Hon. I smiled. The power of favors, Lou had taught me once, was to ask for them, not to give them. Making someone feel generous was more appealing than anything you could offer. I leaned closer to the secretary, like we had a secret. Lou leaned in, too. She was staring at me, not the secretary now. She had a small smile on her face, and I tried to ignore her, my cheeks burning under her gaze.

“I’ll be honest with you. I was hoping to find him here when he wasn’t busy. Thought I might be able to catch him off the cuff.” Her expression shuttered a little and I added, hastily, “Nothing bad, I promise. He won’t speak to the press directly, and I’m impressed with his campaign.”

“Mr. Carrigan’s campaign is very exciting, but unfortunately it is not something we can comment on professionally, as I’m sure you understand,” she recited. But the way she’d said campaign, such distaste—it was more than the company line she was selling. Very interesting.

“I see,” I said, watching her. “You don’t like his chances?”

“I don’t like sellouts,” she said tartly, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t print that.”

“I won’t,” I promised. I leaned away from the desk, giving her space now. “Can I leave a card with you to pass along?” I could see her weighing the possibilities, her job versus helping out a writer for the Times. A favor that would be remembered.

“I can take a card,” she said slowly. She looked torn, as though she was deciding between telling me something and kicking me out. I decided to take a gamble and not push it. I dropped the card—the same I’d left at the St. Leo, just my name and number—and headed for the elevator.

“Hey, wait a minute,” she called as the door dinged. “He’s not available right now, but I think he might be heading to Sole del Mare next week. For happy hour, maybe. It’s sort of a regular Monday thing, for him and a few other guys around here. If your editor can wait that long.”

I loved this girl; she was an open book. She pronounced Sole like the bottom of a foot and Mare like a female horse. The way she said guys gave me a certain flavor, too—at least the girl we hired wouldn’t have to compete with dozens of snappy young interns at happy hour.

I almost wondered if I should shuffle her a card with an invite to meet up, see if she might be willing to flip on her boss; she was in such a perfect position to do so. But that could get complicated. Maybe she’d feel some loyalty to her boss, even if he was a sellout. Even if he wasn’t present.

I knew something about that.