“Do you have enough money put aside to coast for a while?” Morgan asked her directly.

“For a month or two. No longer than that,” Claire said honestly. She loved pretty clothes, and splurged occasionally, but working in fashion, she liked being fashionably dressed, and clothes were expensive, especially the brands she preferred. She had great taste. “I couldn’t make it for six months, if it took me that long to find a job. But he might fire me anyway. I don’t think he likes me—he never has. But now we argue all the time. I feel as though we’re married.”

“That sucks,” Morgan said with a smile. “Sometimes you have to take the leap. Only you know if you’ve reached the breaking point or not. Maybe you should start looking around, and inquiring discreetly about other jobs.”

“If he finds out, I’ll get canned,” Claire said, worried. It was a real dilemma, and Morgan felt sorry for her. Claire obviously felt stymied, and suffocated in her job. “And I have that little twit of an intern he stuck me with, the daughter of some friend of his in Paris. She tells him everything. She’s his personal spy.” It sounded like a miserable situation to Morgan, and Claire was obviously stressed. She needed to vent, which was why she had suggested dinner with her. “I wish I could have my own brand, but that’s never going to happen. It costs a fortune to start a line of shoes.”

“Maybe you could find a backer,” Morgan said hopefully, to encourage her. Claire seemed desperate.

“I don’t have enough experience yet, or a name. And designing shoes for Arthur Adams, I’m never going to make a name for myself that anyone will care about.”

“Maybe that’s your answer,” Morgan said thoughtfully. “If he’s not paying you a fortune, and you’re not building a reputation, you might be wasting your time there.”

“I would take a pay cut to work for a better company, where I get to show my stuff.”

“Maybe that’s what you should do—dig around at the companies you’d like to work for, and let them know you want to make a change. There’s a risk there, if he finds out. But it sounds like you’re stuck, if you don’t.”

“I am. I feel like I’m drowning there, and killing my chances at a better job.”

“So stick your neck out a little, and see what turns up.” Claire nodded as she thought about it. Morgan was giving her the courage she needed to look around. She knew she could count on her for sound advice. They were still talking about it when Morgan glanced up with surprise. A very handsome man was standing at their table, smiling down at her. He had jet-black hair and gray at his temples, and electric blue eyes. He was wearing an exquisitely cut suit, and an expensive gold watch. He looked like the cover of Fortune or GQ. He smiled first at Morgan, and then stared at Claire. He was riveted by her. It was obvious that Morgan knew him, but Claire had no idea who he was. She had never seen him at the apartment, or anywhere else, although he had a vaguely familiar face, as though she had seen him in the press. Morgan introduced them. It was George Lewis, her boss. He was incredibly distinguished standing there, smiling at them.

“I decided to see what the fuss is all about, with your friend’s restaurant,” he said to Morgan. “I just had dinner here with a friend. The buzz is well deserved. The food is great.” Morgan smiled. Max would be thrilled when he heard. And George set the bar high. She knew he went to all the best restaurants in town. He turned his attention to Claire again then, with a warm smile that was surprisingly intimate. He was mesmerized by her, and she was in jeans and a simple white sweater, with just enough cleavage showing. The sweater was Céline, and she had spent a fortune on it, and it showed. Her nails were perfectly manicured, and her long blond hair hung loose down her back. She appeared even younger than she was, at twenty-eight, and was beautiful. Morgan could see that he was taken with her, which didn’t surprise her. He had a weakness for pretty women, particularly young ones. He was one of the most sought-after bachelors in town. And at a glance, she could see that there was a good-looking older man waiting for him at the door. But he seemed to be in no rush to join him.

“It was wonderful to meet you,” he said to Claire, lingering for an instant, before he left them reluctantly.

“He’s not at all what I expected,” Claire commented after he was gone. She had seen easily how taken he was with her, or pretended to be, and it had unnerved her slightly. “I thought he was older. He looks like a playboy.”

“He’s turning forty in December. And he’s actually very serious about his work. But he likes beautiful women, kind of as an accessory, I suspect. I’ve never known him to get serious about anyone. He doesn’t talk about his private life at work, but he’s on Page Six a lot, and he dates some very well-known women, mostly actresses and models. I think Valentina went out with him once a while ago.”

“I vaguely remember that she hated him. I don’t know why.”

