“Nobody. An employee. I’m doing social media for the club.”

The woman took in Piper’s less-than-memorable dress, so out of place in this rarefied air, then rose none too gracefully from the stool. “I feel sorry for you. You have no idea what you’re missing.”

“Misery?” Piper said as kindly as she could manage.

The actress stormed out.

Piper stared glumly at her reflection in the mirror. So much for a fallback career as a life coach.

She wasn’t used to keeping nightclub hours, and she dampened one of the black guest towels with cold water. The door opened, and the prettiest of the swishy-haired blondes who’d been hanging out with the football players came in. “You, too?” she said as she saw Piper pressing the cool towel to the back of her neck. “I have to get out of here. I’m seriously sleep deprived, and I have my orals coming up in two weeks.”

“Orals?”

The blonde leaned toward a mirror and wiped a lipstick smudge from her front tooth with her index finger. “I’m getting my doctorate in public health.”

Swishy-haired, beautiful, and smart. “So not fair,” Piper muttered.

“Sorry?” The woman cocked an inquisitive ear.

“It sounds challenging.”

“Easier done on a full night’s sleep, that’s for sure.” The woman made her way toward one of the three toilet cubicles.

As Piper headed back downstairs to be with the common folk, she reminded herself that a good detective didn’t make assumptions like the ones she’d been making about the swishy-hairs.

***

The theme from Buffy awakened her the next morning. Momentarily disoriented by her new surroundings, she fumbled for her phone, knocked it to the floor, and then hung upside down over the edge of the bed to get it. “’Lo.”

“Open the door, Esmerelda. We have to talk.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

She groaned and flopped back onto the luxurious mattress. The bed was heaven, and she didn’t ever want to leave it, especially now, when she wasn’t nearly sharp enough to go one-on-one with her employer. She gazed at the time through bleary eyes—nine thirty. But she hadn’t gotten to sleep until after three. Thank God the club wasn’t open every night. Four nights a week was more than enough.

She’d slept in a Chicago Bears T-shirt and underpants. She fumbled with her jeans and awkwardly zipped them as she crossed the living room on bare feet. She didn’t look at him as she opened the door. “I don’t even talk to myself until I’ve brushed my teeth.” Turning away, she headed for the apartment’s tiny bathroom, where she peed, brushed, and pulled herself together. When she came out, he was sitting on her couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, a Starbucks cup curled in his giant hand. She looked around hopefully for a second cup but didn’t see one.