He nodded, mouth setting in a grim line. “I should have expected that. You’re – well, you’re you. Of course you’d be seeing someone. Is it serious?”
Was it? She wanted it to be. She couldn’t believe how much she wanted it to be, continually shocked at the tug of heartstrings she’d thought long withered and untouchable. “Yes.”
He nodded again. “Well.” Set his coffee on the table, braced his hands on his thighs and prepared to stand. “I guess I’ll be–”
“We can still have lunch.”
He got to his feet, and smiled down at her, not bitter, but much dimmer than before. “Maybe tomorrow? I’ve…um. Well.” He gestured to the door.
“Yes, of course. Just give me a ring, or leave word with Melanie if I can’t answer.”
“Right. Well. Have a good rest of the afternoon.” He went to collect his jacket, and she didn’t get up and walk him to the door. He turned back before he left, as he straightened his lapels. “Be sure to have some lunch for yourself, though.” Upward quirk of his lips, bit of teasing. “Wouldn’t want you wasting away.”
“Hm.”
The door shut behind him.
Shep said, “Damn. Rip his heart out and stomp on it, why don’t you?”
She turned to him with a snort. “Do you want me cheating on your friend?”
“Hey.” He held up a staying hand, coffee cup in the other. “Toly ain’t a friend of mine.”
She arched a brow. “Perhaps you’d like to have lunch with Greg, then. Console him. You two looked awfully chummy.”
He snorted, and raised his cup. “Nah. Guy’s a douchebag.”
Raven chuckled, and stood. “He’s not wrong about eating, though. I’ll have Melanie fetch us something from the canteen. What would you like?”
“Ribs?” he asked hopefully.
“Do you honestly think we serveribshere?”
“Well I ain’t eatin’ a cucumber sandwich or any rabbit food shit like that.”
“Shepherd, do you have an old lady?”
“No. Why?”
“Only curious. Though I’m afraid some mysteries solve themselves.”
“I…hey!”
~*~
“How is it that you speak Russian?” Ilya said when they were all crammed into a back booth, cloudy glasses of vodka in front of them.
“Do you really wanna know that?” Tenny asked, still playing American, even if they’d guessed he wasn’t. No sense flashing his real voice around for everyone to hear. “Or do you wanna talk business?”
The midsized one, Serge, said, “You were with that Alpine bastard.” An accusation, lip curled.
“Who? The guy in the hat? I don’t even know his name, man. I just called a number, and got given an address, and he was there. Shifty-looking dude if you ask me.”
The little one, Pavel, Pasha, snarled, “He’s Japanese,” as though it was the vilest insult he could think of.
Something-something warring empires, Korea, China, Russia, yada-yada. Tenny had been all about current events, and never much of one for history.
“He’s creepy, is what he is,” Tenny said with a shrug, and pretended to take a sip of his drink. “But it doesn’t matter: he was just a go-between. You’re the ones I need to talk to, right?” To Ilya specifically: “You’re the Kozlov boss, so if you guys are selling, you can hook me up.”
