The Prince Of Kuching 8 Now Wha

Rickie sat at a small restaurant with his father's a.s.sistant JoAnne. It was after lunch, and though the café was slowly emptying, lively conversation still vied with the outside sounds coming through the open door and windows. However, Rickie barely registered the noise as he toyed with his durian cake, deep in thought.

A sudden pain in his temple jolted him out of his contemplations. He looked up to see JoAnne hovering over him, her hand moving to poke him again.

"h.e.l.lo!? h.e.l.lo!? Is anyone home?" Her voice was traced with amus.e.m.e.nt underneath the exasperation. Once she realised she had his attention again, JoAnne sat back down.

"So that was a less than stellar meeting, boss. In fact, you haven't been right since you came down the stairs this morning. What happened to you last night?" JoAnne peered over her cup as she tasted her espresso and made a face.

"Nothing," he said, annoyed. JoAnne gave a merry laugh as she added yet another spoon of sugar into her cup, and sipped again. She smiled.

"It couldn't have been nothing," she chided. "At breakfast, you said you met someone interesting at the Estoesta party last night, then clammed up and refused to say anything else about her. And you went all blushy!" JoAnne emphasized with a grand hand gesture, causing a pa.s.sing customer to flinch.

"So what happened? When I called you to remind of the meeting at the waterfront office, you seemed okay, but then you arrived late, which is something you and I both know you hate. And you didn't pay attention to anything that was said today at the meeting. So it's not 'nothing'. Who is she?" JoAnne set her cup on the table with a little thump and stared him down.

Rickie couldn't tell her the truth. All he wanted to do was find someplace to be alone and review the astonis.h.i.+ng news. He took a quick sip of his cappuccino and decided to go on the attack.
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"Don't you need to head back to the house and follow up with my father regarding the meeting? He counts on you to be his eyes and ears while he recuperates." Rickie was proud that his voice stayed neutral.

"I also have a brain," JoAnne's eyes narrowed as she pushed away from the table, "and I also understand Russian, Spanish, and the fact you don't want me to pry. Ok, I get it, but I do love a good mystery. Tch. I'll get the minutes transcribed; and copies for you and your father should be ready by the end of today.

"And, boss," she again gave him a gimlet stare. "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes. It doesn't work with my daughter, and it won't work with you." With that, she walked out. Rickie watched her leave, more of a bossy older sister than an employee, and shook his head.

After paying the tab, he spent some time walking along the water's edge, his mind going back over his conversation this morning on the sidewalk, circling around and coming back to the same fact.

Meaghan Torno. That slip of a woman was the daughter of his former mentors at BKN.