Or if it comes to that, there’s enough of us to tackle him in a dark alley, Sera thought darkly. Wonder if they’d be game for a little skullduggery?
It didn’t take long for the BRBs to show how “game” they were.
With claws extended, they tore the tabloid to shreds.
“What a dick!” Aruni was incensed.
“I’ll let my pet rat Rudy loose in his restaurant,” Janice vowed.
“Let’s stage a protest outside and let everyone know what a bully he is,” Syna suggested. “I’ve still got a set of bongos left from the Occupy protests.”
“String him up by the balls, is my vote,” Pauline growled. “I’ve got the twine all ready. The scratchy twine.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times, Pauline, barbed wire’s much better in cases like these,” Hortencia argued as she fastidiously gathered up the shreds of newspaper. “Really gets caught in the—”
A sharp, Gollum-like cough rattled the shop’s windows, announcing the arrival of Ms. Marnie Pyle.
Six hours late, and less than excited to be there, if her expression was anything to go by. The reporter lethargically fished her notepad and digital recorder out of her messenger bag as she eased the front door shut behind her with one foot.
That woman needs an enthusiasm transplant, STAT. “Guys, this is Marnie Pyle,” Sera said formally. “Since she wrote the, ah, profile on Blake’s new restaurant, as well as the original article on Bliss, we asked her to come over so we could address some of the issues Blake raised in his quotes.” Like how he basically called me a frigid hack who wasn’t qualified to serve snack cakes at a supermarket, let alone run my beautiful Bliss. “Marnie, thanks for coming. We expected you a bit earlier, or I would have had my friends come by another time.” Sera rose to shake the woman’s hand, trying not to shudder at the dead-fishiness of her grip.
“Good lord, what’s wrong with her head?” Syna whispered to Aruni as she gawked at the skeletal newcomer. “It looks like one of my son’s Lego action figures!”
Aruni shushed her, smothering a grin.
The reporter barely acknowledged the other women. “Sorry,” Marnie muttered, retrieving her hand as though Sera’s were crawling with cooties. “I was hoping to catch you after hours. I didn’t realize you’d have company.”
“We weren’t sure you’d make it,” Sera replied neutrally, “so we decided to go ahead and have our get-together.”
“I can come back another time,” Marnie offered. Plainly, the prospect pained her.
“Please stay,” Hortencia interjected, switching on the apple-cheeked charm. She turned to the BRBs, who were giving Marnie slitty-eyed stares. “Let’s make Miss Pyle welcome, shall we? She’s here to set the record straight about Blake’s recent remarks,” Hortencia reminded the women pointedly. “Isn’t that right?” Now her gaze skewered the reporter.
Marnie cleared her perpetually clogged throat. “Well,” she demurred, “I’ll take Miss Wilde’s statement anyhow. I can’t promise we’ll publish anything. We’ve got very limited space each week, and we have to save it for original stories. If anything, Miss Wilde’s rebuttal might make a sidebar in the food section, but we’ll see.”
Janice’s waitressing instincts kicked in. “Miz Pyle, take my seat, why don’cha,” she said, hopping up and dusting off her chair for the reporter. “I’ll just cop a squat over here.” She plunked her butt down on an ottoman a little out of the circle of women. “Unless… Serafina, you want us gals to leave so y’all can have your interview?”
Pauline answered for her. “Women, you’re staying. I want Miss Pyle here to understand what my niece is up against, and to hear—in front of witnesses—just how she’s been slandered.”
“Libeled,” muttered the reporter. “Nobody ever gets that. It’s libel when it’s in print—not that that’s what the Chile Paper did. We just quoted the chef’s remarks,” she grumbled. “We’re not responsible for their content.”
With another dry cough, Marnie took the seat Janice had vacated and pulled out her digital recorder and pad. Aruni made way for Sera to sit across from the reporter, strolling with studied innocence to stand near where Friedrich had started bussing tables at the rear of the store. She struck a stretchy yoga pose that just happened to show off her lithe figure to good advantage, smiling sidelong at the barista until he blushed and busied himself with a tub of dirty cups and plates. On Sera’s left, Hortencia patted her knee comfortingly, while Pauline, on her right, chucked her on the shoulder, muttering, “Go get’r, Tiger!” far too loudly in Sera’s ear.
“So,” Marnie said. “You wanted to respond to Chef Austin’s comments, Miss Wilde?”
Shit. What am I gonna say, “Blake’s a big fat liar, waaah?” While that pretty much covered it, Sera didn’t think Lego-head would be any too impressed with the “he pushed me on the playground” defense. She should have been planning her rebuttal to Blake’s slander—excuse her, libel—all weekend, but she’d been a tad distracted by the man she’d fallen crazy in love with. Now was her chance to fight back, and she’d better grab it, prepared or not. Put on your big-girl panties, Serafina, she commanded herself. Say something dignified.
Sera cleared her throat. “Well, yes, I—”
“Hello, ladies,” called a voice from the front of the shop. “Hello, Friedrich.”
All heads turned. Chins rose, bellies sucked themselves in, and hairdos found themselves fluffed.
“Asher!” cried the women.
“Yo, Ash,” Friedrich mumbled, deigning to remove his ear buds and give the taller man a shy smile. There was a definite hint of hero worship in the kid’s expression.
Sera couldn’t blame him. Her heart was suddenly beating a whole lot faster, and a goofy grin spread itself across her face without asking permission. She waved shyly.
Asher strolled over and the BRBs parted, Red Sea–style. He made himself at home on the arm of Sera’s overstuffed chair, stroking her cheek with a fond finger and gifting her with a smile that made her lungs forget how to do their job. In his eyes, Sera could see memories of the weekend they’d shared… and the promise of more pleasure to come.
“Hey, Ash,” she said, voice huskier than normal. “You know all the BRBs, right?” At his nod, she continued with the introductions. “And this is Marnie Pyle, a journalist from the Chile Paper.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Pyle,” Asher said politely, though his eyes never left Sera. His clever fingers began tracing the length of Sera’s arm from wrist to elbow. Sera shivered happily, his caress momentarily hypnotizing her into a pleasure daze.
A sharp cough jolted Sera out of her reverie.
Oh, right. Introductions are supposed to go both ways. But should I introduce him as my landlord, or… Sera decided to keep things simple. “Marnie, this is Asher Wolf.”
“You’re Miss Wilde’s boyfriend?” Marnie asked, displaying the first honest interest she’d shown since she walked in the door. The wide-jowled journalist eyed the tall Israeli speculatively. A bit too speculatively.
Her taste buds might be dead, but her libido’s still kickin’. Sera winced, silently cursing the reporter’s question. Men hated labels. Labels made them squirm and twitch—and sometimes run for the hills. Asher wasn’t a runner—by now Sera knew that much—but despite three unforgettable evenings of romantic dates and nights of passionate lovemaking, they’d yet to have the dreaded, “let’s define our relationship” talk. Sera held her breath, blanking on ways to head disaster off at the pass.