Vodka, Angie was thinking, is not my drink. Her head hurt, and she was noticing a very odd side effect: all her good anger, carefully fed and flamed and tended over the course of a long and sleepless night, was seeping out of her like gas from an old balloon. John went on and on saying things that sounded sensible and fair, but when added up together meant that Rivera was going to be miserable, and that maybe even Caroline was doomed to be miserable, and there wasn’t anything anybody could do about it except Caroline herself.

Angie tried to throw the anger switch, and found she couldn’t. Because he was right, and that irked her but she couldn’t be angry about it.

She said, “So you don’t care if Caroline dumped you because she likes women. If she just stood up and told all of Ogilvie, you don’t give a damn.”

He blinked at that but before she could work up any indignation he found a way to steal that, too.

“Well, shit, Angie,” he said wearily. “Of course it’s going to hurt like hell. You think it’s easy admitting that I didn’t notice there was something missing? I’ll take heat for this for a long time.”

She leaned forward. “So why didn’t you notice?” It was as close as she could come, as she would ever come, to asking him about sex with Caroline. If he didn’t answer her, she wouldn’t be surprised.

He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. “I’ve been asking myself that pretty much nonstop since last night, as soon as I saw her there in the doorway talking to Rivera. Right before I made an ass of myself to you and walked away.”

“Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere just now,” Angie said. “So did you come to any conclusions?”

He put his chin on his chest. “One possibility. You won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“Caroline,” he said evenly, “isn’t you.”

“Oh, please.” Angie wanted to lean over and slap him, but she also wanted to lean over and run her hands over his body; she was a weak human being, unable even to keep herself from smiling.

John was looking at her in a calculating way. “You know what I’m trying to say. I spent five years dating women who weren’t enough like you to keep my interest, and it got to the point that I just gave up. I came to the conclusion that something was always going to feel slightly off.”

“That’ll do for a start,” Angie said. “But you’re not off the hook yet, Harvey.”

He gave her a half smile. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“Don’t rush it,” Angie said, taking the last swallow of vodka in her glass. “Let me think.”