“Well,” he said, slicing into a wheel of Gouda. “I’m not bad. Had to deal today with my latest fan.” He made air quotes around this last word with his free hand. “Why write a letter to the editor when one can compose a series of sadistic tweets? Do you think Ari will like how I’ve sliced this? Probably not. I’ve left the rind on. Perhaps I was supposed to take it off.”

“I’m sorry you’re having to deal with trolls.” I smoothed my skirt—Wallis’s actually. I’d raided her closet, for a change, and found something—forest green, rather stretchy, flattering tulip shape—that fit me. It hit higher above the knee than anything I owned, and was, you know, a color, but I’d had the urge to be daring. “I know what that’s like.”

“Ari wants me to take a job that doesn’t involve violent threats,” he said, running the back of his hand across his forehead. He was sweating mildly, and I wondered if he was nervous, or stressed, or a combination of both. I wanted to put him at ease. I certainly hoped this dinner would not be a redo of the awkwardness we encountered in my office the other day and, continuing with my efforts to live with integrity, I had committed myself to being cordial and friendly to his girlfriend.

“Ari told me,” I said. “She has other ideas for you that don’t involve long hours and lots of travel.”

He went back to slicing. “Funny she said that,” he said to the cheese board. “I have a suspicion she likes me better when I’m not around so much.”

“Really?” My shock made this question louder than intended. “What gives you that idea?”

“For one,” Atlas said, “she said so.” He glanced up. “She told me last week that I was annoying her, and that she likes me better when I’m on the road. In her defense, I was being annoying.”

“She was joking?” I used a toothpick to spear an olive. “Or did she mean it?” My eyes fluttered back to his.

“Yes,” he said. “I mean, both. Both? No, she was joking. Probably. But the truth is, we do get along better when we’re apart. Is that the way it’s supposed to be?” He concentrated again on slicing, this time a hunk of orange cheddar. “I suppose we’ve got that backwards.”

I was in the woman’s apartment, eating her appetizers. Run, I wanted to say, and pull him out of there. “Wine?” I asked, remembering I’d brought a bottle of sauv blanc. I pushed it forward on the island.

He laughed and put down his knife. “My God, I’m an awful host. Let me just find the opener. I can never remember which drawer—ah, here! I’ll pour you some. I’m abstaining. Too much left to read tonight.”