She was procrastinating over taking the trip back downtown by dawdling over her drink. Bess didn’t seem to mind if Rosalie hung around while she worked. In the few weeks since they’d hooked up, Rosalie had noted that Bess worked hard and long. Harder, in Rosalie’s opinion, than she herself, or any of the other ladies in her profession. Certainly Bess’s hours were longer.

It amused Rosalie to compare the two. In fact, she and Bess had gotten into a very interesting discussion on the similarities and differences between Bess’s selling her mind and Rosalie her body.

What a kick that had been, Rosalie thought now, while Bess typed and mumbled. Philosophical discussions weren’t the norm in Rosalie’s world.

The simple term she had not quite grasped for their relationship was friendship. They had become friends.

“How late you gonna work?” Rosalie asked, and Bess glanced up absently from the computer screen.

“Oh…not much longer.” Her eyes were still slightly unfocused when she blew her hair away from them. Brock was on the verge of seducing Jessica. “I just had this idea for a little twist on a scene for tomorrow.” She smiled then. It was quick, and a little wicked. “Of course, several members of the cast are going to want to murder me when I toss this at them in the morning. But that’s show biz.”

Rosalie took a drag on her cigarette. “What time did you get in here this morning?”

“Today? About nine-thirty. I was…” She thought of Alex. “Running a little late.”

Lips pursed, Rosalie looked at the fake designer watch on her wrist. “And it’s after seven now.” Her grin flashed. “Girlfriend, you’d only put in half that many hours in my line of work.”

“Yeah, but I get to sit down.” Bess rubbed at the dull ache in the back of her neck. She really was going to have to work on her posture. “Hungry?” she asked. “Want to order something in?”

With a little tug of regret, Rosalie stabbed out the cigarette. “No. I gotta get to work, too.”

“You could take the night off.” Casually Bess ran a finger lightly over the keyboard. “Maybe we could catch a movie.”

Chuckling, Rosalie dug in her purse for a mirror to check her makeup. “You said you weren’t going to try to reform me.”

“I lied.” Bess sat back in her chair while Rosalie painted her mouth bloodred. She’d tried very hard not to pontificate, not to pressure, not to preach. And thought she had succeeded. But she hadn’t tried not to care. That would have been useless. “I really worry about you. Especially since the last murder.”

The odd twisting in Rosalie’s stomach had her shifting her eyes from her compact mirror to Bess. She couldn’t remember if anyone had ever worried about her before. Certainly not in years. “Didn’t I tell you I could take care of myself?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts about it, honey.” With a second dip into her purse, Rosalie pulled out a stiletto. One flick of the wrist, and the long, razor-sharp blade zipped out. “What I can’t handle, this can.”