Jack barely slept a wink that night, not that he was amped up he was putting his plan into action but because he was doing it with her, with Monica, Mon. He was afraid she’d calm down by morning and back out, but he hadn’t ought to of worried. She turned up right on time and raring to go at the West Hollywood coffee shop they’d picked for their office.
“I could hardly sleep,” she said, sliding into the booth across from him, pulling a notebook from her shoulder bag. She flipped it open, and he saw the pages were grids, not just lined like the kind he used to use in school.
The waitress came by, Jack ordered bacon and eggs.
“Just coffee,” said Mon.
“You don’t want breakfast?”
“I think we should color-code everything,” she said.
“You’re not gonna eat?”
“We need to be organized, see?”
