Free Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) by Angela Burt-Murray

loud wannabe jocks tossing story ideas and often footballs around all day. The other property, GospelWired , was headed by Michelle Miles, a holy rolling, sanctified sister who was always trying to bless me, share some scripture, or throw some holy water on me. I cut a quick left down the hall to DeAnna’s office to miss Michelle. The last thing I needed was Michelle getting that holy water in my hair today, because then she’d be meeting her Maker a lot sooner than she intended.
    Rodney and Michelle were barely civil when I came on board three months ago, so it was clear to me immediately that they considered me competition for resources and DeAnna’s approval. I knew they would be no help in helping me get the lay of the land. Now, a knife in the back? They’d be more than happy to oblige. It was every publication and website for themselves, which was fine with me. As my mom always told me, keep your friends close and your enemi es closer.
    I stopped at the cubicle in front of DeAnna’s glass office door. Her assistant, Joan, looked up at me from her computer screen over the tops of he r glasses.
    “DeAnna will be just a few minutes,” she said in her usual cli pped tone.
    “Thank you,” I said, and then took a seat in one of the upholstered chairs outside Joan’s cubicle. Sitting there always made me feel like I was waiting to see the principal.
    Michelle scurried down the long hallway, engrossed in reading her B lackBerry.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw DeAnna’s office door open and heard a familiar and grating guffaw. It was Basil, my wandering fashi on editor.
    He backed out of DeAnna’s office and closed the door, never seeing me sitting outside Joan’ s cubicle.
    What is my fashion editor doing talking t o my boss?
    “DeAnna’s ready for you now,” Joan said, interrupting my train of thought. She took off her headset and came around to lead us into DeAnna’s office as if we couldn’t find it for ourselves.
    As Michelle and I followed her into DeAnna’s office, I saw Rodney already seated on the sofa, and my antennae automaticall y shot up.
    Why are my fashion editor and Rodney meeting wit h my boss?
    I dashed off a quick t ext to MJ.
    Saw Basil and Rodney meeting with D . . . What’s up?
    He responde d quickly.
    On it . . . Stand by.
    I slipped my iPhone back into the pocket of my skirt, confident I’d have an answer on what sneaky little Basil was up to by the time I got out of thi s meeting.
    With panoramic views of Manhattan’s Central Park, DeAnna’s office made a statement. Swiveling around in her large black leather chair from behind a desk that looked like command central from the space shuttle, DeAnna picked up her large black leather portfolio and pen and then made her way over to where we we re seated.
    Her bob slicked back off her face and tucked behind her ears, DeAnna wore a crisp white blouse with a large puffy bow knotted to the side of her neck, a snakeskin black knee-length skirt, and bright cranberry platform booties. She took her customary seat in the large leather and chrome chair with her back to the window. Bryan Phillips, the unit’s finance director, slipped in quietly, carrying a sheaf of spreadsheets, and grabbed the other chair. Rodney and Michelle sat together on the sofa and put their papers and folders between them, clearly indicating that I wasn’t welcome to join them.
    What’s going on with these two today?
    Looking around awkwardly with nowhere to sit as if trapped in a bad game of musical chairs, I turned to ask Joan if she could bring in another chair, but she’d already slipped back out the door.
    “Just take a seat on the ottoman, Nia, so we can get started,” DeAnna said dis missively.
    I removed some large coffee-table books and a tray and set them on the floor before taking my seat facing both DeAnna and Bryan, with my back to Rodney and Michelle. I sat tentatively on the edge of the ottoman, balancing my folder on my lap as Bryan opened