Just One Night, Part 2_ Exposed(11)

Barbara nods again and starts to turn before stopping. “Does it matter that Asha showed up late?”

I lift my head. “Excuse me?”

“She wasn’t here in the morning. Apparently she had some kind of appointment. But she was here by noon, and I think she stayed late.”

“Noon,” I repeat.

“Is that important?”

As important as the timing of Judas’s departure from the Last Supper.

I sit back, measure the likelihood of the duplicity. “Two days ago, Dave called the office . . . he was planning a surprise party—”

“Oh, did that go well?” Barbara asks hopefully. “He called me but I couldn’t think of which of our colleagues to recommend as guests, since you really tend to keep your personal and professional lives separate.”

I wince at that. “Why did you tell him to invite Asha?” I ask.

Barbara gives me a funny look. “I told him no such thing. Asha came up to my desk just as I was hanging up. She had sent me some report that she wanted me to print out and have on your desk for the next morning. She asked me who had been on the phone and I told her. That’s all.”

“That’s all? She didn’t talk to him? He didn’t invite her to the party?”

“Not that I know of . . .” Barbara’s voice trails off. The rapid blinking of her eyes gives away her nervousness. “I did tell her about the party . . . and I mentioned that it was a surprise party. She didn’t spill the secret ahead of time, did she? I guess I shouldn’t have told her about it at all but it was such a grand romantic gesture . . . and Ma Poulette is supposed to be a fabulous restaurant. I just had to talk to someone about it. Did I make a mistake? If so I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

I hold up my hand to stop her. “Barbara, you didn’t do anything that merits an apology.” And I’m beginning to suspect that what Asha has done is so extreme that all the apologies in the world won’t make a damn bit of difference.

“Let Asha know that I need to see her.”

“Before the meeting?”

“Now.”

A few minutes later Asha walks in, all grace and conceit. She’s been expecting my summons and it’s her anticipation that gives her away.

I stand at my desk and gesture to a chair. Carefully she takes it, her eyes scanning the room, looking for something she apparently isn’t finding.

“Did you hear I was leaving?” I ask.

Her mouth twitches, the slightest giveaway of the smile she’s suppressing. “I’ve heard nothing. Are you?”

I reclaim my seat, lace my fingers together. “So Dave didn’t tell you?”

Ah, there it is, a flash of worry. “Dave . . . your fiancé? Why would Dave tell me anything? I barely know him.”

“But you knew him enough to get him to invite you to our engagement party.”

She shrugs, suddenly bored. “Only because he called the office to see if there was anyone from here he should be inviting. I told him he should invite me. That was the first time I’ve ever spoken to him.” She leans forward; her dark eyes are pools of mystery and cynicism. “Are you leaving, Kasie?”

“He called the office,” I say, refusing to allow her to drive the conversation. “Did he call you specifically?”

“No, he called your assistant,” she says, now clearly exasperated. “Why does any of this matter? Have you been asked to leave or not?”

I smile. Asha’s off her game. Today she’s more impatient than devious. “I never said anyone asked me to leave. Why on earth would you come to that conclusion?”

She hesitates; her error was a stupid one. Unworthy of her. I watch as she gathers her thoughts, calms her mind, and draws herself up. “You would never leave of your own free will,” she says simply. “If you’re leaving, it’s because you’ve been asked to.”

“I’m good at my job, Asha. You acknowledged as much the other night. So again, why would I be asked to leave?”

Again a shrug, but this one more practiced. She’s thinking, perhaps wondering how far she can backpedal before I have her crashing into a brick wall. “Politics are funny” is the phrase she settles on. “Sometimes people . . . perfectly competent workers, are let go because they don’t fit within the structure as well as it was originally presumed they would. But I’m just speculating, Kasie. You’re the one who suggested you were leaving.”

“Did I suggest that?” I ask. I keep the sarcasm light, almost playful. “And here I thought I just asked a question,” I say with a smile. “I’m more than a competent worker, but let’s not spend time debating things we both know. In fact . . . now that I think about it, there’s a lot of things we both know, aren’t there?”