“Speaking of operators.”

“I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

“Three days,” she corrected and, picking up a pencil, began to doodle on her pad.

“And nights. With this account settled, I can get out a little earlier tomorrow. Why don’t I pick you up at seven?”

“I’m not sure where we’re going, Phillip.”

“Neither am I. Do you need to be?”

She understood that neither of them was speaking of restaurants. “It’s less confusing that way.”

“Then we’ll talk about it, and maybe we’ll get past the confusion. Seven o’clock.”

She glanced down, noticed that she’d unconsciously sketched his face on her notepad. A bad sign, she thought. A very dangerous sign. “All right.” It was best to face complications head-on. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

“Think of me tonight.”

She doubted she had any choice in the matter. “ ’Bye.”

IN HIS OFFICE fourteen stories above the streets of Baltimore, Phillip pushed back from his slick black desk, ignored the beep on his computer that signaled an interoffice e-mail and turned toward his wide window.

He loved his view of the city, the renovated buildings, the glimpses of the harbor, the hustle of cars and people below. But just now he didn’t see any of it.

He literally couldn’t get Sybill out of his mind. It was a new experience for him, this continual tug on his thoughts and concentration. It wasn’t as if she was interfering with his routine, he reflected. He could work, eat, brainstorm, do his presentations as skillfully as he had before he’d met her.

But she was simply there, he decided. A tickle at the back of his mind through the day, that inched forward to the front when his energies weren’t otherwise occupied.

He wasn’t quite sure if he enjoyed having a woman demand so much of his attention, particularly a woman who was doing very little to encourage him.

Maybe he considered that light sheen of formality, that cautious distance she tried to maintain, a challenge. He thought he could live with that. It was just another of the entertaining and varied games men and women played.

But he worried that something was happening on a level he’d never explored. And if he was any judge, she was just as unsettled by it as he.

“It’s just like you,” Ray said from behind him.

“Oh, Jesus.” Phillip didn’t spin around, didn’t goggle. He simply shut his eyes.

“Pretty fancy office you got here. Been a while since I got in.” Ray prowled the room casually, pursing his lips at a black-framed canvas splashed with reds and blues. “Not bad,” he decided. “Brain stimulator. I’d guess that’s why you put it in your office, get the juices going.”

“I refuse to believe that my dead father is standing in my office critiquing art.”

“Well, that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about anyway.” But he paused by a metal sculpture in the corner. “But I like this piece, too. You always had high-class taste. Art, food, women.” He grinned cheerfully as Phillip turned. “The woman you’ve got on your mind now, for instance. Very high-class.”