Page 51 of Token

“TheGlobeisn’t running the original story about Fields Literary Agency,” Kennedy replied, smiling. “What’s not to be happy about?”

After she’d gotten home last night, she’d received an email from the reporter that he was taking the story in the direction she’d suggested. When Kennedy called Ainsley with the news, the woman couldn’t have been more grateful or relieved.

Mina took a careful sip of her coffee before answering. “Right now, there’s a lot I could be unhappy about.” Her expression turned downright sinister. “Did you know that if I killed my boyfriend in a crime of passion, I could get as little as eight years in jail? Which would you advise, state or federal prison?”

Kennedy halted in front of the sink, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “That sounded awfully thought-out.” Smothering a laugh, she opened the cupboard, grabbed her mug, and gave it a thorough rinse. “Please don’t tell me we’re going to have to get another client coordinator and I’m going to have to schedule monthly visits to some prison upstate. My weekends are full enough as is. And I don’t think orange is your color. It would wash out that gorgeous complexion of yours.”

Despite her narrowed glare, Kennedy could tell Mina’s ire wasn’t directed at her. “The bastard cheated on me.” Her fingers tightened meaningfully around the handle of her mug. “In our apartment. In ourbed.” Moral outrage at the former and seething rage at the latter.

“In your bed?” Kennedy’s voice rose to a squeak. That brought it to a whole new level of hurt, betrayal, and humiliation. “He could have at least had the decency to do it at her place or book a room.”

Mina’s brown eyes stormed. “He hasnodecency. He’s a pig. And I wasted three years of my life I’ll never be able to get back on that jerk.” She gave her head a furious shake. “I’m not going to hear the end of it from my parents. They told me to stay away from those American boys.”

“Aren’t his parents from Pakistan too?” That was where her parents were from. Mina and her older brother were born and raised in Brooklyn.

“But he wasn’t raised there. As my mother says, he’s beenAmericanized,” she said, mimicking her mother.

Kennedy had met Addy at the Christmas office party last year, and he couldn’t be more “Americanized” than Mina herself. She didn’t know what things were like in Pakistan, but when it came to her clothing, hairstyle—an adorable shoulder-length bob—and makeup, Mina was a New Yorker through and through.

“They can’t actually believe that menraisedin Pakistan don’t cheat on their girlfriends or wives?” Kennedy retrieved milk from the refrigerator, checked the date to make sure it was still good before pouring some into her coffee.

Mina let out a disgruntled groan. “The man living with their daughter better not.”

“Men are the same all over. It’s all about finding the right one.”

“Yeah, and now this weekend I’m going to have to tell them I’m not living in sin anymore. My mother was sure we were getting engaged this year.” Tears filled her eyes as she whispered, “So did I.”

Kennedy stopped what she was doing and hurried to the table. Putting her arms around Mina’s shoulders, she gently smoothed her hair. “Oh, sweetheart, everything will work out. Addy’s an idiot. He doesn’t deserve you. But don’t worry.One day you’ll find someone who does.”

Mina rested her head on Kennedy’s stomach, her arms circling her slender waist. After a bit, she slowly pulled away. “Men are pigs. As if I’d want another one of those,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes. “I told him he has to give me money to buy a new bed, and to take the one he screwed his girlfriend on when he moves out.”

“Good for you. Do you think he will?”

“No, but after I kicked him out last night, I transferred three thousand dollars from our joint account into mine. That should cover it. I left two hundred for his moving expenses.” By the expression on Mina’s face, that seemed to provide her with a measure of grim satisfaction.

With that kind of money, he’d be able to rent a U-Haul for a few hours and supply a couple of his friends with pizza and beer in exchange for the use of their strong backs and arms.

Pushing back the chair, Mina stood. “Anyway, enough of my depressing life. I sent you an email about Roger O’Brien. I was able to get in touch with the Simmonses. They heard about his problems and said they’d be happy to go on record about what a sweet child he was and how he’d always been kind to them.”

“That’s great. I’ll let his coach know. The team will want to get someone out there to talk to them. Stage some sort of event with Roger and the Simmonses.”

Zion had contacted her about their meetup at the sports bar. Said things went well. That they’d hit it off. Fans had taken pictures and posted them on social media. The majority of the feedback had been positive. A number of Black reporters appreciated that Roger was making an effort. Most important, the press wasn’t talking about him anymore and calls to have him kicked out of the league had been reduced to a dull roar. Silence was success.

“And I’m already working on finding out all I can about your nine o’clock. Not much out there on social media, though.”

“Whatever you find for now is fine. Hopefully, he’ll give us more to work with after our meeting.”

The next hour flew by, and before Kennedy knew it, Joseph Russo walked into her office. And plunged her into comb-over hell. She tried not to gawk at what must have been a painstaking arrangement. Single strands of hair were never meant to perform that much work.

Hairstyle aside, the news producer was physically imposing, his heavyset frame easily topping six feet. He was fifty if he was a day and moved as if he carried the weight of his newsroom on his meaty shoulders.

After polite greetings were quickly dispensed with, they sat and regarded each other like fellow gladiators readying for battle. Their goal was the same, but their method would inevitably differ. Kennedy could guarantee that.

“Before you say anything, I want you to know that, despite what’s being said about me, I have no racial animus toward anyone. And I’m not a sexist or a bigot or a misogynist or homophobic.”

They did that a lot, her clients, coming out of the gate as if getting the first word in edgewise would give them the advantage in theI’m the least racist person you’ll ever meetcompetition, and she was the presiding judge. And she didn’t know if he’d just rattled off a list of his possible offenses or was simply being an ass. Neither was a good sign.

But Kennedy had a job to do, and hoped her smile conveyed that any fire that landed in his vicinity was the friendly variety. “And now that we have that out of the way, Mr. Russo, I’m going to tell you one thing about me. I make it a rule never to judge someone based on what they say because people have a tendency to obfuscate or minimize their actions in these sorts of situations. I assess them by what they do. Our motto here isShow Don’t Tell—that is, unless we’re putting out a carefully worded and properly scrutinized statement.” To that, she sent him awink and nudgesmile. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

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