Chapter Eight
Enzo
“Come on, Blanca.” I hold the phone to my ear and swivel my chair around to look out at the Manhattan skyline. It’s a gloomy spring day and I’m thankful my lunch will be delivered so I don’t have to go out in the rain.
“What, did you lose at rock, paper, scissors?” my smartass sister asks.
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“Because this is the stupidest idea the three of you have come up with and my assumption is that you guys played rock, paper, scissors to see who had to tell me and you lost—again.”
“Again? I don’t lose any more than they do.”
Rain pelts the glass, and unbidden, the vision of a drenched Annie Stewart comes to mind. I close my eyes to try to clear my vision, but all I can picture is a white see-through blouse when she returns.
“Yeah, you do, but tha
