“It is. How do I know I’m really getting Pandora and not some . . . imitation or substitute?”

“Is that what’s making you nervous, Miss Flores?”

“That and a few other questions I have.”

Sebastian decided to indulge her. He had plenty of time until his next appointment, in Pacific Palisades, where he’d be showing a house. His real job—his cover—was in real estate.

“How about you take a seat and I’ll answer every single question you have until you’re completely satisfied? How does that sound?”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

She sat on the side of the surgical chair, looking a bit cowed, and gripped the edge with both hands. Her arms trembled a bit and her knuckles were white.

“Now, you asked about Pandora—specifically, how do you know whether or not you’re getting the real thing?” Sebastian said. “Great question—and one that we get asked a lot. The answer is, you don’t know. There is no FDA seal of approval or anything along those lines, for reasons I don’t have to explain to you.”

“So I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“Yes.”

“The medications you mix into your carrier blood—”

“All perfectly legal, all perfectly safe.”

“What are they?”

Wouldn’t you like to know? Sebastian thought with a grin. People would have been surprised to discover that his winning formula consisted of a generic diabetes drug and a generic used to prevent organ rejection. Well, those and one special ingredient. Sebastian had the medications smuggled into the US from Canada and other countries so he wouldn’t raise suspicion with any of the federal watchdogs and agencies here in the US.

“It’s my right to know what’s going into my body,” she said.

“Think of me as Coca-Cola. I can’t give away my secret recipe.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“True, but it’s the only one you’re getting. I assure you the medications are safe, with few to no side effects.”

His answer, he saw, did little to mollify her.

“You don’t have to go ahead with this,” Sebastian said. “If you’d like to change—which is certainly your right—I will refund your money. But the rule is, once you say no, that’s it. You don’t get an invite back. And you waited a long, long time to get to this point.”

“Almost two years,” she said, a bit indignant. Her attitude didn’t surprise him. A lot of powerful and famous women believed they should shoot up to the front of the line instead of waiting with the common folk.

“Would you like to leave, Miss Flores? If so, please tell me now so I can make the proper arrangements.”

“And the side effects?”

“This wasn’t explained to you?”

“It was. I just . . . I’d like to hear it again, one more time. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. The transfusion will take more or less four hours. During that time, you will most likely experience intense hot flashes, possibly even chills—like a bad flu. Your vitals will be monitored, of course, and someone will be here to assist you the entire time. By the end of the day, you’ll feel tired. Worn-out. You’ll stay here tonight, as my guest, and tomorrow you’ll be examined and, as long as you don’t have any medical issues, released.”