Her leopard-print caftan billows as she struts my way, a pitcher of mimosas aloft in one clawed hand, like she’s presenting a prized kill. “I figured we could use a little something.” She deposits her bounty on the table, then yanks me to her for a fierce hug. “What a morning, eh?”

“Understatement,” I manage to say, the air in my lungs forced out by the crush of her boobs. “Have you heard from the band?”

She releases me to smother Jane and then Charles, who have joined us and squeak out salutations of their own. “They’re playing a booze cruise on the Hudson. Johnny, too. I’m going to give them a shout later.” She bumps me with her hip. “How’d your night go, by the way? Mr. Tall Dark and Fuckable got you walking funny?”

Normally, I’d groan, but Ming’s steadfast commitment to filth is actually refreshing. Charles doubles over in laughter, and Jane lets out an exasperated, “Ming!”

“A lady never tells,” I say.

She cackles. “If I see one, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The door clatters open: Andrea. “What bullshit,” she announces, voice booming as she strides the length of the room. She has also grabbed a pitcher of mimosas, though I doubt she intends to share. “It’s bad enough to have been swindled, but betrayed by Ginn? Criminal! To say nothing of what that scoundrel did to you.” She rests a hanky-laden hand on my shoulder. “Oh, darling, I should have asked you to show me your work, gotten it on record . . .”

Fresh guilt piles on. If I’d been braver sooner, maybe if I’d spoken to Andrea earlier or had my work with me the night I finally did . . . Would that have changed anything?

Tonic slips in through the still-open door. The room goes silent, and I have to remind myself to breathe. Her gaze immediately drops to the floor.

“I sent her a text, too,” Ming says quietly. “She’s lost . . . a lot, I think.”

Tonic bites the nail of her right thumb. The gesture takes me back to that day at my apartment, and the tightness in my chest eases some. I walk toward her, and it’s as though my approach has untethered her from the spot at the door, as she half-runs to meet me. “I’m so sorry, Kitten!” she chokes out. “He said you’d shown him the designs and he wanted another look. I didn’t know he’d taken them until this morning!”

I nod. With her in front of me, her face tearstained and puffy, I’m not angry, and I’m willing to take her at her word that she didn’t mean any harm. After all, I was taken in by Wickham, too.

“It’s . . . not cool. But thank you for the apology. Have you heard from Ginn?” I ask, not sure if I should. “What happened?”