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“But if you call it a job,” she pushes back, eying me like I might be some part insane, “usually there’s payment involved.”

“Your payment will be keeping your job at Velvet.”

“Oh.” Her voice is small when she says, “I see.”

My eyes narrow as a prickle of something like sympathy creeps up my spine. I replace it with irritation. “If that isn’t enough for you… I can assure you that I’ll also keep your secret.”

A dark, silent pause stretches between us, before she manages to ask, “What secret?”

“That you’re sleeping with your boss.”

Her eyes widen.

To my surprise, she doesn’t even try to deny it. “Dating him, you mean,” she says, with a note of indignation.

I slip one hand from my pocket and rest it on my desk, sliding my fingernail purposefully across the edge. Back and forth, back and forth, in a restless pattern. Spelling one word over and over in the back of my thoughts.

It shouldn’t bother me that she’s carrying on a relationship with her boss, when her willingness to keep secrets only contributes to the fact that she’s the ideal candidate to pull this off for me.

But it does bother me.

Those surveillance photos of her and her boss at the bakery walking out of his apartment in the early morning, after spending the night together, bother me.

Finally, I feel in control enough to speak. “Do you think that’s appropriate?”

She raises her chin. “So this is blackmail.”

“It’s respecting your privacy. No one needs to know that you’re involved with your boss.”

“Except the man who’s using it to blackmail me. And I’m supposed to trust you?”

“I’ll remind you that I own the bar where you just said you’d like to keep your job, and I just assured you continued employment. All I’m asking for is one evening.”

“And now we’re right back to thatIndecent Proposalvibe again,” she says smartly. “But like you said, I’m already in a relationship. So your proposal is highly inappropriate.”

“A secret relationship.” I can’t seem to resist asking, “Do your coworkers know you’re sleeping with him?”

“Datinghim. Secret or not, I’m not a cheater.”

“It’s not a real date. And he doesn’t have to know. In fact, you won’t tell him.”

Her eyes widen again as she takes that in.

Then her gaze drops to my hand, where my fingernail slides across the edge of the desk in a restless pattern. I still my finger.

“If I do this,” she says carefully, “I don’t want it getting back to people we work with.”

“It won’t. Because you’re not going to tell anyone about it, and neither will I.”

“The dinner can’t be in public.”

I frown. “I don’t do public.”

“It’s just one dinner, right? One lie?”

“Just one.”

She’s silent for a moment. Then: “Why me?”