Lovers and Madmen(Sasha McCandless 4.5) (5 page)

She glanced at Naya and grinned. It didn’t take a
Supreme Court Justice to connect these dots.

Naya stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and
turned to face her.

She exhaled and said, “Mac, he’s offered me the
spot. If I take the LSAT and get into Duquesne, there’s a job at Prescott and a
scholarship waiting for me.”

Naya’s dark eyes were troubled.

Sasha touched her arm as a muttering dog walker
swerved to avoid them, his dogs getting tangled in a crisscross of leashes.

“Hey, let’s keep walking.”

Naya nodded and started to move. Sasha considered
her response.

“Listen, I’m thrilled for you. I mean, if you want
to go to law school. Do you? I thought you hated lawyers.”

Naya gave her a long look. “That hasn’t stopped
you.”

“I don’t hate lawyers. I
did
hate working
at Prescott.”

Even as she said it, Sasha knew it wasn’t exactly
true—what she’d hated was the person she been turning into at Prescott, an
automaton with no personal life, no joy, nothing but billable hours.

 “I know what it’s like there.”

Sasha bit back her first response. Naya may have
worked at Prescott & Talbott for a long time, it would be different, very
different, if she returned as a lawyer.

“I’ll be sorry to see you go, but I can’t afford
to do what they can do for you.”

“I know.”

They crossed the short bridge connecting Shadyside
to East Liberty and clattered down the metal stairs that led to the alley
behind the grocery story.

“It’s an incredible opportunity, Naya. You should
go for it.”

Sasha’s encouragement was sincere. She’d hate to
lose Naya’s talents, but Naya was a friend first, an employee second.

Naya cleared her throat. “I already did.”

“You already did what?”

“I sat for the LSAT last weekend. Will thought we
should wait until we find out if I’ve been accepted to talk to you. But I feel
like a jagoff every time I see you, so I’m telling you now.”

“Thanks for that. But don’t feel guilty—this is
your life, your future. I’m happy for you, just surprised.”

“I figured. Anyway, who knows if I’ll even get in,”
Naya said in a breezy voice. Her relief at unburdening herself with her secret
was palpable.

Sasha pulled a face. “Oh, come on. You’ll get in.”
She wrestled a shopping cart from the corral at the entrance to the store.

“You sound like Will. Uh—speaking of Will, he has
an offer for you, too.”

Naya’s words barely registered as Sasha dug out
her shopping list and guided the cart through the wall of shoppers who stood contemplating
the cut flower display just inside the door.

“Okay, produce and herbs first,” Sasha muttered to
herself.

“Mac? There’s a job for you at Prescott.”

Sasha maneuvered the cart through the throng
gathered in front of the organic strawberries and passion fruits cutely
arranged in heart shapes and checked her list.

“You’re not serious,” she said.

“Will wants to offer you a position as Director of
Community Relations,” Naya said. She watched Sasha’s face for a reaction.

Sasha picked up a bunch of tarragon, smelled it,
realized she didn’t know what it was supposed to smell like in the first place,
and threw it in the cart. Then she turned to face Naya.

“First, Prescott doesn’t
have
a Director of
Community Relations. Second, that sounds exactly like a pencil-pushing,
meeting-attending hell on Earth. Third, since when do you carry Will Volmer’s water?”

Naya’s hands flew to her hips.

Uh-oh.

“I don’t carry water for anybody, thank you very
much. He’s going to call you, but I thought I’d plant a seed for him, because
you can be so dang stubborn, Mac.”

Sasha almost dropped the blood orange in her hand.

“
You’re
calling
me
stubborn? Pot,
meet kettle.”

Naya raked a hand through her hair.

“Point taken. Just … just, listen to him when he
calls you, okay?”

The idea of working for Prescott & Talbott
again stirred up a host of emotions Sasha didn’t even know she had. But at the
moment, she needed to navigate the jam-packed store and gather her groceries,
not engage in an introspective review of her feelings.

“Sure. I’ll hear him out. So, I’m making a
gourmand dinner for my Valentine—are you doing anything for Carl?” Sasha asked,
changing the subject.

