When they get back to the penthouse, Damien gives Brad a set of keys. It’s a much more complicated affair than at the brownstone: A fob to get in the street-level door, a second fob for the elevator, then an ordinary house key for the penthouse’s front door.

“It’s easier if you have a key,” Damien explains as they climb the stairs to the kitchen to prepare lunch. “I’ve got a photo shoot for the next couple of days. Out in Jersey, so I’ll be home late.”

“Photo shoot?” Brad asks, thinking of groomed models in glossy magazines.

“Promotion for Gaukur,” Damien says, starting to pull bowls and pots from the cupboards. “Awards season is coming up, and the network likes to make a little noise about the show. They interview me, then they dress me up in designer clothes, and we take photos. Some of the other cast will be there, too. We’re doing photos in costume too, that’s why it’ll take two days.” He gives Brad a smile. “I could stay out in Jersey, but I’d rather come home.”

Brad still hasn’t gotten his head around this. “Photo shoot in designer clothes, like modeling?”

“Yeah, sort of, I guess,” Damien says. “They make us do that, to promote our work. This one is for a geeky Sci-Fi magazine. I had a shoot last week too, for Men’s Health. Didn’t I tell you?”

Brad shakes his head. “No.” He grins. “My boyfriend’s a fashion model.”

“Have you never noticed someone like Brad Pitt on the cover of GQ?” Damien asks, sounding put out.

Brad tries to visualize the magazines at the bodega cash register when he buys his milk. “I guess.” He feels stupid. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Damien laughs and pats Brad’s hand. “That’s okay, why would you? Anyway…” He resumes dressing the quinoa salad. “The reason I mention it is so you don’t freak out when you run into Rose when I’m not here. She’s my assistant, and we’ve got a project to finish.”

Brad waits, but Damien doesn’t say anything else, just adds more oil to the quinoa. “Assistant…?” Brad finally prompts.

“You know, like a PA,” Damien says. “She keeps my calendar, books flights, makes sure I go where I’m supposed to on the right day.”

“Ah,” Brad says, unable to think of anything else to say. At the office, everyone does their own photocopying and phone answering, and he’s never had a home help, either. Maria told him to get a housekeeper, but the idea is vaguely distasteful to him.

Damien looks uncertain. “It’s sort of expected,” he says. “To have an assistant. I guess you think that’s big-headed?”

“No, I get it,” Brad says, and realizes that he does. There’s a lot of negotiating and planning to do when your bread-earning consists of photo shoots, interviews, and jetting across the continent every other week. He puts the carrot down that he was just about to peel and takes Damien’s hand. “I’ll try not to scream when I run into Rose. And I won’t call the police.”

Damien laughs, and they move on to other things.

Brad is also busy when the week starts. He tries to be patient and not call Nate for the forensics results. Instead, he finds a glazier and arranges for them to meet at the brownstone to discuss the options for a new door. Then he spends a frustrating half hour on the phone with his insurance company, who, when he finally gets connected to a living human being, that they’ll need the report from Brooklyn PD before they’ll put anything in motion.

He’s just hung up the phone when his cell buzzes again. It’s Nate.

“Not much to tell you, sorry,” Nate says after a quick greeting. “No fingerprints on the stone, on the door into the yard, or anywhere else. As I mentioned already, the footprint was unusually small and shallow. No match in the database.” He pauses.

“What?” Brad recognizes that reluctance. If Nate says anything more it will be his gut feeling, rather than verifiable fact. Brad is eager to find out if Nate’s gut is thinking along the same lines as his own. “There’s something that’s not adding up, right?” he prompts.

“I have no proof,” Nate replies. “But if you put a gun to my head, I’d say the footprint belongs to a woman.”

A strange sensation jolts Brad’s stomach. That’s exactly what he’s been thinking himself. After a short pause, Brad says, “Thanks, Nate. I appreciate the quick work.”

“No problem,” Nate says. “I’ll send you the full report as soon as I’ve typed it up.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

Brad leans back in his chair and rubs his chin. The theory that’s starting to form at the back of his mind is ludicrous. Yes, maybe Vivienne Aubert has been following Damien around the city, though he finds even that hard to believe, as odd a duck as she might be. But a famous Hollywood star breaking into his back yard and throwing a rock though his window? It’s ridiculous.

There must be another explanation.

Monday night Brad doesn’t get in until eleven p.m. Damien is already in bed, and Brad crawls under the covers as carefully as he can. He falls asleep immediately, exhausted from a long discussion with the glazier and an even longer cab ride back to Chinatown. On Tuesday, he’s back at the penthouse just after six. A light is on in the one room Brad hasn’t seen yet. Curious, he goes to investigate. When he sticks his head around the door there’s a stranger crouching on the floor. The woman has her back to him, bending over a small piece of pink furniture she’s putting together. She’s short and slim, with red hair that’s twisted into an untidy bun at the nape of her neck. Brad clears his throat.

The woman’s head whips around, and she scrambles to her feet. “Golly,” she says, panting. “You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” Brad says. “You’re Rose, right?”

“I am.” She puts down the screwdriver on top of the thing she was working on and holds out her hand. Brad shakes it. He can see now that the thing by her feet is a bedside table. It’s not only bubblegum pink but also covered in scampering unicorns. He looks around. The room is painted pink and white, and it dawns on Brad what Damien meant with the ‘project’ he and Rose have to finish.

“This is Zoe’s new room,” Rose says, following Brad’s gaze. “I take it Damien hasn’t told you yet? She’ll live with him part time from now on.”

“No, he hasn’t,” Brad replies. He examines the tiny pink bed and wardrobe. “Nice work! I’m Brad, by the way.”

Rose smiles. “I know.” She picks up her tool again and gets onto her knees. “I’m very glad to finally meet you. Damien needed that, you know? To find someone kind.”

Brad shrugs. “He’s kind to me, too.”

Rose’s eyes darken. “He told me about your ex. I’m so sorry.” She gives him a commiserating look. Brad thinks he’ll like her. “Damien’s a sweet guy, very generous,” she continues. “And I’m glad he lets you help him, too. I try, but he hides in his shell when his migraines play up.”

“I’m planning on changing that,” Brad says.

“Good!” Rose says with relief. “Because that’s when he really needs some love.”

Brad looks around the room. “Do you want a hand with anything?”

She shakes her head. “I’m as good as done.”

“All right, I’ll start dinner then,” Brad says. “Can you stay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she replies, then gets back to her furniture.

Damien arrives just as dinner is nearing completion. “I see you met Rose,” he says, glancing to where she’s laying the table. Then he gives Brad a quick kiss.

Brad takes the spaghetti off the hob. “She’s done a great job with Zoe’s room.”

“Yeah.” Damien beams. “It was gonna be a surprise.” He hovers by Brad’s side, looking nervous. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?” Brad says, sprinkling croutons on the side salad.

“Zoe living here, with us.”

With us… It gives Brad a happy jolt to hear those words. “Of course I don’t,” he says with feeling. He puts the croutons and salad tongs down and pulls Damien close, not caring if Rose sees. “C’mere, silly.” He kisses Damien on the lips. “Why would I mind you getting to spend more time with your kid? And I can’t wait to get to know her better.”

Damien beams at him. He hugs Brad, then picks up the salad bowl and carries it over to the table, a happy smile on his face.