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Asha looked at me and back down at the balled up napkin. “What the hell?”
She silently passed the note over to me.
Neatly written in pink lipstick were the words STAY AWAY FROM BRENT OR ELSE.
Chapter 41
ASHA
The note surprised the hell out of us. Who would have expected that sweet-looking woman to be a closet Glenn Close? Saundra wanted to confront them before they got too far up the block but I didn’t think that was the smart thing to do. Obviously Lula wasn’t playing with a full deck and, if she was crazy enough to write the note, then who knew what else she was capable of. I didn’t want to find out. Saundra suggested that I tell Brent that he might have a problem on his hands but I thought, why should I? He’s a lying, cheating bastard and he should learn the hard way.
Kevin buzzed in that I had a phone call from you know who.
“Thanks, Kevin, I’ll take it.”
“This is Asha Mitchell.”
A cleared throat. “Hey, Asha, it’s Brent. How are you?”
“I’m fine and yourself?”
“Good, good. Hey, I just wanted to say . . .”
“One second, Brent, I got someone else on the line. Hold on.”
I sat there with the phone on hold. I wanted him to suffer through this. After going to the water cooler down the hall and getting a Snickers out of the vending machine, I came back.
“Sorry about that, you were saying?”
“I was saying that I wanted to apologize about last night.”
I rolled my eyes at how rehearsed his apology sounded. It’s almost like he quantified the exact pitiful sounding tone and pitch to get my forgiveness.
“I don’t know why you’re apologizing, Brent. We have no commitment, so save that guilt trip for your wife.”
Silence.
“Uh . . . okay. Well, then, can I see you tonight?”
“Sure.”
A deep sigh of relief. “Good, I’ll send a car to take you to the Four Seasons at about five-fifteen.”
“Okay I’ll see you then.” I said calmly.
“Ciao.”
After work it was pouring rain and I ran to the sleek gray Lincoln Town Car and hopped in the backseat. The driver nodded a hello and took me to my destination. As I walked through the cold, geometrically complicated building and up the stairs to the discreet Four Seasons restaurant, all I kept thinking about was how I was going to bring up the ruby earrings.
“Good evening, Ms. Mitchell. How are you?” the maître d’ asked.
“Fine, Lucio, and you?”
“Very well, madame. What is the name of your party and I’ll check the list to see if they have arrived.”
“Uh . . . Davis.”
The maître d’ squinted as he scanned the long list. “Ah, right this way please.”
