I was not smiling, not at either of them. I was wondering exactly how much Ellen had overheard and why she looked like such a flight risk.

I studied them as Lou chattered away at Ellen, tossing compliments her way, reaching out once to tuck some of Ellen’s frizz back against her head. Something Lou taught me years ago, good advice to live by: never trust women who don’t like other women. At the rate Lou was working Ellen, the three of us would be tangling together friendship bracelets by happy hour.

Finally, Lou pushed away from the desk and tossed a half-penitent shrug at me, as though she truly regretted leaving. “I’ll get out of your hair now,” Lou said, smiling over dazzled Ellen’s head at me, widening her eyes so I knew she, too, was wondering how much Ellen had heard, and shut the door behind her. Ellen stared after her, ignoring me. She didn’t want to meet my eyes, I realized.

Later, I thought about how it might have gone if I’d been wise enough to play nice, be the smart older sister with a plan. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the Lady with her blue nail polish and her easy disposal of the girls she’d once worked with, and the envelope in my desk I hadn’t quite managed to mention to Lou, and speaking of Lou, where the hell had she gone last night after the bar, and then there was that hangover to consider, no small thing, the mezcal that was refusing to play nice with the gin. Maybe if any one of those things had been different, everything would have been.

There’s excuses, and then there’s excuses.

Instead, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t get up from my desk. Ellen was frozen, half turned to the door. I kept my eyebrows raised, waiting for her to make the first move. Finally, she took a step toward the chair, moving tentatively. She searched my face for an invite to sit and, when it wasn’t forthcoming, bypassed it and circled the room.

She paused in front of the drink cart. She turned the bottles this way and that, no doubt looking for something to do with her hands. Coming across like she’d never seen liquor before.

Maybe with Klein’s money in her pocket, the knowledge of what she could do to a powerful man, she wouldn’t always wait for other people to tell her what to do. I hoped so. I wasn’t convinced.

“Is this a good time?” Ellen asked finally, turning to me and rubbing her pale lips together. Her fingers drummed against the cart. Nervous. She’d been thinking since last night. I didn’t like it.

“As good a time as any. Pour me a drink and let’s get down to business.”