casual clothes all week, my suit feels stiff and uncomfortable. I spend the next hour with my foot on the gas, listening to Jeannie’s rundown of events. The firm’s annual meeting with LandStar got bumped up to this week. The only reason Jeannie knows about it is because she’s good friends with Joel’s assistant.

  I don’t know how he managed it, but this schedule change has Matt’s fingerprints all over it. It doesn’t surprise me that he would try to find another way to take out the competition. He’s worried I’ll secure the LandStar deal, so he has to undermine me another way. Joke’s on him because I currently don’t see a way of making my client happy. All his shady tactics will have been for nothing.

  Jeannie glances up from her computer screen with a bright smile when I arrive. “Good morning, Charlie. Glad to hear it.”

  I give her a quizzical look. “Glad to hear what?”

  “That you’re happy.”

  “Am I?”

  She points to my face. “They say you can tell when a lawyer’s lying when his lips are moving, but they don’t say anything about his forehead.”

  Now I’m thoroughly confused. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “In that case, you might want to take a look in a mirror. Your meeting starts in five minutes, by the way. I don’t recommend walking in like that.”

  I hurry to my office and shut the door, whipping out my phone for the camera. Across my forehead in bright purple marker is a single word.

  Happy.

  It takes a second for the memory of last night to snap into focus. A purple Sharpie. A mischievous gleam in Cricket’s eye. I’d been too drunk to remember it by the time I reached the cabin. The ink was apparently strong enough to withstand good old-fashioned soap and water.

  Shit.

  I rub the ink, which I know is a futile gesture, but I have to try. No way can I walk into the meeting looking like I slept in a frat house.

  Jeannie appears at my door holding a bottle of nail polish remover and a cotton ball.

  “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “Whatever you did last night, you should do it more often.”

  “Really? My body feels like I walked through a cheese grater.”

  “Well, your spirit says you’re walking on air.”

  “Thanks, Jeannie. I needed the pep talk.” Especially before entering the lion’s den.

  “It wasn’t a pep talk,” she calls after me, but I am already gone.

  The meeting is dull but necessary. The saving grace is the selection of bagels and pastries that save me from hunger pains. I smear cream cheese on a bagel and down two cups of coffee to keep myself awake, both from the hangover and the meeting itself.

  Riggieri nods in my direction, and I can tell he’s desperate to jump me for an update the second the meeting is adjourned. Matt knows I have nothing to offer the client, which is why he somehow managed to orchestrate this early reunion. Lyman shouldn’t even be in attendance, let alone allowed to influence a change in the schedule. If I had a purple Sharpie, I’d write ‘pissed’ across my forehead this time.

  Relief floods my system when the meeting comes to its merciful conclusion. As expected, Riggieri and Joel intercept me before I can exit the conference room.

  “Hey, Thorpe. How’s geek week?” Joel asks. “Mr. Riggieri mentioned before the meeting that he hopes you brought a signed contract with you today.”

  “I’m working on it, sir.”

  Riggieri doesn’t bother to disguise his disappointment. “Well, what have you found so far? There’s got to be something damning.”

  “Everything appears in order so far, but there’s a filing cabinet I haven’t been through.” It isn’t a lie. Cricket’s office only appears to hold one filing cabinet and I haven’t combed through it.

  “Then what are you waiting for? Get back up there and find my leverage, kid.”

  Joel snorts his derision. “Who are all these adults with enough time on their hands to attend summer camp, am I right?”

  But Riggieri is no longer interested in our conversation. He exits the conference room without another word.

  I answer Joel anyway. “They’re a broad mix of people. Teachers, retirees, a dog groomer, a caretaker. Some of them save up all their vacation days so they can splurge them on these two weeks at camp. These people are committed.”

  Joel eyes me carefully. “Watch it, Thorpe. You sound like you’re drinking the Kool-Aid.”

  “They actually serve Kool-Aid in the cafeteria. This week’s flavor is cherry.”

  Joel shakes his head. “As long as you lock down that deal, you can drink Tang for all I care.”

  “I love Tang. My parents used to give it to us when we were kids. They were hoping one of us would become an astronaut.”

  He claps me on the back. “Instead, they got a future partner at Melvin, O’Reilly, and Gaines, quite possibly the youngest in our history.”

  “Shoot for the moon and you’ll still end up among the stars,” I say, trying to match his level of enthusiasm.

  “You up for a round of golf on Saturday? I’ve got a tee time with Brandon and Lawrence at nine. Could use a fourth.”

  “I’d love to, but camp doesn’t end until Sunday. It wouldn’t look good to the client if I skipped a full day of sleuthing to go golfing.”

  Joel aims a finger gun at me. “And that level of commitment is why you’re going to be our next partner.” He grabs a bagel on his way out.

  A long shadow passes over me as I reach my office.

  “Hey, Matt.”

  “Didn’t think you’d make it, Chucky.”

  “I know.” I bite into my bagel and chew. “Good thing my assistant likes me.”

  “You look like hell, and you smell even worse.”

  “It’s called fun, Matt. You should try it sometime.” I bump his arm aside and enter my office. I figure while I’m here, I may as well catch up on emails and other messages. I spend the next hour working until I’m sure there’s nothing else that requires my immediate attention.

  The landline buzzes and Jeannie’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Your mother’s on the line. Should I take a message?”

  I pick up the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

  “There you are. I’ve called you a couple times, but you haven’t answered.”

  “I’m working offsite for a client. Cell service isn’t great.”