IF YOU WERE GOING TO have to work over a long holiday weekend, Phillip figured, it might as well be at something fun. He loved his job. What was advertising, anyway, but a knowledge of people and of which buttons to push to nudge them into opening their wallets?

It was, he often thought, an accepted, creative, even expected twist on picking those wallets. For a man who had spent the first half of his life as a thief, it was the perfect career.

On this day before the celebration of America’s independence, he put his skills to use in the boatyard,schmoozing a potential client. He much preferred it to manual labor.

‘‘You’ll forgive the surroundings.’’ Phillip waved a well-manicured hand, encompassing the enormous space, the exposed rafters and hanging lights, the yet-to-be-painted walls and scarred floors. ‘‘My brothers and I believe in putting our efforts into the product and keeping our overhead minimal. Those are benefits that we pass along to our clients.’’

At which time, Phillip thought, they had exactly one— with another in the box and this one nibbling at the line.

‘‘Hmmm.’’ Jonathan Kraft rubbed his chin. He was in his mid-thirties and fortunate enough to be a fourthgeneration member of the pharmaceutical Krafts. Since his great-grandfather’s humble beginnings as a storefront pharmacist in Boston, his family had built and expanded an empire on buffered aspirin and analgesics. It allowed Jonathan to indulge in his great love of sailing.

He was tall, fit, tanned. His hair was mink-brown and perfectly styled to showcase his square-jawed, handsome face. He wore buff-colored chinos, a navy cotton shirt, and well-broken-in Top-Siders. His watch was a Rolex, his belt hand-tooled Italian leather.

He looked exactly like what he was: a privileged, wealthy man with a love of the outdoors.

‘‘You’ve only been in business a few months.’’

‘‘Officially,’’ Phillip said with a flashing smile. His hair was a rich, deep bronze, styled to make the most of a face that the angels had gifted with an extra kiss of pure male beauty. He wore fashionably faded Levi’s, a green cotton shirt, and olive-drab Supergas. His eyes were shrewd, his smile charming.

He looked exactly like what he’d made himself into: a sophisticated urbanite with an affection for fashion and the sea.

‘‘We’ve built or worked on teams that built a number of boats over the years.’’ Smoothly, he guided Jonathan toward the framed sketches hanging on the wall. Seth’s artwork was displayed rustically, as Phillip felt suited the ambience of a traditional boatyard.

‘‘My brother Ethan’s skipjack. One of the handful that still goes under sail every winter to dredge for oysters in the Chesapeake. She’s had over ten years in service.’’

‘‘She’s a beauty.’’ Jonathan’s face turned dreamy, as Phillip had suspected it would. However a man chose to pick wallets, he had to gauge his marks. ‘‘I’d like to see her.’’