“You were given this assignment for a reason—your talents match the challenge,” she says. “I’m sure Mr. Charisma over here can work his charm”—she gestures at Garrett—“but you’ll have your work cut out for you. Nicki doesn’t let guys get close to her, though there’s a dude that’s been hanging around. His name is Eric, and he’s Canadian. His dad runs Simon’s kidney farm. He complicates things, but I’m pretty sure they’re just friends.”

Her eyes meet Garrett’s, and they seem to be communicating through some sort of telepathy, even though I know that’s impossible.

“You’ll see,” she says.

Garrett nods, perhaps having received the message. “His kidney farm?” he asks.

“Yes. It’s one of Simon’s many philanthropic efforts. They don’t publicize its origins—Nicki’s numbers do better if she’s seen as a humanitarian instead of a survivor—but she was very sick as a child and needed a kidney transplant. They couldn’t find a match, so Simon found a way to grow new kidneys for her using pig stem cells. It was so successful he started a farm to grow them for other people. Simon and Nicki are very close because of it. And I’ll warn you—she may seem like an impractical heiress, but she’s not. She’s sharp. Her fans engage more when she comes off as a party girl, but there’s a lot going on behind those eyes. Simon is breeding her to be his successor. She won’t be easy to fool.”

“We need to figure out what she wants to get close to her,” Garrett says, tapping his fingers on the table, lost in thought.

“She has everything she could ever need. All she has to do is snap her fingers, and her dad will make it happen,” Faye says.

He shakes his head. “Everyone wants something,” he says. “I’ll find the thing—the experience—the answer only I can give her…”

My stomach constricts at the thought of them together, and I’m instantly annoyed for caring.

“I’m sure you will.” Faye smirks. “You’ll meet her tomorrow night. There’s a charity event benefiting the kidney farm at the San Francisco opera house. Find a way to meet her there—tell her your sister Betsy is a transplant survivor—she’s a sucker for those. That’ll be your common ground.” She focuses on a point over my shoulder, and the mole man from earlier is reflected in the mirror, walking in the door. Her attention back on us, Faye slides an envelope across the table. “Your tickets.” Without another word, she rises and greets the mole man. Arms linked, they exit.

“She’s amazing,” I say, watching her swaying hips in the mirror as she swishes out of the shop.