Magdalene by Moriah Jovan Page A

husband and we’ll get it done. Consider your evening
free.”
    Mitch had just turned his phone off when a
flash of orange at the door of Babbo caught his eye.
    “Cassandra!” he called, panicked, and
trotted toward her.
    She stopped. Gave him a cool glance.
“Yes?”
    “I’m sorry. That was a church call. I had to
take it.”
    “Had to?” she asked smoothly.
    Mitch opened his mouth to protest, but no,
he hadn’t had to. That was why he had two counselors and a female
counterpart with her own counselors, and an entire hierarchy of
people who could have dealt with it without involving him. “I’m
sorry. It’s...complicated. I’ve— My ward—parish—they’ve gotten used
to my availability—” He needed to shut up.
    “You’re a brilliant man, Mr. Hollander,” she
murmured. “You know how to make yourself unavailable, and I don’t
take second place to anyone. By the way,” she said as she turned
and walked away from him, “I am busy Friday.”
    His nostrils flared. “Cassandra—”
    “I didn’t pay the tab, so you’d best see to
it.”
    “Cassandra—”
    “Good night, Mr. Hollander.”
    Mitch wanted to howl, but didn’t. As usual.
“Happy early birthday, then.”
    She stopped cold and stood motionless for
long seconds. Her head bowed. He watched, his heart pounding in his
ears, wondering if...
    “You had me investigated,” she said quietly
over her silver-mink-clad shoulder, her breath white in the cold
air.
    “Of course I did,” he said, exasperated.
“I’d be an idiot not to.”
    “So you know everything.”
    “Not everything I wanted to know, no.”
    “My ex-husband? My ex-father-in-law? My
divorce?”
    “Yes, yes, and yes.”
    “Police reports? Criminal trial transcripts?
Financial records?”
    “Those too.”
    “My client list?”
    “You didn’t sell it. Did you destroy
it?”
    “I’m not that stupid.”
    “That’s a relief.”
    “The people on it don’t share your
opinion.”
    “I wouldn’t think so. Couldn’t get your
medical records, either.”
    She waved a hand. “Well, I don’t have any
cooties, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m a professional.”
    “Trust in Allah, but tie your camel.”
    “Fine. I’ll get tested again and send you
the results.”
    “Much appreciated.”
    “So knowing what you do know, why did you
ask me out?”
    “You’re a brilliant woman, Ms. St. James,”
he said, hope seeping back into his soul. “You know what that
means.”
    “It could mean anything. Like...pity.”
    “I don’t drive two hundred miles round trip
to have intimate dinners at chic restaurants with people I
pity.”
    “Slumming, then.”
    “No. You’re slumming. I’m the one
from the wrong side of the tracks.” He saw the corner of her mouth
twitch. “And what did your people find out about me?”
    She released a resigned sigh. “That you have
a PhD in metallurgical engineering from Missouri S&T. That your
wife had a rare and devastating form of multiple sclerosis. That
your daughters were missionaries for your church in Moscow and Hong
Kong, respectively, although I can’t remember which went where.
That you have one child—a boy—still at home. That I’m the first
woman you’ve been interested in since your wife died last year and that she was the only woman you’ve ever had sex with.
That you have lived a very boring life and that you seem perfectly
happy to wallow in your boringness.”
    He laughed, feeling lighter than he had in
weeks. Months. “And yet, you accepted my invitation. Why?”
    She turned almost fully then and looked at
him, a smile creeping up on her. “I honestly don’t know.”
    “Cassandra. Could we please go back in and
finish our meals? I’m still hungry.”
    “Turn your phone off.”
    “I did.”
    “Did you get your crisis taken care of?”
    “Would it make any difference?”
    “No. I come first. Always.”
    Mina never would have made such a demand,
and Cassandra’s arrogance had Mitch aching.
    He offered