“Yes, it’s standard for top-level employees who work directly with me. And extremely watertight. I have one here for you to sign, as well as a contract.”

“You have one ready for me?” Pia had noticed that when Berman had emerged from the den with his refreshed drink, he had been carrying several sheets of paper.

“Not exactly. As I said, it’s standard. It’s what I had drawn up for Whitney.”

“Wait, you’re going much too fast. What would I be doing for you?”

“Well, that would remain to be arranged. With certain employees, I prefer to secure their services under contract and then find the niche that they fit into. I know you will be a valued member of my staff, because of your scientific expertise and your other . . . talents.”

“And what might those be?”

“I said that the lab might not be the best place for you to work, but I want to keep you around. I’d like to have you here and with me on some of my travels. You’re very intelligent and perceptive and persuasive, and frankly I’d much rather have you working for me than against me. You’d be a great asset. Also I am very attracted to you, Pia. I think that is rather obvious, especially after that regrettable episode on your doorstep.”

“So you want to get me under contract. How romantic.”

“Come on, Pia, you came here voluntarily after nine o’clock at night. What was your idea for this evening? What did you think we were going to talk about? Or do? We’re healthy adults.”

Berman was speaking softly, leaning forward so that he was very close to Pia, who was sitting catty-corner on the couch.

Throwing caution to the wind, Pia stood and went to sit on the arm of Berman’s chair and draped an arm over his shoulder. She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered.

“Just tell me you had nothing to do with my accident.”

Berman tilted his head up and said softly, “I swear.”

“You’re a liar,” Pia said abruptly, and gave Berman a sharp jab in the kidney with the arm she had had over his shoulder. She stood up and ran around the other side of the glass coffee table as Berman came after her.

“Come here you, little bitch,” he roared. He was smiling broadly, enjoying the chase.

“What are you going to do, beat me up?”

“You hit me . . .”

Pia skipped around the furniture until she stood near the lobby. She held up her arm.

“That’s nothing. Look at me. My arm is broken in two places, and I had broken ribs and had a head injury. And I lost my spleen.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Berman said, raising his hands in mock surrender. He was laughing and, at the same time, pleading almost.