“Right, right, I checked that reference . . . You worked for Stephan George, the real estate mogul.” He unbuttons his jacket, drapes his arm across the top of the sofa. “Or at least he was approaching mogul status, from what I understand. Shame about what happened to him.”

I nod solemnly, letting my smile slip. “It was completely unfair. He was innocent of all those charges.”

It’s the right answer. Travis and Jessica have gone through more than ten personal assistants in the last decade; only three of them have lasted more than three days, and all of them previously worked for employers who had some dubious legal dealings in a white-collar kind of way—which probably means that Travis likes to hire people who he doesn’t think will have ethical qualms about being immersed in his more sordid dealings.

The very thought makes my heart dance.

“Of course, of course,” Travis is saying. “Tell me, where is the good Mr. George now?”

“They say he’s somewhere in Latin America, but really, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“If you did know, would you tell me?”

“I like Mr. George,” I say cautiously, “and I’m very loyal to my employers even after my services are no longer needed for . . . for reasons that are beyond everyone’s control.”

Travis steeples his fingers. He could pass for a James Bond supervillain in that pose.

“George took off almost a year ago,” Travis continues. “Your résumé says you’ve been bartending since then at some place called Ivan’s?”

“It’s one of Micah Romenov’s bars.”

The surprise registers on his face. Romenov is known to have some illegal dealings, although he’s never been busted for anything. He’s one of those criminals that has a mystique about him, the kind that people like Travis Gable find awe-inspiring rather than repellant. Most importantly, everybody knows that if you’re working for Romenov in any capacity, even at the lowest level, you have to be good at holding your tongue, turning a blind eye, and, in a weird way, being completely trustworthy. No one steals or betrays Romenov.

Which makes me quite a valuable employee.

“He was a friend of Mr. George and he was doing me a favor. I just needed to earn an income while I looked for work in my field.”

I’m momentarily startled by the ringing of the landline, but Travis doesn’t show any sign of registering the sound. “I like you,” he says.

“Glad to hear it, Mr. Gable.” The phone stops ringing and the sudden silence emphasizes the intimacy of this meeting, taking place in a penthouse, not an office . . . and his wife nowhere to be seen.