Читать книгу Christmas At Cupid's Hideaway - Connie Lane - Страница 7

Tuesday, Noon

“Gabriel? Hey, it’s me, Latoya. You haven’t checked in since you left the office last week and I’ve got a stack of messages for you. It’s just after noon here in LA and if you’re driving and heading east—well, I’m not even going to try and figure out the time zones. I only know it’s got to be sometime in the afternoon wherever you are. It’s a beautiful July day, but I’ll be eating lunch at my desk. As usual. Give me a call.”

Tuesday, Late

“Gabriel? Latoya. Haven’t heard from you. Dennis says that means you found either a car or a woman you couldn’t resist. Which is it? When you’re done—ah…whatever it is you’re doing—give me a call. There’s plenty of messages here, including a couple from the Tasty Time Burger folks in New York. They’re anxious to talk to you.”

Wednesday Morning

“Me again. Bright and early. At least it is here. That means you can call anytime.”

Wednesday Afternoon

“I know you’re picking up your messages, Gabriel. You never let an hour go by without picking up your messages. Whatever time it is where you are, I can tell you one thing—they’re still working in New York. The folks over at Tasty Time Burger world headquarters have already called three times. And that’s just in the last couple hours. I’m running out of excuses, so do me a favor, will you? Call me.”

Thursday, Very Early

“Gabe? Dennis here. Dammit, Gabe, you’re making me nervous. And Latoya’s practically having apoplexy. She says you’ve never been away this long without checking in. Even that time you headed to Mexico with that what’s-her-name. You know, the one who had her own TV sitcom for a while. If you can check your messages when you’ve got a blond bombshell on your arm, you want to explain why you haven’t done it all week?”

Friday Afternoon

“Dennis again. Why do I feel like I’m talking to myself? They’ve started a pool at the office. A What-Happened-to-Gabe pool. The odds-on favorite is that you’ve been abducted by aliens. Can’t imagine why they’d want you. Stop playing games and give me a call, will you? The Tasty Time Burger folks are riding my tail. I’m running interference for you, buddy, but it’s getting tougher every day and they’re getting antsy. I’ll tell you what, let’s keep this simple. Call them directly. Hum a few bars of the new jingle. Give them some idea of the lyrics. I know, I know, you artistic types, you don’t like to be bothered while you’re working. But there’s only so much I can tell them. I explained that you’d decided to drive to New York—you know, to clear your head and give yourself plenty of alone-time to concoct the best advertising campaign in the history of greasy fast food? I assured them that you’re writing up a storm. I guaranteed them that you’re going to write the greatest jingle you’ve ever written. You are going to do that, aren’t you, Gabe? Gabe?”