“He’s not bad enough or old enough for her.” Morgan laughed. Valentina went through men like Kleenex. She used them once and threw them away. “I don’t think he’s flashy enough for her. He’s around town with famous women, but he’s pretty discreet. He never talks. And he looked fascinated by you.” Morgan thought that Claire was attractive, but not as showy as he usually liked. She was a real person, and it showed. He was probably just playing with her, and being flirtatious, although he had never done that with Morgan at work, which she respected about him. He never fooled around in the office.

They went on talking about Claire’s job problems then, and Morgan’s final advice was for Claire to start hunting around discreetly, put out feelers, and let some of the higher-end shoe companies know that she was open to a change. The plan wasn’t without risk, but there would be no improvement without it, and Claire said she felt ready to take the chance. She couldn’t go on the way things were. She felt like she was killing her career just for a paycheck, and not a huge one at that. She had wanted Morgan’s support and encouragement, and she had gotten that. Morgan never disappointed her, and she had great respect for her advice. And when the check came, Claire treated her, to thank her for her help. They had both forgotten about George by then—it seemed like an unimportant encounter, although Morgan was touched that he had tried Max’s restaurant and liked it. And Max kissed both women when they left. And he said he’d stop by later to spend the night with Morgan.

They walked slowly back to the apartment, and Claire felt better than she had in months. She had a plan, and knew it was the right one. She made a list that night of the companies she wanted to approach. The future was looking brighter.

And Max showed up to spend the night as he had said. He and Morgan made love in the morning, because they’d both been too tired the night before, and Morgan was a few minutes late for work, but she had no meetings that morning. All she had was research and desk work until the afternoon. She was poring over several files on her computer, when George walked into her office, and she smiled up at him.

“Thanks for trying Max’s restaurant last night. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I love it. I’ll be back. It’s great for a casual meal.” He had a legendarily beautiful penthouse in the Trump Tower uptown, but she knew he ate downtown often, and had friends in Tribeca and Soho, and he loved trying new restaurants. He loved to impress the women he went out with, with new finds. And his reputation as a generous date and man-about-town was well deserved. “I liked your friend,” he said simply. And for a moment, she thought he meant Max, but the look in his eye said something different. “She’s a very pretty girl.” That instantly corrected Morgan’s first impression. “Do you know her well?” He was curious about her. She looked like a model.

“Claire?” Morgan asked, still startled by the question. “We’ve been roommates for five years.”

“What does she do for a living?” He had never asked Morgan about any woman before, and she was surprised.

“She’s a shoe designer. We were talking about it last night. She’s very talented, but stuck in a boring job.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun. Is she single?” Morgan knew that the question encompassed if she had a boyfriend.

“Yes. She works very hard, though, and doesn’t go out much. She’s very intense about her career.”

“So am I,” he said with a broad grin. “I still make time for dinner. Who does she work for?” He was being very direct.

“Arthur Adams,” Morgan said in a small voice. She didn’t know if Claire was up to dating a man like George, or if she’d even want to. She felt uncomfortable answering his questions, but Claire could take care of herself, and a moment later he left her office.

Three dozen white roses arrived on Claire’s desk that afternoon, in a tall vase, with a card that said, “It was wonderful to meet you. George.” She was floored. No man had ever sent her flowers like that before. They were exquisite, and very lavish, from the best florist in town.

“Who died?” Walter said tersely when he walked into Claire’s office later that afternoon to discuss some price points. She had suggested an increase in their prices, and he didn’t agree, as usual.

“They’re from a friend,” she answered vaguely, looking embarrassed by the enormous bouquet.

“He must be crazy about you,” Walter said through pursed lips. “You should get things like that at home.” She nodded, and didn’t know what to say, but once he left her office, she stared at them, wondering why George had sent them. She knew the names of the women he went out with. She was nowhere in their league, and it felt strange to be the object of his attentions. She almost called Morgan to tell her about it, but decided not to. It didn’t mean anything. He was just a rich, successful guy playing a game, and she had no intention of playing it with him. But the flowers were beautiful. She sent him a short, polite e-mail to thank him, and went home at the end of the day. She had convinced herself by then that she would never hear from him again. And she didn’t really want to. George Lewis’s world was light-years away from hers. And she intended to keep it that way. She never said a word about the roses to Morgan.