I spend the rest of the morning threading interviews with pieces of gossip and shuffling professional shots of the gala. At lunch, I take my break alone to call the ex-colleague, Melanie, who had the story on Maison Vanderbilt. She’s very skittish at first but then agrees to meet me tonight to tell me what she knows. After the call, I cut the break short, and my butt doesn’t leave its chair for the rest of the day.

“Walker.” Richard’s voice startles me. “What are you still doing here?”

I lift my gaze from the screen. Outside, it’s already dark, and the office is empty.

“Adding the finishing touches to my LA posts. Christian will be happy with the piece on his charity.”

Richard’s expression shifts oh-so-slightly from friendly to an enigmatic frown. The same one he had at Disney Hall when he took Christian’s place on the dance floor.

“Sure he will,” the boss comments.

“Want to see it?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Why don’t you call it a night?”

I look at the time. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I have an appointment at nine-thirty.”

The frown deepens. “A date?”

Richard’s gaze wanders to my thighs where the slit of my skirt has opened a bit too much.

I cross my legs. “No, work. I’m meeting an ex-colleague to gather info on that Maison Vanderbilt story.”

“Want company?”

“No, it’s better if I talk to her alone. I don’t want to spook the source. Last thing I need is to walk in on her with a stranger. She still works at Évoque, and going behind their back isn’t easy.”

“Is the appointment in Brooklyn?”

“No, downtown.”

“Get your stuff, I’m giving you a lift home.”

“Why?”

“It’s dark. You shouldn’t walk home alone this late.”

I’m tempted to say I’m a big girl and point out that this is not the same New York of the eighties. But I’m so tired I’d gladly skip all the fuss of changing and walking home.

“Come on, Chevron,” I call. “We’re going home.”

“Woof.”

I haven’t attached her leash yet so that as soon as we exit the office, Chevron launches herself into the hall.

“Ouch!” someone screams.

There’s a teenage girl sitting on the floor of our landing who’s trying to fend off Chevron’s overenthusiastic reception.

I dash after the pup, trying to grab her by the collar while apologizing to the girl. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect someone to be out here. But she doesn’t bite, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” the girl says, cuddling Chevron. “She’s the cutest thing.”

I manage to drag my overexcited puppy off the girl, who looks a bit too sad for her age.

“Hey, are you all right?” I ask.