He clears his throat. “I can’t tell you that.”
 
 “Then I’m calling the police.” I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. I’ve always thought I’d be calm in a situation like this, but my mind has turned to mush. Still, I pull out my phone and lift it to unlock with facial recognition.
 
 “Don’t do that. I’ll lose my job. It’s Fitzgerald Security, okay?”
 
 I pause for longer than a beat.
 
 “As in Asher Fitzgerald’s company?” I finally ask, my voice tight.
 
 “That’s correct. Please don’t tell him you caught me. My instructions were to be discreet. I really need this job. My wife’s having a baby next month.”
 
 Letting out a sigh, I stride to the door and wrench it open.
 
 On the other side, a man in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie is standing there. He’s in his early thirties, I think, and he’s looking at me with puppy dog eyes.
 
 “Miss Salinger.” He nods at me.
 
 “Shaun.” I sigh.
 
 He looks at my body and then I remember what I’m wearing. It’s hard to look tough in unicorn pajamas.
 
 “Listen,” I tell him. “I don’t need protection. I’m fine. You can go home, or go get a coffee somewhere.”
 
 “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t disobey orders.”
 
 I take a deep breath. “Thank you for making sure I’m safe, but everything is fine. I’d like to go to sleep now.”
 
 He nods. “I’ll be outside for the rest of the night. I won’t disturb you again.”
 
 I blink, a sudden thought coming into my head. “What if I left the apartment?” I ask him. “What are your orders then?”
 
 “I’m to keep you under surveillance at all times. Until I’m told otherwise.”
 
 “So do you have a car?” I ask him.
 
 He frowns. “Yes.”
 
 “Great. You can give me a ride.” I grab a denim jacket from the hook on the wall, and slide my feet into my sneakers.
 
 “You’re going out in your pajamas?”
 
 “Yep.” I nod. Because I don’t have time to think this through.
 
 I storm down the hallway, Shaun following close behind, and when we get outside I give him the address and insist he drives me there in his car.
 
 And less than ten minutes later, I’m in Asher Fitzgerald’s very opulent, shiny condo lobby, still in my unicorn pajamas. And ready to tell him exactly where he can stick his protection.
 
 four
 
 ASHER
 
 It’s 1:03 in the morning and I should be asleep after forty-eight hours of negotiating with lawyers, drinking a vat load of coffee, and cajoling my ex-partner to sign the company over to me. Instead, I’m hunched over my laptop reviewing security footage from the Ivory Club, running facial-recognition software on two targets: Panther and Francine Salinger.
 
 Panther is a ghost. No hits, no name, nothing. It’s frustrating but solvable. Tomorrow I’ll ask Brad, my second in command, to find him. And for now I have a guard on Francie’s building, which is perfectly reasonable. She is Autumn’s best friend, she was followed by a creep and she needs protection. That’s it.
 
 I click through the footage from Friday night again. At nine-thirty she steps under the entrance light in that white dress, fabric painted on skin. My pulse trips. She presses the buzzer, bites her lip. Curious, nervous, gorgeous. She walks inside and every head turns. Of course they do.
 
 I track her to the bar. Her hips sway, and my jaw tightens. She orders fizzy water, fends off three men and one verydetermined woman, then drifts toward the private rooms. I should look away. I do not.