Cody’s laptop, which sat open on the island, beeped with an incoming message. Mitch opened the email, which turned out to be a Google Alert set for “Greta Westlake.” “Why are you keeping tabs on my mom?” “I want to make sure she’s not talking shit about you to anyone she shouldn’t be,” Cody said, falling into forward splits. Aww. That was his Codes. Always having his back. “Please.” Mitch clicked on the link. “She doesn’t give me a second thought, unless we lose a game.” The link took him to a job posting for an executive assistant to the CEO of Westlake Waterless Printing, Greta Westlake.
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