I was hardly dressed for the Red Room. The place reeked of cocktail dresses. Here I was in my crisp linen suit. Navy blue, the professional color. A power suit, career counselors called it. Yeah, I’d gone to a career counselor after high school, since I couldn’t afford college without going into major debt. I got no help from my father, who was busy with second kids. And my mother was a marketing assistant, which created another dilemma. She earned too much for me to qualify for any financial aid other than loans, but not enough to actually afford to pay for tuition.

Them’s the breaks, as my high school guidance counselor had said.

Yeah, he really said that, bad grammar and all.

The career counselor had steered me to an inexpensive—well, inexpensive compared to college. I still had to take a small loan—paralegal course of studies at the local community college, one of the few that didn’t require a college degree. I had great grades, so the counselor helped me get in.

Blaine had once called me a workaholic.

Seriously. A senior partner in a Manhattan law firm had called me, Charlie Waters, who didn’t have a college degree, a workaholic.

I wasn’t a workaholic, but I did have a work ethic. My mother might not have been able to afford to send me to college, but she did teach me the value of working hard and doing the best job possible.

But was there any truth in Blaine’s words?

I truly had worked up until I had to leave to meet Roy. But could those last-minute things have waited until morning?

Being dressed a little nicer would have made a nice statement.

Power suits might be professional, but they were blah.

Uncomfortable and blah.

“I’m meeting someone here,” I said to the maître d’. “Roy Wolfe.”

“Yes, Mr. Wolfe has already arrived. Let me show you to his table.”

His table. Not your table. As if Roy was the important one, and I was nothing more than his arm candy for the evening.

As I glanced around the posh restaurant, I saw that most of this evening’s arm candy were dressed a lot better than I was.

Oh, well. He knew I’d be coming straight from work.

Roy stood as I approached the table.

God, could he be any sexier? His hair was in his signature slicked-back low ponytail, and he wore a navy-blue suit and tie.

Yes, a tie!

I’d never seen him wear one. The Red Room must have required it. I couldn’t imagine him wearing that noose around his neck for any other reason.

The navy-blue suit, though. He’d seen what I was wearing, slacks and all. Had he worn basically the same thing on purpose? We looked like the Bobbsey twins on career day.

“Nice suit,” I said, sitting down.