He nods. “All the time. I’d say I get at least ten emails every week with offers and detailed timelines of their lives. There was one that was pretty interesting. He was abducted while traveling through Europe, but it turned out to be a setup by his wife and her professor—who wanted insurance money.”

As Elsie painted my lips with the fourth shade of red lipstick for tonight, I was warned—threatened would be more accurate—to be on my best, most ladylike behavior tonight. I gave her my promise I would be.

I just didn’t expect attempted murder to be on the docket for the night, and it’s almost impossible to remain calm and quiet when talk of hit men and affairs is happening.

“Shut the fuck up!” I lean forward and ignore the way the old man at the table across from us glares at me. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you? That’s a plot of one of your books and you’re testing me to see if I really haven’t read them.”

He throws his head back, his loud, deep laughter sounding better than every note of music played by the pianist. I watch with no small amount of wonder as his Adam’s apple moves up and down in his throat for a moment. The small, normal movement I’ve never noticed on another human entices me in a way that’s almost obscene. I wish I could put my finger on it—and smother it—but for some reason, everything about the man in front of me is deceptively sexual.

When he finally stops laughing, he swipes his large hands beneath his wet eyes. “You’ve really never read my books, have you?”

“Ummm . . .” I draw out the word, not sure what to say. There’s no way to make this less awkward. “I haven’t, but it’s not you. I’m not a big reader. I’ll watch the occasional movie, but I’d much prefer a good serial killer documentary to anything fictional.”

His thick eyebrows touch his hairline and I make a quick mental note to add mentioning serial killer fascination to the list of topics to avoid while at dinner.

Before he can ask what the fuck is wrong with me and why I’m not in intensive therapy, my girl Janet approaches the table. She looks happier than I’ve seen her all evening. And while it can’t be proven, I think it might have something to do with the man in front of me.

“Hello. I’m Janet and I’ll be serving you tonight.” Her voice has a sultry rasp to it that wasn’t there when she greeted me, and I’m more than a little insulted. “Can I get you a drink other than water, sir?”

A drink.

Yeah. Sure, Janet. Is that what the kids are calling it these days? You’re not fooling anybody!