Unfortunately, the view was lost on Misha as she was currently engaged in an agitating phone conversation with her best friend.
“Well, I had nothing to do with it,” Riley insisted. “And you knew Jas and Molly were planning it when we were all out at Vic’s ranch.”
Misha slumped against the booth as her memory freshened.
“And they probably just invited everyone who was out there. Anyway…”
“Anyway…?” Misha prompted as she straightened. “Riley?”
“I mean it’s…it’s understandable that Molly would invite you and probably Talib, too. Anybody can tell there’s still emotion there.”
“Well, I haven’t—”
“Now hold on, just hold it.” Riley’s voice was near a whisper. “I don’t even think you or Talib are aware of what you give off. In my very humble opinion, I say you guys should at least talk it over, lay all your cards on the table. Maybe that’s all it’d take to start moving past all the drama.”
“Easy for you to say.” Misha rolled her eyes at her laptop resting on the table.
“Hey, I’ve been there, remember?”
“I remember.”
“So let me share what I’ve learned, okay? Maybe you can get some use out of it. Heck, put it to use tonight at Vic’s dinner party.”
“Crap.”
“You forgot about that, didn’t you?”
Very much so, Misha silently confessed to herself. The New Chronicle had put together a celebration to honor its former employee and his first year as a professional basketball player.
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Where are you, anyway? What’s all that background talking?”
“I’m gonna try to help Coyt fine-tune his revisions to some of his pieces.”
Riley laughed. “Good luck with that.”
Misha nodded, thinking of their overly descriptive junior staff writer. “Anyway, we’re meeting over here at Orton’s.”
“Well, I’ll let you get to it, then. Think about what I said, all right?”
Misha promised to do so and was tucking the cell into her bag when she looked toward the café’s entrance for Coyt. She found Talib Mason entering instead, along with two men she didn’t recognize.
“More hot water for your tea, ma’am?”
Misha looked away quickly from the front of the restaurant and barely nodded to the waiter’s offer. She thought about the invite tucked away inside her purse and wondered if Talib had gotten one. He probably had a string of women to choose from as his date. She tried to deny the stab of jealousy the thought evoked.
Risking another glance, she saw Talib and his group had moved on. Just as well. Sighing, she turned to her laptop and focused on one of Coyt’s pieces.
Talib settled for hot tea while his companions asked for black coffees.
“We think Duck’s a phenomenal guy—phenomenal stamina, phenomenal intelligence—simply phenomenal.”
The more “phenomenal” Ducker Conrad sounded, the more certain Talib became that Wade Casey was at his wit’s end.
“He’s giving you trouble, I assume?”
The vice president of the Nevada Blaze appeared to lose some of the stiffness in his shoulders. “We’d like to keep this quiet, Talib. No need for Duck to get wind and get bent out of shape.”
“More than he already is?” Talib asked.
Benny Austins chuckled. “You got a way with the kid, Tal. Everybody knows that. It could go a long way if you step in here.”
“What problems are you having with him exactly?” Talib asked the Blaze’s general manager.
Benny exchanged a frustrated glance with Wade and raised his shoulders slowly. “The kid just flips, Tal. Breaks bad over the simplest instruction. The coaches are almost fed up. You know how that kind of unrest can affect the rest of the players. And in that case there’s only one solution.”
Talib’s grimace remained in place when the waitress returned with their hot tea and coffee. It could be an agent’s nightmare working to place an athlete once word spread of attitude trouble. The situation could turn into a nightmare regardless of talent or the reasons behind the unrest.
Wade Casey leaned forward. “Don’t get us wrong, Talib. We want to keep Ducker with the team. He’s got the skill and smarts to be one of the greats—all the coaches think so.”
“If you and Ash could try talkin’ to him,” Benny urged, while lacing his coffee with an obscene amount of sugar.
“Maybe the fact that you guys are aware of what’s going on might help him get on the good foot,” Wade added.
“We’ll try.” Talib knew the promise was empty. It’d take more than he and Asher simply being aware of the trouble to do the trick with Ducker Conrad.
The waitress returned then for orders, but no one had even glanced toward the oversize menus on the table. The men focused on deciding their lunch meal and quiet settled all around.
Not surprisingly, Talib’s attention returned to Misha. He’d spotted her three seconds after he’d cleared the café’s front door. His conversation with Asher replayed silently. It hadn’t veered far from his thoughts since that morning.
The possibility of her seeing someone was one he’d refused to entertain during the past six years. Dwelling on that particular possibility was dangerous and pointless to boot. And now? Now, it was just as dangerous but worthy of acknowledging.
And what then? Would he bulldoze his way over any other who thought to put up a fight for her? Would he back away and let her stroll off into happily-ever-after with someone else? While he wouldn’t consider himself as coarse as to follow through with bulldozing over some unsuspecting soul, walking away wasn’t an option. Walking away didn’t even merit contemplation.
Moments later, though, Talib was revisiting his decision not to bulldoze some unsuspecting soul. He watched one stroll right up to Misha’s table and take a seat.
The lunch meeting with the Nevada Blaze execs ended a little over half an hour later. Talib waited at least fifteen minutes past that. He was glad the café didn’t serve alcohol until after 5:00 p.m. or he’d have downed at least six stiff drinks while watching Misha across the dining room with her date.
Instinct told him it was all probably work-related. More than once he saw them referring to her laptop. Sadly, common sense rarely prevailed during moments like this. Talib commended himself on at least having enough sense to wait until the poor sap left the restaurant. He left the waitress a hefty tip and headed toward Misha who was packing up to make her exit.
“Good afternoon.”
She prayed he hadn’t noticed her jump at the sound of his voice. Having already figured he’d not pay a visit to her table, she’d let her guard down. “Afternoon,” she managed.
He scanned the booth. “Am I interrupting?”
“I’m just finishing up.”
“May I have a minute?” He was already sliding into the seat across from her. “Will I see you tonight at Vic’s party?”
“Well.” Misha cleared her throat as if that would ease the pressure of her heart slamming hard and fast against her rib cage. “Since the