Later, while filling my mug in the small kitchen off the hallway, I overheard two of the women from the front office whispering to each other through the half-open door.

"So it's true? The Don really passed over Olivia for that girl? The Vitale girl?"

"You should have seen it this morning. Penelope came in with some little stain on her dress, and he picked her up. Right there in the back room, in front of everyone at the sit-down. Carried her like she was made of glass."

My hand slipped. The mug hit the edge of the counter and shattered on the floor, and the whispering stopped like someone had cut a wire.

I crouched down and gathered the pieces one by one, placing each shard carefully into the trash can without saying a word. Neither woman came around the corner. Neither woman said my name.

I ended up working late. The books for the Mancini transition needed to be clean before I left, and I owed the operation that much, even if I owed Dominic nothing. It was past ten o'clock when I felt a weight settle across my shoulders.

"Olivia." Dominic's voice was low, close to my ear. He draped his coat over me. "Why didn't you respond to my messages?"

I didn't turn around. Instead, I reached for my phone and checked the screen. One message from him: What flavor of milkshake do you usually like?

Three years ago, during the first real heat of summer, I had asked him for a milkshake. Just that. Something cold and sweet on a day that felt endless. He'd looked at me the way he looked at associates who brought him problems instead of solutions. Pure disdain.

"Milkshake? You want me to order a milkshake for you? Olivia, you're almost 30. Don't make me sick with this childish crap."

Those exact words. I'd memorized them the way you memorize the location of a bruise so you stop pressing on it by accident.

But now, behind me, there he was. Bringing me a milkshake.

I kept my eyes fixed on the computer screen and ignored the sweating cup he'd set beside my keyboard. The sweetness of it reached me anyway, faint and artificial.

I could feel his expression shifting. The silence had a texture to it, the particular quality of Dominic Sloane realizing something wasn't going the way he expected.

"You used to beg me for this," he said. Confused. As if I were the one who had changed the rules.