For the first time since she arrived, Angelica and I have an off night.

Not “off,” per se, but...quiet. A little strained.

Her boss must be pushing her, still, and I can’t stop thinking about what Cook said. Three weeks ago, three weeks ago....

I look at Angelica, curled up in one of the massive armchairs in the living room, nose buried in a first edition of Through the Looking-Glass.

None of this can have anything to do with her.

Can it?

I think about the first time I saw her in the elevator. I’ve never asked her about who lives on the eighth floor, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. People deliver things here all the time. It would be a bizarre move to start questioning her about that now.

“Is it good?”

She looks up at me and grins tiredly. “It was one of my favorites as a kid. I don’t know if I love it as much now.”

“Lewis Carroll was a weird bastard.”

She laughs out loud, closing the book. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

“I have a different idea.”

“What’s that?” Angelica glances toward my office, which is where I also keep a small portion of my book collection. I’ve never read most of them.

“It doesn’t have to do with reading.”

Angelica unfolds herself from the chair and stands up to her full height, stretching her arms above her head. I take the opportunity to cross the room and slide my hands over her waist, feeling her body work and turn. She drops her arms around my neck and kisses me below my jaw.

“I bet I can guess what your idea is.”

“Is that so?” I bend down and nip at her earlobe.

“Yes. In fact....” She leans up like she’s going to whisper something dirty in my ear. “Race you!”

Then she’s tearing through the penthouse, feet soft on the carpet. I stay close on her heels and catch her right inside the doorway to the master suite, letting the momentum carry us both onto the bed, her laughing and gasping and fumbling for my face to draw it in and kiss my lips so hard I think one might bleed, and in between kisses she says,

“It feels so good to be caught.”

* * *

That moment is on my mind all day at work on Wednesday—Angelica, pink cheeks and laughter that turned to sex as if it was meant to be. The memory battles for supremacy with the ongoing thought of wanting to resolve this shit with my accounts as soon as possible.

That’s what I’m going to do the second we get back to the penthouse—take twenty minutes in my office and go over everything with Cook one more time. He’s missing something...or maybe he hasn’t found it yet. Either way, I want to know.

I’m thrilled to see Angelica when Stuart pulls the car up to the curb outside the Sisterspark offices. For the millionth time, I scoff inwardly at the name of that website. No wonder they’re losing ad revenue.

But those thoughts are body-checked by her presence on the sidewalk. I hop out of the car before Stuart can even move and hold the door open for her. She slides in, and the moment I have the door shut she’s kissing the side of my neck, breathing me in.

“Hi.”

“Hi, sweet thing.”

There’s a little bit of a wild look in her eyes. Lust or nervousness? It’s hard to pin down.

Then Angelica does something she’s never done with me in the car.

“Stuart,” she says, her voice strong and clear. “There’s somewhere I need you to take us.” She rattles off an address in Chinatown. When she turns back to me, her eyes are sparkling but her smile isn’t all there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I tease, and she gives a little shrug.

Stuart pulls away from the curb. I can see his half-smile in the rearview mirror.

Angelica digs into her purse and pulls out a length of deep purple fabric. “Avert your eyes.”

“Not a chance.”

While Stuart navigates the traffic she strips off her skirt and blouse and tugs the dress, which turns out to be skintight and gorgeous, over her head.

“Let me help.”

She gets a wicked look in her eyes and throws one knee across my lap, straddling me while I struggle to focus on tugging the fabric over her perfect hips. “Damn,” I say softly when I’ve finished. Angelica stops kissing the side of my neck and rolls back to her side of the car.

“Come back here.” I try to tug her back onto my lap, but she resists playfully.

“Not before our date.”

“Our date?”

“I planned a date for us.” Her eyes are wide and hopeful. “I wanted to give you a nice time.”

I can’t wipe the silly grin off my face. I can’t tell you the last time a woman took me out and did all the planning and didn’t rest on my laurels to do it. “You don’t owe me a nice time.”

“Yeah, I totally do,” she says, and kisses me on the lips for so long that the next thing I’m aware of is the car pulling up and stopping next to the curb. She breaks away, and for an instant I see an expression halfway between disappointment and fear flicker across her face.

Then her smile is back. She steps out onto the sidewalk, taking my hand as soon as I’m next to her, and tugs on it a little.

“Dinner first,” she says, and we climb down the stairs and into a basement Italian restaurant that I’ve heard about but never visited. It’s a tiny hole in the wall, but every table is jammed with people. There’s one remaining. The hostess takes us to it without delay.

“Wow,” I say, and Angelica beams. “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of sorry dinner?”

It’s a joke, but the dark look that crosses Angelica’s face before she laughs starts a drumbeat in my head.

Something’s up.