Isa figured she was probably laughing at his expense. She was doubled over, dark hair tumbling over her face, her hands clasped where she'd clapped them together as she bent over. He stared, his copy of the paper, an archaic habit he'd picked up following his father's death, dropping to the small bistro table near the front of the Starbucks. He'd not seen someone laugh like that before. He found it entrancing.
Isa Raidi was supposed to meet with his almost ex-wife's lawyer in about two hours, but he had decided, just before he saw the dark haired woman laughing and just after he saw Cassie Raidi, no, that would be Cassie Fredericks now, spit a huge snot-wad, supplemented, he was sure, by her seasonal allergies, onto the hood of his car, that his Alpina B7 was going to have a tricky electrical problem that was going to prevent him from getting to that meeting.
Cassie was going to be pissed. She wanted out. She had better lawyers; there wasn't much he could do. Indulging himself in a few games was making the process of dismantling ten years of a marriage a little less dreary.
He texted his lawyer.