“I said I’d look and no promises. But if this is what suffices as good news for you, I’m happy to provide.” She giggles. It’s actually quite sinister, but for the moment, I can’t think of anything I’d rather be hearing. “You’re one of my girls, Kitten. It’s the least I can do.”

My heart thrashes in my rib cage, and when I raise my drink to take a sip, my hand is shaking. I asked. That was the first step. That’s all it took, and I didn’t have to go into any sordid details.

“Well, while I have you in such a light mood, perhaps you can tell me about this bloke the Twins are, I don’t know . . . seeing?” Andrea asks. “Are they shagging him, you think? Both of them?”

I follow Andrea’s gaze to a booth on the risers, where Wickham sits with the Twins. I was surprised to see Wickham, 3 among the reservations when I came in earlier; I hadn’t heard from him since Monday’s drink. When their trio entered the restaurant, I almost laughed at the production. Wickham, in a black button-up shirt undone to the bottom of his sternum, looks like Jersey Zorro. Ginn and Tonic wear white . . . jumpsuits, maybe? Ginn’s neckline competes with Wickham’s. I can only imagine how much fashion tape is keeping her boobs in place.

“Who knows.”

Andrea pats my hand again and rises from her stool, martini in tow. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. I have some numbers to look over. See you this weekend.”

She makes her way toward her office back by the kitchen. When I finish my drink, I say good night to Michael, then swing by the trio on the risers. Wickham has his arms over the back of the banquette, Ginn tucked into one side of him, Tonic on the other. When I say good night, Tonic’s brows go high, her mouth forming a hot-pink “O” of protest.

“So soon?” she asks.

“I have an early morning.” It’s technically true; nine would be early for anyone at this table. I’d be begging off regardless. While my interest in Wickham waned before their “arrangement” took off, I don’t want to seem like a clinger.

Again, Tonic is the only one to respond with any degree of interest. “See you Saturday?” I nod. The farewell gesture gets a, “Later, Liz!” from Wickham, which, in turn, earns him a baffled frown from Ginn. Two-plus years working together, and it’s possible she hasn’t retained my real name.