“That spiraling move is harrowing,” he says, and while he’s smiling faintly, I catch a flicker of disappointment in his dark eyes. “Made me glad I insisted on the landing pad.”

I laugh; he was persistent. “If you’re going to let aerialists perform here, you may want to invest in your own. Lugging that thing up from Brooklyn earned me a few enemies on the Two train.”

“The mat’s yours?”

“It’s a bouldering mat. For climbing.”

“That’s right. One of those varied interests of yours.”

He remembers. A pleasant sparking zips up my spine. I crane my neck and locate a corner of the black mat through the legs of the guests. “I don’t know why I moved with it. I only ever climb indoors now. But guests say it’s not bad to sleep on. I can’t guarantee it’s totally up to the standard of some insurance policies, though. If you see the owner”—I hold a finger to my lips—“it’s probably best to play dumb.”

He fights a smile, which does as much for his features as actually smiling does. His eyes make another heart-stopping pass over me. “Jane’s an excellent pianist.” He turns, leaning against the railing. I shift, too, getting a view of Jane chatting with the head of Work It’s HR. Jane carries on playing and laughs at something she says, not missing a note. “Juilliard, right?”

I nod, though the question threatens to rub me the wrong way. While I’m not surprised that it would have come up in conversation between Jane and Charles, I doubt my humble Jane would have shared it with Darcy. More likely, Charles felt compelled to announce his boyfriend’s pedigree to build Jane up for Darcy’s approval.

I wonder how much Darcy might know. “Jane comes from a long line of doctors, so there was some grumbling.”

“Hmm.”

I take another drink. “I guess you can relate?”

“A bit.” He looks over my face, attention dropping to my lips before a blink has his eyes to mine.

“Your boss . . .” He turns his attention to Toby, about whose neck health I am genuinely concerned. “Does he know how you spend your weekends?”

My temper flares, the question sending me back to our tense exchange in Bushwick. “Are you asking if he knows his glorified receptionist moonlights as a glorified stripper, or if he’d care if he knew?”

“I meant if Meryton is something you’re open with at Work It,” he says coolly. “Though if you’re concerned about your performance as an administrator, I suggest you add a signature to your emails. It would have saved us both some stress the other day.”