“Yeah, I’m making something, too,” Naya said.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Reservations.”

After surviving the
grocery shopping experience, Sasha and Naya agreed they’d earned lunch—complete
with margaritas—at Mad Mex, the Tex-Mex restaurant just down the street from
the office.

Naya headed to the restaurant to get a table while
Sasha lugged her bags through the back entrance leading into Jake’s kitchen.
She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the dumpster as she passed it.
Kathryn’s damaged face flashed in her mind.

She pushed it aside and poked her head into the
kitchen. She spied Jake at the station by the wall trying to teach a new face
how to mince onions.

“Jake, can I use your fridge?” she called, raising
the bags in her hands.

He nodded yes and returned to the lesson he was
giving.

She pulled open the heavy stainless steel doors
and shoved her bags inside.

“Are those your groceries for the big dinner?”
Jake asked.

“Sure are. Thanks for letting me stash them here.”
She pointed her chin toward the man wielding the knife. “He should use a
rocking motion.”

Jake gave her a bemused grin. “Sasha McCandless
giving cooking tips. I never thought I’d see the day.” Then the grin faded. “How’s
Kathryn?”

Sasha checked the time on the big aluminum clock
that hung over the sink.

“She should be in the air by now. I’ll have to
call Connelly and make sure her flight took off. I’m glad she’s leaving town.
If she stuck around, I think she’d have ended up back with Nick. She was
already making excuses for him this morning.”

Jake spoke in a hushed, grim tone. “I’m not
surprised. Ocean told me she texted with Kathryn last night. Kathryn told her
Nick had been sending her a bunch of lovesick apology texts. He even had
flowers delivered here today.”

A vase holding roses and a spray of baby’s breath
was shoved to the side of the wall next to a tower of dirty bus pans.

“He contacted her last night?”

“That’s what Ocean said.”

“Did she say if Kathryn told him she was leaving
town?” Sasha asked, suddenly worried that Nick might have shown up at the
airport.

“Kathryn told Ocean no.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Who knows?” Jake shrugged. “Hey, she left a
jacket here. Can you make sure she gets it?”

“Sure.”

Jake walked to the closet where the staff stored
their belongings and pulled a quilted, hooded jacket down from the shelf. Sasha
draped it over her arm.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll mail her final check to her
folks’ place.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Connelly called while she
was on her way to the restaurant. She jammed her phone to her ear and kept
walking. She passed the same dog walker she and Naya had seen earlier and
nodded a greeting.

“Hey,” she said into the phone.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Did Kathryn get off okay?”

“Yes,” Connelly answered. “I called in some favors
so I could go with her to the gate. I’m glad I did—for a minute there, she
looked like she wasn’t going to get on the plane.”

In the background on Connelly’s end, Sasha could
hear the sounds of traffic—horns, the rumble of tires over potholes, and car
engines.

“Are you in the car?”

“Yes. I have some errands to run this afternoon.
We’re still eating at eight, right?”

“Right. What errands?”

“She made arrangements with some lady in Murrysville
to foster the kitten. I need to go get it and drop it off at her house.”

The kitten. Sasha had forgotten about the kitten.

“Who’s this lady? How’d Kathryn find her?”

Connelly’s voice was amused. “I don’t know—through
some volunteer group. I’m sure she’s reputable. Why—did you want to keep it?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay. Oh, I almost forgot. Keep an eye out for
Costopolous,” Connelly said, the humor gone from his voice.

Sasha stopped and stood just inside the doorway to
Mad Mex. Naya waved to her from a table in the window.

“Why?” she asked.

“He texted Kathryn while we were on our way to the
airport. Said he had a surprise for her. She said she was scheduled to work the
dinner shift tonight, so he may turn up at Jake’s.”

“It was probably the roses.”

“Roses?”

“He had roses delivered to Jake’s today.”

“
Oh.
”

Something about the emphasis in his voice tipped
his hand.

“You forgot today’s Valentine’s Day, didn’t you?”
she said, trying not to laugh.

“I did not.”

