“Maybe, señorita.” Carla isn’t even looking at me, as she continues her duties. Given that Carla’s only here three days a week, Celine still could easily have been in the apartment without ever having met “the help.” Or maybe Celine never did house calls with Jace. Now that I think about it, I don’t recall reading anything about Celine meeting men anywhere other than at hotels.

I fix my smile in place and duck back out to the living room, to find that the lights have dimmed and a low lull of music plays on the surround system. Jace stands by the coffee table with two freshly poured glasses of red wine.

“Anything more to discuss in the office?” If I can just get a look inside that cardboard box . . .

“If you can’t see that I’m the best person to handle your money then I don’t know what else to say to you.” I guess that officially concludes the professional part of the night. But I can’t leave yet, because I need to see inside that damn cardboard box.

The tiny pill vial that contains two crushed Ambien weighs heavily in the pocket of my pants. It’s now or never, because as soon as Carla leaves, I won’t have any excuses to stay without looking like I want a repeat of the elevator, and then some.

But I didn’t see him pour my glass and, maybe I’m overly paranoid, but Ruby’s warning plays loudly inside my head. “Where’s that painting from?” I point toward the large courtyard picture hanging on the wall behind him, forcing him to turn around. I quickly swap our wineglasses.

“Paris. I did an exchange there during my undergrad.” He gazes at it admiringly. “I miss it. Have you ever been?” Leaning down, he collects his glass. Bright blue eyes study me through a sip.

“Twice. I prefer the French countryside to the city, though.”

His gaze dips to my mouth. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I sense him leaning forward, and I’m caught in a split second of panic that he’s going to kiss me and I’m going to have to let him.

“Mr. Everett,” Carla calls from the kitchen doorway. “Un momento?”

I stifle my sigh of relief.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Jace says, setting his glass down and giving my elbow a light squeeze as he passes by me.

This will be my only chance.

With one eye on them, Jace’s back to me as he gives Carla his attention, I unscrew the cap and dump the powder into his glass, swirling it with my finger to help it dissolve. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I’m afraid he can hear it.

God, I hope this works.

“So, how long will you be in New York City?” he asks, returning to the living room and his wine. “The last time we talked about it, it sounded like you’d only be here for a few days.”

“It’s taking longer than I expected to clear out Celine’s things.” Any chance to use her name, I’ll take.

His eyes drift to the Persian rug under our feet. I hold my breath as he brings the glass to his lips. Is that . . . ? A bolt of panic shoots through me as I notice the small particles floating along the surface.

He takes a long sip.

I peel my eyes from his mouth and turn away to wander toward the floor-to-ceiling windows and look out at the night sky, all the while watching his reflection in the glass.

“So, how did your friend die?” he finally asks.

“She killed herself.”

“I’m sorry.” There’s a long pause, as I watch his reflection frown at the floor. “Do you know why she did it?”

“I’m still trying to figure that part out.”

He nods slowly, cradling the bowl of his glass within his fingers. “Sometimes there is no answer good enough.”

I wonder how long it will take for the Ambien to work. Will it even work? If not, and Jace tries something on me, I’ll leave.

And I’ll never know if he has Celine’s dragon vase in that box.

I need to keep him talking so he doesn’t have time to try anything on me before the sleeping pills take effect. “Do you see yourself ever leaving New York?”

“Not anytime soon. Maybe in a few years, when I find the right woman and settle down.”

I wonder if he’ll still pay for prostitutes when that happens.

“Where will you go?”

He slowly rounds the coffee table, approaching me from behind in a casual stroll. “Oh, probably the Cape. I have an investment property out there right now.” As he gets closer to me, I begin moving away.

“Cape Cod? That’s nice. Tell me about it.” I edge around the space, fingering the large tropical leaves of a philodendron. A thin sheen of sweat coats the back of my neck. I’m not cut out for espionage.

He begins describing the beach house—it sounds lovely—and I pretend to be interested, inserting suitable questions about it whenever there’s a second’s lull, all the while keeping a comfortable distance from him, until it begins to feel a bit like a game of cat and mouse.

Eventually he must have gotten tired of playing the cat, because he wanders back over to take a seat on the couch.

And yawns. A blip of hope spikes in me.

“What about you? How long do you see yourself saving the world?”

“Until the world doesn’t need saving anymore.” In truth, I haven’t set an expiration date. There may come a time when I want something else more, when I’d rather stay on the sidelines of San Diego’s suburbs and help my own children learn how to read and swim. But without a suitable partner, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

He chuckles. “That’s quite the commitment.”

Another yawn sneaks out as he lifts and stretches his arm along the back of the couch. I can only hope that the Ambien kicks in soon. I do have to give him some credit, though. He hasn’t just assumed that the incident in the elevator granted him automatic access to me tonight.

“So tell me about your firm. I read that your father was a founding partner before he retired so he could run for governor?”

“Yeah. He helped build FCM from the ground up. It was bittersweet when he decided to step away, but like he always says, ‘When you conquer a challenge, it’s time to move on to another one.’ ” Jace begins talking about the rise of Dale Everett, first as a private sector businessman and then as the most powerful government official in the state. His yawns grow more frequent as he talks.