I look at my watch. I’ve been in here a few minutes. Wickham may no longer be a romantic prospect, but there’s no reason to imply gastrointestinal distress. When I come out, he’s perched on the edge of my desk, eyes on his phone. I make a point of stepping on the squeaky floorboard past the threshold, and he flinches, almost dropping his phone at the sound.

I laugh. “Edgy much?”

“That floorboard is like a gunshot.” He holds up his phone. “Family drama. Another deal I’m working on. My mom’s new brother-in-law wants me to look over some of his holdings.” He rolls his eyes, sliding the phone into a back pocket. “The guy’s a total mess with his investments. I’m trying to talk him down from another disaster.”

“So you’re a man of business?” I ask, though the label doesn’t feel nearly as cheeky as it did the other night.

“Exactly.” He grins. “I should put that on a business card.”

The front door rings and I excuse myself to buzz in the Twins. They arrive a minute later, Ginn tapping on her phone, Tonic greeting me with a smile.

“Thank you for hanging on to this,” she says as I hand her the hoop. “With your and Jane’s setup, you’re the only people I can leave it with and not feel like I’m taking up valuable real estate.”

“Hell-o,” says Ginn, looking over my shoulder at Wickham. “And who are you?”

“Girls, this is George Wickham. Wickham, these are the Twins, Ginn”—I indicate her—“and Tonic. The aerialists,” I explain, having discussed details of the show with him on the walk home.

Ginn shoulders past Tonic to take Wickham’s offered hand, and I choke back a laugh. Easy, tiger. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His face splits into a wide grin. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Tonic glances my way. I point discreetly between myself and Wickham, mouthing, “Not together,” though I appreciate that she checked.

Ginn has no such concerns, continuing to eye Wickham with zero regard for my potential property rights. “Are you familiar with what we do?”

“Ms. Bennet has given me some insight. However, if you’re offering to demonstrate, I’d be glad to watch.”

Ginn doesn’t so much as look at Tonic. “We do love an audience.”

“The practice space is only a few blocks away,” Tonic adds, clearly perplexed.

Another broad smile from Wickham. He turns to me. “Liz?”

“I’m in for the evening,” I say. “But you have a good time.”

“You sure?” he asks, but he’s looking at Ginn, who toys with the charm on the long necklace she wears. He follows the movement of her hand as it sways side to side, between the low—very low—V-neck of her shirt.