CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Not like you to be late,” Rey commented over a huge cup of take-out coffee. She sat in one of the blended-leather chairs at the black pedestal table in the main office, a pumpkin-sized muffin perched on a paper plate before her.
“Not late,” I muttered, dropping my new Jones New York hooded raincoat on one of the rattan sofas and stepping into the “sort-of” kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee. “It’s not even nine.”
“Usually, you’re in before us.”
I glanced around.
“She dropped by Mink’s,” Rey said sourly, then shrugged. “How’d your date go last night?”
“It wasn’t a date, silly,” I chided, removing a small carton of milk from the fridge and checking the date. Today. Hmmmm. I sniffed. Hmmmm.
“He doesn’t want to get back together?”
I watched coffee drip-drip-drip into t
