Cassie let out a tired exhale and dropped into the chair next to Frieda. Beneath her palm the navy-blue leather cover was buttery soft and cool, a welcome relief to the heat creeping up her neck. “He was the one who gave me the leg up on all the stories that got me so much good feedback at the station.”

“The ones on that mobster? What’s his name?”

“Stephen Alfonsi. And yes, those.” Cassie opened the book, the pages easily falling open to where the pictures sat wedged against the spine. “If it hadn’t been for Kir, I’m not sure I’d have had such a good run. Or any run at all, for that matter.”

“Kir?”

Cassie plucked the photo off the top and held it between her fingers. The composition of the image was amateur at best, but with Kir as the primary focus, nothing else really mattered. Her aunt wasn’t wrong. The man wore a suit extremely well. Though, with him seated behind the iron and glass patio table, you couldn’t really appreciate how well it fit his six-foot-two frame. But what really captured the attention of pretty much any woman who met him were his features. Blond hair worn just long enough to show he’d inherited cherub-like curls from someone in his family line, a sharp aristocratic nose and an equally strong jawline. “Kir Vasilek.”

“Mmm. You say his name the way I say Häagen-Dazs. Either you’ve got a doozy of a crush, or you had a taste and are eager for another.”

Oh, she’d had a taste.

Twice.

Now here she was seven months later, and she still hadn’t shaken the impact he’d had on her.

“He’s quite charming,” Cassie said. “Confident and educated. Very well connected. He gave me all the information I needed to start a steady roll of stories when Alfonsi disappeared.”

Frieda snorted. “Girl, everyone knows Alfonsi’s dead. Disappeared is just the politically correct way of avoiding saying he finally pissed off the wrong person. And good riddance, if you ask me.” She motioned to the picture. “So, you took this when you met him?”

The same slimy disgust she’d felt the day she’d taken the picture slithered down her spine. “No.” She tucked the picture back in place, closed the book and stood. At the rate she was going at work, she was either going to be out of a job, or working for some smarmy gossip rag. “Have you seen my phone anywhere?”

“Whoa. You just changed the subject on me.”

“I did not.” Cassie shifted the clothes on the couch and checked behind the cushions. “I just need to check the anchor schedule for next week.”

“Bullshit. You were looking at that man like he was the cat’s meow.”

“No one says the cat’s meow anymore.”

“I do. And when I look at a man like that, I keep him.”

Under normal circumstances, she’d agree with her aunt. But Kir wasn’t just any man. Rumor had it he was the right-hand man for another up-and-coming mob boss in New Orleans. A fact she hadn’t known until after she’d had her second toe-curling tussle with him. “Kir’s not the kind of guy you want to have a relationship with.”