Page 21 of Insidious Threats
A bored male voice answered. “DDV.”
“This is Amanda Teale-James. I’m Mr. Delone’s personal attorney, and I have an assignment for your security chief.”
12
Even though Sasha was certain she couldn’t eat another bite, she readily agreed to share an order of baklava for dessert. As the trio savored the honey-soaked film pastry, accompanied by the hot mint tea Damon had recommended, Maisy daydreamed about how she would spend her imminent fortune.
“I’m thinking I’ll buy that billboard on the hill right outside the studio and plaster my big old face on it, so they can see me every single day—crow’s feet and all,” she cackled.
She evidently had not yet gotten over her producer’s remark that station management suggested she get some “work” done—the inciting event that had started the ball rolling on Maisy’s eventual separation from WACB.
“But, imagine if Preston hadn’t said that?” Sasha mused. “You’d still be co-anchoring the news with awful Chet and dreaming about being an investigative reporter.”
“Mmm, true,” she agreed, licking her sticky fingers. A move only she could pull off without seeming gross or sexual.
“Do you still want to start that independent news station?” Naya asked, turning serious.
She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. I like the podcast format. Jordana has loads of good ideas. And, to be honest, it’s refreshing not to have to worry about my hair and makeup being perfect every time I want to record a segment. That’s probably the biggest difference from television journalism—no primping. Do you know I recorded last week’s trailer in my pajamas? My pajamas!”
“Wait until she frees herself from the tyranny of hard pants,” Naya said as an aside to Sasha.
“Hard pants?”
Sasha shook her head. “The firm’s very casual dress code is still too much for Naya. She’s been campaigning to disallow hard pants, which is what she calls any slacks that have a button. I guess she wants to see Will in a pair of sweats.”
“Scoff all you want. These new lawyers, they don’t wanna be wearing hard pants. Not unless they have a court appearance. It’ll make us more competitive in the job market. Come to McCandless, Volmer & Andrews and do your lawyering in yoga pants!” She cackled at her own nonsense.
Sasha was wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes when Damon appeared at their table.
“Uh-oh, are we making too much noise?” Maisy asked, still catching her breath from cracking up.
“Of course not, don’t be silly. The sound of women laughing is musical.”
Given that they’d been whooping and wheezing, Sasha was certain their server was being too kind. He proffered a square decanter of clear liquid.
“What’s that?” Naya asked.
“Our housemade ouzo. It’s very special. The gentlemen at the table near the window sent it over to aid you in your celebration. Jade will be over with thekanoakiaglasses in just a moment.” He dipped his head, stopping just short of bowing, before walking away.
Sasha sniffed the carafe and her eyes instantly watered. “Smells like paint thinner.”
“Oh, live a little,” Maisy scolded her.
“Remember what Mickey said,” she countered.
Naya waved her hand. “Mickey, Schmickey. Where’s Jade with those glasses?”
And this, Sasha thought, is the dividing line between people who need to wake up with eight-year-olds in the morning, and people who don’t.
She craned her head toward the window. “Who sent it over? Some of Maisy’s fans, I’ll bet.”
They all turned to look. But instead of a couple of besotted podcast listeners, a trio of grim-faced, suited men walked toward their table.
“Hard pants,” Naya grumbled, as they approached.
“And hard everything else,” Sasha responded out of the side of her mouth.
Jade appeared out of nowhere and placed three tall, skinny glasses on the tiled table.
