Eleven
Evan stuck around for a few minutes, kicking back in his chair and smiling pleasantly at Melanie Joan, as though he expected her to serve him tea and cookies.
Melanie Joan glared at him. “Nice seeing you.” She said it pointedly. But either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care.
Spike walked up to where Evan was sitting and loomed over him, his arms crossed over his chest. I had to say, Spike was a damned good loomer. When Evan turned around, a type of fear crept into his eyes—basic and primordial, like a mouse coming face-to-face with a woolly mammoth. He slipped the legal papers back into the tired-looking satchel he had looped over the back of his chair. “I’ll be going, then,” he said.
“Yes,” Spike said. “Yes, you will.”
Evan picked up the satchel and headed toward the door.
“Goodbye, Evan,” Melanie Joan called out.
“Good riddance, Evan,” I said.
After Woodrow left, I turned to Melanie Joan. “Harold said that he used to be different before Greg Scepter took over.”
“He was,” Melanie Joan said.
“I find that hard to believe,” Spike said.
“No, no, Harold’s right,” she said. “He had a real passion for books. We’d talk for hours about some of the treasures he’d find in the slush pile. He seemed to love his job. He even dressed better for work.”
“No way,” I said.
“Well, he was never Idris Elba, but at least his suits were pressed,” she said. “Greggie took over, and now the only thing Evan seems to care about is not making waves. Not getting fired. He’s a sniveling yes-man. He may as well be in the movie business.” She glanced at Tony. “No offense, Antoine,” she said.
“None taken,” he said. “But I will say we’re all pretty well dressed.”
“Antoine?”I said.
“That’s right, Sonya,” Tony said.
I suppressed a smile. “Good memory.”
“Just because I haven’t seen you in a while doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you.” Tony wore an immaculately tailored charcoal suit—probably a Zegna—with a pale blue silk tie that brought out his eyes. “You’re pretty unforgettable, you know.”
I glanced at Spike. He raised an eyebrow in a way that said,Oh, yeah. Now I remember who this guy is.
“How’s Jesse?” Tony asked.
“We’re broken up.”
He grinned. “Playing the field, then?”
“God, how old are you?”
“Hey,” he said. “It’s a timeless expression.”
“Actually, I’m with Richie now.”
The grin dissolved. “Your ex-husband.”
“Ex and now future,” I said.
“I’m the maid of honor,” Spike said.
Tony took a moment, digesting the information. “Richie’s a lucky guy,” he said.
