“I’ll send my car for you at six-thirty. Let me know if you’re staying somewhere other than the Lowell.”

“Will do. See you Monday evening.” Pepe hung up.

So did Stone. “That was my newest client,” he said to Pat, who reposed next to him, her breasts bared. No one was complaining.

“What does he do?”

“He’s a brewer from San Antonio, and he’s expanding his business to New York. He recently bought a beverage distributor in Queens, and he’ll eventually open a brewery.”

“Do you have a lot of clients?”

“Woodman & Weld has hundreds. I have a few that I manage personally.”

“What are they?”

“Strategic Services, the Steele insurance group, the Arrington hotel group, and now Perado Brewing. I serve on the boards of the first three. Oh, and of course, there’s Pat Frank Aviation Services.”

“And you do all that by yourself?”

“No, I have a lot of support from Woodman & Weld. Joan and I do the rest.”

“I might steal Joan from you.”

“Good luck with that. You wouldn’t like what you’d have to pay her, and if you did lure her away, I’d have to shoot you.”

Pat laughed. “Okay, okay, but I’ve got a dozen and a half airplanes to run now, and I’m picking up new business by word of mouth. I’m going to need an office manager soon. I’ve been doing it myself.”

“I’ll ask Joan if she knows anybody. Does this person need aviation experience?”

“It couldn’t hurt, but not necessarily. It will be office work—bookkeeping, phones, mail, that sort of thing. I’ve already got one person doing flight planning, and soon I’ll need somebody else to help her.”

“Sounds like you’re going to need office space soon, too.”

“I’m going to try to keep it to the space I have downstairs in the house. Renting office space would be a huge step for me.”

“Have you got a new tenant for your newly vacated apartment upstairs?”

“Not yet. I’m going to have to put a realtor on that soon.”

“Or you could rent it to some of your staff and convert it to office space when you need to.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I don’t know, why didn’t you?”

—

Frank Riggs was at his desk when the receptionist buzzed. “A Mr. Charles Carney to see you.”

Frank sighed. “Okay, send him in.”

Charlie rapped on the open door, and Frank waved him to a seat. “What’s up, Charlie?”

Charlie eased into the chair, looking pleased with himself. “I got another job for us,” he said.

“Listen, Charlie, you should take some time off—lie in the sun, charter a boat, relax.”

“Why do that when I can be making more money?”