Page 16 of Insidious Threats
“Hit me.”
“Aren’t you the one who always says you’ll know you’ve done your job as a neutral if everyone is equally unhappy with the outcome?”
“I say equally disgruntled, but yeah, same difference. So?”
“So, this was an unequivocal win for us. Don’t get me wrong, we deserve it. Maisy’s entitled to that money, full stop. How’s that square with your goal of spreading the misery evenly?”
Mickey grinned. “That principle doesn’t apply when a smarmy billionaire decides to mess with Pittsburgh’s fan favorite. Have a little hometown pride, would ya’?”
“Fair enough.” She glanced over her shoulder at Maisy, who nodded. Then she turned back to Mickey. “Naya’s making us go to some buzzy new Mediterranean spot for dinner. Care to join us?”
“Saffron?”
Naya nodded.
“Excellent choice; that place is great. But avoid the ouzo. Trust me.”
“That’s evergreen advice,” Sasha told him with a small shudder.
“Ha. You might have a point. But, as much as I appreciate the invitation, I wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”
“You mean that you weren’t impartial?” Maisy asked with a shadow of worry in her eyes.
Mickey scoffed. “No, that I’m off the market. I get spotted with three gorgeous women at a hot spot, and people will think I’m not available.”
Naya shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
He winked, then headed for the door. He paused to look over his shoulder. “Just so you know, Maisy, there’s not a mediator, judge, or jury member in the tri-state area who would’ve sided with Leith Delone in this dispute. Some billionaire man-baby had a temper tantrum and decided to throw his weight around. Well, now he has to pay for it. As my sainted Grandma Joyce used to say, tough titties.”
10
After hanging their coats in the coat room behind the welcome station, the hostess led Sasha, Naya, and Maisy to the table Naya had requested: a booth tucked into an alcove near a private room in the back of the busy Mediterranean restaurant. Despite—or perhaps because of—the bustle of a popular restaurant at the height of the dinner rush, they’d be able to talk in relative privacy here. The clinking of plates and glasses, the lamb sizzling on cast iron platters, and the lively chatter from the surrounding tables all blended with the vibrant instrumental music of drums and mandolins to create something better than silence.
Sasha glanced around the cozy space. The walls were painted a warm shade of blue that reminded her of the sea and complemented the terra cotta floors. Their tabletop was inlaid with white and blue mosaic tiles. A small glass vase of snowy white flowers with bright orange stamens sat in the center.
“These are pretty.” As she slid onto the bench seat, she fingered a petal and eyed Naya, who was a vast repository of horticultural trivia.
She didn’t disappoint. “They’re saffron crocuses. The petals are usually purple. These white ones are rarer.”
“Saffron like the spice?” Maisy wanted to know.
Naya shrugged.
But the hostess smiled as she handed out the menus. “Precisely. The Greeks were the first to cultivate and harvest the stamens for their saffron threads. That’s why chef named the restaurant Saffron.”
“It comes from these flowers?” Sasha marveled. “No wonder it costs so much.”
The hostess nodded politely. “Damon will be over to take your order in a minute.”
Naya and Maisy turned to stare at Sasha when the hostess walked away.
“What?”
“How do you know how much saffron costs? Did you suddenly start doing the cooking at your house?” Maisy asked.
“Or the grocery shopping?” Naya chimed in.
“Ha ha. You know, Idolisten when Connelly talks.”
