“I need you to show me how you make that eggplant dip you always do. I think it might be good for the cookbook pitch.”

“Okay, um … ” She leaned against her door. Figures. She considered her smoked eggplant dish—loosely based on an East African eggplant curry—to be one of her signature dishes. It had won awards. It would have been in her own cookbook. She couldn’t let it end up in Saira’s.

“I’m at home tomorrow night. We can do it then,” Saira continued.

“I’m busy,” Reena said. “I’m …”—damn it, she couldn’t think of an excuse—“going out.”

“Really? Where?”

“I have a date.”

Saira exhaled with exaggeration. “What about Friday? I’m working until six—”

“Can’t. I’m helping Marley with—” She sneezed. Good. Must be finally developing an allergy to her sister demands.

“Seriously, Reena. I don’t even know why I asked. I would have thought that you would be more supportive about this project, but—”

Reena’s text tone rang on her phone. She said a silent thank-you to herself for the drawn-out bagpipe jig she had chosen as a text notification, as it muted her sister for the rest of that statement.

“Gotcha, Saira. Anyway, I’ll call you next week and we’ll set something up.” Reena disconnected the call before Saira could finish. Bullet dodged. She had no intention of helping her sister with this cookbook project. She leaned her head back against the door of her apartment, closing her eyes.

This shouldn’t bother Reena so much anymore—Saira’s betrayal was months ago, and it wasn’t intentional. Or mostly not intentional, at least. It all started when Saira had written a viral diatribe outlining everything wrong with the hero worship of food stars online, claiming their artery-clogging recipes were contributing to the decline of all of society. Saira didn’t know the fallout from that post would lead to sponsors pulling out from many food blogs, including Reena’s. Reena lost her cookbook deal when the publisher felt the market was shifting toward more health-conscious cooking. Reena’s indulgent brand wasn’t in demand anymore. Story of her life.

But it was fine. Saira could have a cookbook now, and Reena could just avoid the cooking section of the bookstore when it came out. Problem solved.

Reena sneezed again as she pushed herself off her door to head upstairs. Damn her cubicle mate, Theresa. She’d been sneezing for two days and apparently passed her germs on.

When Reena knocked on Marley’s door there was no answer. She knocked again. Still nothing. What the heck? Marley’s last text was fifteen minutes ago, and she had told Reena to come right over. She checked her phone and noticed that the message that had come while talking to Saira had been from Marley. A group text to both her and Shayne.

Marley: Something came up and I have to run. Will call you guys later.

Reena texted Shayne as she walked back downstairs.

Reena: What’s going on with Marley?