“Yep. We can’t judge her too hard. She said he was always knocking her around. So she slipped a little belladonna in his nightcap. And she got to play the grieving widow, sell the house, and move to the city like she always wanted to. Then she married four more times.”

“Four?” Soren asked, looking suspicious.

“I know what you’re thinking. But she claims they all died of natural causes. Though, come to think of it, there was a strange look in her eye when she said the last one died.”

“How’d he die?”

“Stepped in front of a bus. Though, looking back, she never mentioned him stepping out in front of the bus. Maybe she pushed him.”

“And who would suspect the little old lady?”

“The perfect crime. Twice. I kind of have even more respect for her now.”

“So, to earn your respect, someone has to murder. Twice.”

“It certainly would help to bump you up toward the top of my list.”

“You know, I have a particularly annoying neighbor…”

I was determined not to be charmed by him.

But a little laugh bubbled up and burst out.

“How would you do it?” I asked.

“Stuff the harmonica he is always playing down his throat,” Soren said, smiling.

“Who plays the harmonica?”

“The spoiled grown child of two investment bankers who is desperate to come off as some fun beatnik who wasn’t raised in a twelve-million-dollar mansion in the Hamptons.”

“It’s no longer cool to be rich, I guess.”

“Shame for us, because our net worth is about to skyrocket.”

“You think it’s going to be that successful?”

“You don’t?”

“Well, I have no idea what to expect. Nightclubs are new for me.”

“Don’t take offense to this, but I wouldn’t even consider taking on a partner if I didn’t think this was going to be a wildly successful venture,” he told me as we started to walk out toward the elevator.

“I get that. I don’t play well with others,” I said as we moved into the elevator car.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Soren said as the doors slid closed.

Shit.

Why had I gotten in the elevator with him?

Things had been going so well.

No line crossing.

Even some fun, easy banter.

No flirting.

“Soren…” I said, hearing the pleading in my voice. And I honestly couldn’t tell you what I was begging for. For him to keep things professional. Or for him to throw all the rules out the window and kiss me again.

“Hm?” he asked, reaching out to press the button that had the car jerking to a stop between floors. “Soren, what?” he asked, stepping closer, towering over me as I pressed back against the wall.

My chest felt tight, like he was sucking up all the air in the enclosed space.