shower here, tell her not to order the seafood casserole.”
“Don’t change the subject. You need to drop your vendetta against Anatoly,” Leah said. “If he’s not willing to commit, you should definitely walk off into the sunset without him, but it’s better to do it now instead of later. You don’t need to show him up.”
I turned back to her with surprise. “Since when have you had a problem with revenge?”
“I don’t have a problem with it. I just don’t think you should use it as an excuse to stay close to someone. Especially if you happen to be in love with that someone.”
“I’m not in love with Anatoly!”
“I see. Just because you think about him all the time, get agitated every time you hear his name and can’t get past the fact that he won’t commit to you, that doesn’t mean you’re in love with him, right?” The waiter came back with our check and Leah tossed an Amex card at him without even looking at it. “Like I said, Sophie, you’re a walking case study.”
“Leah, you know how you’re going to start criticizing me behind my back, rather than to my face?”
“Yes?”
“Well, I’m about to make that task easy for you.” I stood up, turned my back to her and walked out.
By the time I was on the elevator going up to Anne Brooke’s top-floor campaign headquarters I was in a better mood. I had spent my life not listening to Leah and I saw no reason to change that pattern now. I was not in love with Anatoly. Furthermore, I knew why I was on this case, and it didn’t matter if my reasons were logical or not. They were still my reasons, and if I wanted to show Anatoly up that was my prerogative. And I wasn’t insisting on staying on this case just so I could be close to him. If that were true I would have told him about this interview rather than trick him into going to Boudin.
The elevator opened, and I put on my most winning smile and was all ready to charm the Brooke campaign workers when I spotted him.
Anatoly’s hands were jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket, a large camera case dangled over his shoulder, and he was engaged in a seemingly casual conversation with Anne Brooke.
That son of a bitch. How had he known? I took a steadying breath and tried to walk (rather than march or stomp) over to where they were talking.
Anatoly’s eyes met mine and the right corner of his mouth turned up. “So,” he said, his Russian accent making the word sound sexier than it had any right to be, “the reporter has arrived.”
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