Page 17 of Insidious Threats
Well, usually. This morning, she had been a teensy bit distracted by the looming meeting while he yammered about Landon Lewis’ documents. She’d have to make it up to him later.
“So, what’s good here?” Maisy asked, directing the question to Naya, who’d chosen the spot.
“Everything.”
Sasha closed her menu. “In that case, do we want to eat tapas style? Get one of every starter and share them? I’m ravenous.”
“That works,” Maisy agreed.
“Sounds good,” Naya seconded. “And a drink to toast to Maisy’s money finally coming through.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it. But that won’t stop me from drinking to it.” She giggled.
Naya took off her suit jacket and hung it from the hook on the end of the booth. Sasha wriggled out of her cardigan and passed it to her to hang up. Maisy gathered her shoulder-length golden curls into a loose ponytail and secured it with a hair tie. They were ready to dig in.
Damon materialized to take their beverage orders and left with their meal orders as well. He returned a moment later with their drinks, a dish of bright green olives, and a stack of warm pita bread with a saucer of herbed olive oil for dipping.
Maisy sipped her white wine and then broke off a corner of a grilled pita. As she dragged it through the olive oil, she asked, “Well? What do you think Mickey made of Sasha’s evil twin?”
“Evil twin?” Sasha gave her a blank look.
Naya arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow and smirked. “Be for real, Mac. You must’ve noticed that Amanda Teale-James is five foot nothing and weighs about a hundred pounds. Wasn’t it like looking in a mirror?”
“Are you saying all White women look alike, Naya?” Sasha deadpanned in return.
Maisy choked on an olive. “I can’t believe you just said that,” she muttered after Naya pounded her on the back.
Sasha raised a hand and ticked off the differences between her and Amanda Teale-James. “Exhibit A, she is obviously childless because she has the time and energy to maintain a short pixie cut with professional lowlights, whereas I just trimmed my split ends myself and have been using a colored hair pencil I picked up at the pharmacy to cover my roots until I can get into see Christos. Exhibit B, she was wearing stiletto boots. In Pittsburgh. In January. She clearly has no regard for her orthopedic health. Unlike me.” She raised her foot and waggled her sensible low-heeled pumps at them. “I rest my case.”
“There’s nobody more annoying than a convert who’s found religion,” Naya told her. “Spare us your pious sensible shoe spiel. We’ll be impressed when you empty your closet of five-inch heels and not before.”
“Preach,” Maisy said to Naya. Then she turned to Sasha. “Look down.”
Sasha did as directed, and Maisy leaned over to peer at her part.
“That’s not bad,” she murmured. “I might have to pick up one of those pencils in honey blonde.”
“What? You, of all people, have time for a salon appointment. Wait, don’t tell me. Is Jordana keeping you chained to your desk?”
They were laughing when Damon returned with the first round of tapas. Steaming hot platters of mouth-watering stuffed grape leaves, creamy tzatziki, smoky baba ganoush, and tangy hummus, accompanied by another tower of fresh pita covered the table.
He refilled their wine goblets and water glasses and told them to dig in. The instruction was unnecessary. All conversation stopped while they passed plates and portioned out servings.
After several bites, Maisy returned to the question she’d been asked before the first plates arrived. “It’s not that I don’t have time for a hair appointment, it’s just …,” she dropped her voice. “Everyone knows I’ve been getting my hair done at Locks on Fifth for years. I’ve said it on the air at least a dozen times.”
“Okay? And?”
“And, what if … what if whoever hired Detective Colchis and Zane Novak to kill Landon decides to come after me?”
Naya’s eyes widened, and she froze, a grape leaf suspended in mid-air. “Have you gotten any weird phone calls? Noticed anyone following you? Anything like that?”
“No, nothing. I mean, not since my house was broken into. But the police think that was Colchis searching for Landon’s phone and laptop.”
“And Colchis is in custody,” Sasha reminded her.
“I know. But realistically, a dirty cop like him is almost guaranteed to have contacts on the street. Bad people. I mean, he’s the one who recruited Zane.”
Sasha gnawed at her lower lip. Maisy wasn’t wrong. But spending your entire life looking over your shoulder and refusing to visit your hairdresser was no way to live.
