“Seriously, though. What’s your beef with Ted Colston?”
“God, where do I begin? The first time I met him, he was new to the firm, so he didn’t know who I was. When I walked into the conference room for a meeting, he automatically assumed I was a secretary, there to take notes and serve coffee. Before I could even sit down, he proceeded to tell me how he took his coffee—cream with one sugar.”
Paulo chuckled. “Uh-oh. What’d you do?”
Daniela’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. “I got his coffee and served it to him with a smile, sweet as you please. Everyone else was just staring at us, like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. A few people were holding back grins, ’cause they knew Ted was going to feel like a real dumb-ass when he found out who I was. After one of the other attorneys opened the meeting with a few announcements, he turned it over to me, making a point of introducing me as Senior Associate Daniela Santiago.” She laughed, an infectious, rollicking sound. “You should have seen the look on Ted’s face once he made the connection. I thought he was going to shit all over his Armani suit! It was priceless.”
Paulo grinned. “What a gringo.”
“Tell me about it. Before I got down to business, I looked him in the eye and told him that one day, after my parents retired from practicing law, my sisters and I would be in charge of running the practice, and if he was fortunate enough to still be working for us, he could pour my coffee.”
Paulo roared with laughter.
Daniela smiled smugly. “He’s been kissing my ass ever since that day. But I know deep down inside he believes that the only reason I made partner is that my parents own the firm. But I worked my ass off to get where I am, and I had to pay my dues just like everyone else. If that chauvinistic, self-serving prick wants to believe otherwise, then—”
“Fuck him,” Paulo finished calmly.
“That’s right!”
The two cousins grinned conspiratorially at each other in the mirror.
Suddenly Daniela’s eyes lit up. “Hey, I’ve got an idea! Let’s go to the Breakfast Klub when you finish getting ready.”
“This morning?”
“Yeah. We haven’t been there in months, and I’ve been seriously craving some wings and waffles.”
“Sounds good, but not today. I need to head to your office this morning and start interviewing Maribel’s coworkers, including your friend Colston.”
“It’s not even seven o’clock yet. We can have breakfast and be at the office by nine. More people will be in by that time anyway. Come on, Paulo,” she cajoled, clasping her manicured hands together in a gesture of supplication. “It sounds like you’re going to have a pretty full day ahead of you. Might as well start it off right with a lip-smacking, rib-sticking breakfast at our favorite place. Can’t you just taste those wings and waffles? The catfish and grits? Mmm-mmm, good.”
Paulo grinned. She did have a point. Tasked with a new homicide investigation, he had no doubt that he was in for a very long day; he’d be lucky if he managed to squeeze in a lunch break, today or any other time this week. And the food served at the Breakfast Klub, a popular restaurant near downtown, was second to none.
“Okay,” he agreed.
Daniela whooped with delight. “Hurry up and get dressed so we can go,” she said eagerly, heading from the bedroom. “I can’t wait to tell you about the cute guy I met in New Mexico. I want to get your advice about long-distance relationships.”
Paulo chuckled dryly, wondering when she would come to the realization that when it came to relationships, he was the absolute last person on earth to be dispensing advice. To her or anyone else.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, November 10
“I just don’t understand it.”
Tommie glanced up from shaking pepper on her grits to smile quizzically at the man seated across the table from her. “What?”
Zhane Jeffers gestured expansively toward the thick Belgian waffle and fried chicken wings piled on her plate, along with a side order of buttery grits. “How do you eat the way you do and still keep that itty-bitty waist?” he said wonderingly.
Tommie laughed. “I’m a dancer.”
Zhane snorted. “So am I, honey, and there’s no way I could maintain this svelte figure if I pigged out the way you do. As if the waffles and wings weren’t fattening enough, you had to order grits, too?” Incredulous, he shook his head, neat black dreadlocks brushing his shoulders. “Your metabolism must be fierce.”
Tommie grinned. “At least for now. Knock on wood,” she said, rapping her knuckle on the smooth cherry table. She ate a forkful of waffle and let out a deep, appreciative sigh. “Mmm, that is sooo good. You don’t know what you’re missing, Zhany.”
“Oh yes, I do,” he retorted, lifting a cup of creamy coffee to his mouth. “High cholesterol, high blood pressure, clogged arteries, diabetes, obesity, and heart disease. If you don’t believe me, just look at my family. Every last one of them belongs on that reality show for fat-asses who need to lose weight—The Biggest Loser.”
“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” Tommie chided, even as she happily went to work on a chicken wing.
Zhane just smiled indulgently and shook his head at her. He was an attractive, dark-skinned man in his early thirties with the trim, lithe physique of a dancer and the moody temperament to match. He and Tommie had crossed paths for the first time shortly after she’d moved to Houston. She’d been at the grocery store, unconsciously doing a series of pliés while she waited in a long checkout line, when an amused voice behind her had drawled, “Built like an hourglass, but moves like a prima ballerina.”
Tommie had whirled around, hands on hips, a stinging retort on the tip of her tongue for the impertinent stranger. But one look at the dreadlocked black man dressed in drag, and she’d quickly realized she wasn’t being hit on. The appreciation glowing in the stranger’s dark eyes had been that of one dancer admiring another. They’d quickly struck up a conversation, each delighted to learn that the other had performed on Broadway. Zhane, now a member of the Houston Metropolitan Dance Company, had invited Tommie to a friend’s costume party that evening, and they’d been inseparable ever since.
Every Tuesday morning they met at the Breakfast Klub, a hip soul food restaurant best known for its signature dishes—catfish and grits, and wings and waffles. The surroundings were simple yet stylish, with the works of local artists showcased on the walls and both smooth jazz and gospel drifting from the stereo. Even at that early hour the place was packed, every table and booth occupied. On Saturdays the line went out the door and wrapped around the small building.
“Why don’t you blow off your classes today and go to the Galleria with me?” Zhane suggested, spreading raspberry jam on his toast. That was all he’d ordered—coffee and toast. A waste, Tommie thought. “There’s a sale at Neiman Marcus.”
Tommie groaned. “Why are you torturing me, Zhany? You know I can’t go shopping with you. Even if I could cancel the rest of my classes today—which I wouldn’t—I’m on a budget.”
“A
