Miles Lombardy blinked owl eyes behind his black-framed glasses. “You know, Mia, what I think really doesn’t matter to anyone. What did you learn about Mr. Harrington from his former professors at Harvard?”

“Since Mr. Harrington sent me a list of names, I assume he fully expected the three professors to praise his eyebrows, so why do you ask?”

“I’m covering all the bases. You talked to some of the departmental staff, too, right?”

So Alex had heard she’d spoken with the departmental secretaries, a student’s best friends, if the student had a brain. How? Had one of them called him? She nodded, smiling. “Of course. Any good reporter would.” Mia looked at him squarely. “Listen, Miles, there’s no need to worry about Ms. Calley, for now. She was very neutral about Alex and his fitness to be the mayor of New York.” She saw relief flood his face, and then she added the spur, “All of you will find out exactly what everyone I spoke with said about Alex when you read my article.”

He downed the rest of his beer in one draft and stared at her, mute.

Mia’s cell buzzed a text from Travis. Icicle cold here in Zurich. Drinks with big honcho of Lohman Pierce. He wasn’t pissed about anything, just wanted to touch base. All good. Love you, miss you like crazy, Travis.

A hammer of guilt slammed her head. The last couple of days had been so hectic, she’d forgotten to call Travis. She looked at her watch, realized it was getting late. She was surprised he was still awake. She was surprised she was still awake, too, given the hours she’d put in today. She slipped her cell back into her messenger bag, grabbed her coat, and scooted out of the booth. As she wound her scarf around her neck, she looked down at Miles. He didn’t look happy. She raised her voice to make sure he could hear her. “However this turns out, you’ve got a bright career ahead of you. Remember that. Good evening and thank you for the wine.”