I sigh into the phone. I’ve lost my train of thought. “I didn’t see him with anyone last night,” I finally confirm. “But he didn’t leave The Plaza until this morning.”

“Maybe he was just…” She trails off. “Never mind.”

“Lenora, are you having second thoughts?” I emit a grain of sympathy into my tone. I practiced this by recording my voice on my phone, then comparing it to sound bites of movies. Actors are great teachers.

The thing is, I don’t force anyone into this. They find me through word of mouth. It’s not like I advertise my services. After they contact me, I vet them. Thoroughly. Make sure I give them enough time to let the “heat of the moment” pass. Most of the time, people back out. Once their emotions have simmered, they typically decide one of two things: a) marriage counseling, or b) divorce. Then I refer them to a top-dog divorce attorney.

That referral goes both ways. Jeffrey Lomax also sends his select, irreconcilable clients to me.

“No,” Lenora says, her voice suddenly brave. “I’m not having second thoughts. Just a moment of weakness. I’m ready. He deserves some of his own medicine.”

Attagirl. I wait a few seconds for her to change her mind, then say, “All right. Deposit the second draw into the account, and I’ll initiate the next stage.” I end the call.

I open my banking app and refresh the screen a few times before the amount goes up. Five thousand. Not enough to retire in Costa Rica, but not chump change, either.

I price each job based on the client. Whether they’re financially sound is important. They don’t have to be rich—but well off enough to afford my services without going into debt.

I do this because it’s a long-term best business practice, and also, because I have very expensive taste. I like nice things: clothes, electronics, my loft in Manhattan.

I’m a shameless hedonist. Maybe partly due to the nurture aspect; my mother is a hedonist who raised me with nice things. Maybe partly due to the nature aspect; I have a thick shroud blanketing my feelings. Fine textures and comfortable, striking clothes feel good. I like feeling good. If I want something, I get it. I don’t understand why anyone would deny him-or-herself something that gives them pleasure.

I’m not controlled by my id—the brain’s pleasure principle—but I rarely tell it no, either. So my clients need to be able to afford my expensive taste, and to keep a secret.

The secret part is extremely important.

During the vetting stage, I make sure to dig up some juicy tidbit on each one. That’s another requirement. Each client needs at least one dirty secret I can hold against them should they suddenly have a bout of conscience and want to make our arrangement public.