Who: Peter and Sasha What: Discussing Employment Where: Noodles & Co., upper east side When: 2:30 PM Warnings: None
After a long morning in court trying to defend a guilty man for shanking a filthy rich man's filthy whore of a wife, Sasha was ready for the break lunch with Peter would afford. She told her secretary, bless the man's soul, to hold her calls and promised him a Mediterranean salad upon her return. She flagged down Goldberg on her way out to tell him she was going to talk to someone that she might forward to him. Goldberg hedged about it, a lot, and she made one of her usual jokes about how he should have been a penny-pinching banker instead of a lawyer. He reminded her she wasn't a partner yet, smacked her upside the head with a hefty accordion folder, and ordered her out. So out she went.
It was foggy and misty and just barely fifty, making Sasha resent her heels while making her grateful for her coat. She tugged it closer to her body, tying the sash in the front, and started down the street. One of those people who could run faster in three inch heels than tennis shoes, she saw no harm in walking a few blocks to Noodles.
At 2:30, the restaurant was mostly empty, for which she was grateful. Plus it would make Peter easier to spot. Or her easier to spot for Peter. Whichever. Sasha placed her order - the usual; they knew her by name - and settled into the booth she preferred. From where she was sitting, she could watch the door and easily see anyone who entered. Hopefully she'd catch Peter entering easily enough. She wondered if he'd have some "Bellum" look about him. Half-dead and strung out, maybe, like she was after the full moon. Allen had asked her about it five or six times. Half the problem had been that Amelia just up and left without even so much of a word. It made her horribly upset.