“Yes, I think that will be best in the mix.... Unfortunately, we’re going to have to wrap up now.” She’s been here far longer than I planned, and the conversation has started to drain me. “I need to take care of a few other things before dinner.”
“Of course,” she says crisply, beginning to gather her belongings—the stack of papers, manila folders, a fancy rollerball pen. “Thanks for taking the time today.”
“And thankyou. For the soup—and the flowers.” I tug my phone from my sweater pocket to check if Hugh’s texted.
“Oh good, you found it,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
“Your phone.”
“Um, no, this is a spare.” I don’t recall mentioning my phone was MIA. “How did you know it was missing?”
“Because you called on Tuesday to say you lost it.”
10
Ifreeze. I spoke toSashaon Tuesday? Does this mean she knows something about my whereabouts that day? For a moment I sit tongue-tied at the table, not sure how to play this.
“Don’t you remember?” she asks.
“The two of us speaking?” I say finally, trying to fake awareness.
“No, you called the reception desk at WorkSpace. I guess you wanted to let Nicole know you’d lost your phone, but she’d already left for vacation so you talked to Carson. He told me when I dropped by later that day.”
I pick up the notepad I’ve been using and tap it lightly on the table a couple of times, a feeble attempt at nonchalance.
“Did he mention where I was calling from?”
“No, he didn’t,” she says, clearly wondering why I’m in the dark.
“That was the day I started coming down with something, and the afternoon is a bit of a blur.”
She furrows her brow. “Maybe you should get checked out.”
“Oh, that doesn’t seem necessary. I’m totally on the mend now.”
I feel desperate to learn more, but my gut tells me Sasha’s shared the extent of what she knows, and besides, it wouldn’t be smart to pique her interest any further.
I rise and collect the espresso cups from the table and carry them to the counter. Sasha slips the last of her papers into her nylon Prada tote and rises from the table.
I lead her back to the foyer and retrieve her coat from the closet, and while I’m waiting for her to slip into it, I hear Hugh’s key turn in the lock. Sasha glances quickly toward the door, looking startled. Before I have time to say, “It’s my husband,” Hugh steps through the doorway, reeking of rotisserie chicken and loaded down with a briefcase and two plastic grocery bags. He seems taken aback by the sight of the two of us standing there.
“Hugh, hi,” I say. “This is Sasha Hyatt, the intern who’s been working with me on the podcasts.”
“Oh, right,” he says, dropping the briefcase at his feet so he can shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Sasha spares him the head-to-toe assessment I’ve seen her give other men on a couple of occasions, but he’s definitely gained her attention. She evaluates Hugh’s face as if it’s a designer handbag she’s deciding whether to buy.
“Actually,” she says after a moment, “I think we’ve already met.”
Hugh narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’m drawing a blank.”
“NowI’mdrawing a blank,” she admits. “But somewhere. I never forget a face.”
He shrugs neutrally. “Someone told me the other day that I look like the guy in the new Volvo commercial. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking of. Will you excuse me?”
“Of course,” she says as Hugh hurries with his bags and briefcase into the great room. Sasha appears mildly vexed, as if she senses my husband has charm to spare and she’s been cheated of her share.
