And now here he is, leaning his big head of hair around the corner, working to make glassy-eyed contact. He’s looking bad.

“What’s up, Tim? Did you hear…”

“Of course I heard, are you serious? You don’t look so good, man. You in some kind of pain?”

“Naw, man, I’m cool. It’s just—who the hell would kill a guy like Ramon? Unless it was somebody here, like, at work…”

“Why the hell would you think something like that?” I’m all over him.

“Well, Ramon helped us out, a lot of us. Who like to, well, imbibe…”

“What the hell does that mean, Lenny?”

“You know…weed…hash…sometimes a little upper. What I’m saying is…we buy our stuff from Ramon. Us creative guys. At least we used to.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Maybe he cut somebody off. Maybe somebody owed him money…you know?”

“Lenny, you look like shit. And it’s not even lunchtime. Why don’t you take your sorry ass home and crash?”

“Okay, okay. Later, bro.”

And I’m thinking, Lenny just qualified himself as a prime suspect. He better keep his mouth shut.

Bonnie Jo Hopkins, the group creative director, sticks her head in just as Lenny’s stumbling out.

“He looks totally wasted. What’s going on?” she asks.

“BJ, you know as much as I do.” I shrug, smiling, almost. As always, I’m a little struck by how damned hot she is.

“Whaddya gonna do?”

“Hey—you do what you gotta do,” she says, like the New Yorker she is, and shrugs back at me with one of those lingering, flirtatious smiles.

Bonnie Jo Hopkins turns around and walks her beautiful self back to her cubicle, making sure I get a good look on the way out.

There’s guys out there who would kill for some of that.

Chapter 15

“Hey, love. I’m jammed. Got to work late again, so don’t wait up for me. I’ll grab something in Grand Central and eat on the train.” I’m on my cell to Jean, with a story she’s heard all too often.

There’s a huge new business pitch end of this week, and I’m buried in it. It’s for Weight Watchers, a prospect I’ve been after for months. I’ve been cultivating them through e-mail, agency highlights, and successes, then took the top two guys out for drinks and dinner a couple of times—the latest last week. We had good chemistry. And they’ve finally agreed to visit the agency, to test my promise of some new insights into their business.

I’m damned good at this stuff.

But now this pitch, on top of everything else, is threatening my sanity.

Bonnie Jo sticks her head back in. “Hey, a bunch of us are going up to Hill Country after work. Chris’s band is playing. Why don’t you join us?”

What the hell. I’m already covered at home. “Sure, I’m in. I’ll see you guys there.”

Soon I pack up my laptop and head downstairs. It’s a beautiful night, and I’ve got to clear my head, so I decide to walk up to Hill Country, on 26th Street between Sixth and Broadway. I want to take the city in, feel the energy, remind myself of why I’m here.