I stared up thoughtfully at the huge painting of . . . I wasn’t sure. It was a white field with bright blobs of color scattered at random, some overlapping as they reached the left edge. I knew that a man had joined me, but I pretended I didn’t until he spoke.

“You really seem to like this one.”

I glanced over at him. He was tall and thickly built, wearing a beautifully tailored suit. No tie. His sandy hair was freshly cut and gleaming. He was what my mom would call “boyishly handsome,” even though he was at least a decade older than me. He stood in the hall like he belonged there. He stood like a man who believed he belonged anywhere.

“Don’t you like it?” I asked, near toneless. I was too nervous to risk an opinion.

“Honestly? No.” He grinned and added, “I think it looks like an amoeba orgy. And not in the good way.”

I hadn’t dared to say that I disliked the piece until his joke gave me permission. His ease was palpable, shining, large enough to envelope and include me. I’d laughed out loud.

God, I wanted him here now. Without him this was not my world and these were not my people.

I wound my way through the party back to the stairs, scanning the crowd with growing desperation.

A waitress with a tray of glittering crystal coupes stopped near me and said, “Gimlet?” in a thick southern drawl. I stared at her for a moment. Her black-and-white uniform and her tray made her anonymous.

The daughter! I thought, heart stuttering, convinced. Then I realized that if the daughter were a caterer, she could have dosed Spence at her leisure. I grabbed a drink and drained it. The woman’s eyes went wide, but the warmth of the gin was already calming me. I set the empty glass back on her tray.

“Thank you,” I said, and started up, conscious of time streaming by. One of the partners, Rick Janeway, was coming down. “Have you seen Spence?” I asked him.

“I saw him a little bit ago,” Rick said. “Hey, come down and meet my niece! She’s second year at Georgetown, and she’s interning with us this summer.”

“Sure, just let me grab a drink.” I hurried up the stairs, ignoring Rick as he called after me that there was a bar downstairs as well.

My watch said it was already nine-thirty, and the only place I hadn’t looked yet was inside the Orchid Center itself. But it was so hot in there. Spence was a big man, thick and florid. He kept his office like an icebox.

I went in anyway, and the humid air seemed to stick inside my lungs. The jazz singer’s crooning was cut off by the closing door. Inside, I could hear the low tones of a cello leading a string quartet in the alcove opposite the door.