“You don’t sound even remotely convincing,” she
told him.

“Every day is Valentine’s Day with you, Sasha,” he
said.

She groaned.

“Goodbye, Connelly.”

“Goodbye, Valentine.”

Sasha spent the afternoon
handling administrative matters—paying vendor invoices, ordering office
supplies, and doing other routine tasks—until her tequila buzz wore off.

Somehow lunch had turned into a margarita-fueled
celebration. They’d toasted to Naya’s having taken the law school entrance
exam; to Sasha’s completion of her French cooking lessons; to Carl and Connelly’s
general awesomeness; and then to some things Sasha couldn’t quite remember.

She’d poured Naya into a cab and sent her home for
a pre-dinner nap, determined to handle the office tasks that would once again
be on her plate when Naya left to go back to P&T. She lost herself in the
mundane details of running a small business and was surprised to look up and
see that the sun was setting. Pale pink streaks lit the gray clouds outside her
window. The church bells chimed faintly.

She drained her glass of water and stood, girding
herself for battle with her fistful of French recipes.

“You can do this,” she said aloud, pumping herself
up as if she were about to spar.

She packed up her bag, put on her coat, and
grabbed Kathryn’s jacket off the guest chair where she’d tossed it earlier.

She hurried into the quiet dining area. Jake’s
served soup, salads, and sandwiches—not exactly romantic dinner fare. She
imagined his traffic would pick back up later in the evening, when couples were
out walking off their meals arm-in-arm. They’d stop in for coffee and dessert.

Jake apparently had the same idea. His employees
were placing bud vases and candles on the tables and rearranging the seating to
heavily favor two-tops.

“I’m heading out,” she said to no one in
particular. She went behind the counter and pushed open the swinging door that
led to the kitchen.

The room was dark and empty. Her footsteps echoed
as she crossed the tile.

Even with Jake’s crew just one room away, it felt
gloomy and isolated. Sasha wasn’t afraid, exactly, but ever since the night
last spring that an FBI agent named Jared Stock had ambushed her in the
then-abandoned deli, Sasha didn’t like being on the first floor of the building
after dark.

You’re being silly
, she told herself, as
she grabbed her groceries from the refrigerator and hurried out into the
parking lot.

The security light was still out, and it took a
moment for her eyes to adjust to the dusk. She immediately regretted her
decision to go out the back way. She, of all people, should have known better.
This route shaved a minute or two off her walk home, but she left herself
vulnerable traipsing across the dark lot with her arms full of packages.

Her heart sounded in her ears. She walked as fast
as her stilettos would permit, turning and checking over her shoulder to make
sure no one was behind her.

She raced past Kathryn’s dirty Civic and into the narrow
alley that connected with the street. Just twenty more steps and the alley
would dump her out in front of the vintage clothing store.

Behind her, a sound like metal screeching against
metal rang out and echoed off the walls. She gripped the bags and whipped
around, ready to drop the groceries and raise her fists, but she saw no one.

Again, the sound of metal on metal filled the air.
She turned to her right and, over the hedge row, saw a barback from the dive
bar next to the clothing store slamming the lid onto a rusty trash can. He
raised a hand in salute, and she let out a shaky laugh.

Get a grip, McCandless.

She exhaled and stepped out on to the sidewalk,
blinking under the glare of the streetlights and neon signs.

She opened the door, and
her condo seemed too still. She realized she was looking for the cat. Funny how
she’d lived over thirty years without a pet, and after one night she’d grown
accustomed to having an animal around.

She dropped the groceries on the counter with a
bang. Turned on the lights. Slipped out of her heels. Washed her hands. Tied
her apron around her waist. Scrolled through her playlist looking for
music—something soulful, sultry, soft. Adam Cohen, she decided.

Connelly had trapped a note under a coffee mug on
the island. She slid the paper out from under the mug.

SMcC

Taking kitty to his/her new home. Back by 8.

Sure you don’t just want to get takeout?

LC

She shook her head. Connelly didn’t even know how
ambitious her plans were—just that she had declared she was making dinner—and
he didn’t have faith she could do it.