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expensive body-sculpting brassiere she wore and squeezing her lips together in a slight kissing motion. “That would be the one.”
    The new client. Jasmine closed her eyes briefly, then muttered, “Oh, fuck. That’s a first even for her.”
    “Problems with the randy partner again?” Crystal was always eager for any gossip about Jasmine’s secretive associate. She could never get Jasmine to tell her the dirt, but she kept trying. Everyone wanted to know Jasmine and Sloan’s story.
    “Sloan’s reputation is greatly exaggerated,” Jasmine remarked at length, her sense of loyalty overcoming her irritation. If Sloan wanted to risk losing a client by breaking her heart before the deal was closed, no one could stop her. Maybe she’d learn something.
    “That’s not what I hear around town,” Crystal prodded.
    Jasmine reached for the black sheath dress, lowered it over her head and smoothed it down her body, reminding herself that it was not her problem—and none of her business. “She just needs to settle down with someone.”
    Carefully, she fitted the expensive wig over the thin skullcap that contained her own blond hair. Better for business, better for my nerves, better for her. Especially better for her.
    “Sloan? Settle down?” Crystal laughed. “Oh, I don’t think so. Honey, that one is not the marrying kind.”
    Jasmine followed Crystal out of the small, harshly lit dressing room toward the shadows at the edges of the curtained stage. She knew better, but it was not her story to tell.

    *

    Glancing surreptitiously around the room, Michael edged her chair closer to the small circular table, unsuccessfully trying to avoid being bumped by the bustling waitstaff and harried latecomers. It was crowded and noisy. The patrons displayed such a contagious exuberance that it made her smile. It was a partylike atmosphere, and she felt herself relaxing despite her initial misgivings.
    “Drink?” Sloan shouted, her shoulder brushing Michael’s while she steadied the teetering pedestal table with one hand. With the other, she accepted a plate of surprisingly good-looking sandwiches from a waiter and settled it in the center of the tiny tabletop.
    “Wine?” Michael shouted back. Whatever the seating capacity of the club, she was certain it had already been exceeded by a wide margin. If the fire marshal happened in, they’d all be out in the street.
    “I wouldn’t chance it here.” Sloan pulled a face. “It’s most likely something that comes with a screw cap in a gallon jug.”
    “Vodka tonic?”
    Sloan nodded as she rose. “Safer,” she called as she moved off into the crowd.
    Michael watched her escort wend her way effortlessly through the throng of shouting, jostling people. Sloan moved gracefully, with a subtle air of confidence that suggested she was used to others stepping aside for her. Some people might find that kind of self-assuredness off-putting, but Michael merely found it compelling. Sloan’s natural graciousness seemed to temper what on the surface might appear to be arrogance.
    Alone, without Sloan’s charismatic presence to distract her, Michael had to wonder at her own behavior. She didn’t know this woman, had never been in any place remotely like this before, and worried that she would say or do something to embarrass herself. And yet, despite her anxiety, she also felt a surge of excitement. She hadn’t been away from the office for anything other than business trips in months. This was as far from her usual routines as she could get, and just the diversion she needed.
    “Hi, I’m Sarah,” a slender redhead in soft tan chinos and a white cotton turtleneck announced as she pulled a chair over to the already crowded table. At the look of perplexity on Michael’s face, she added, “I’m a friend of Sloan’s.”
    Michael held out her hand. “Michael Lassiter.”
    Sarah regarded her carefully for a moment, noting the perfectly styled hair, understated but flawless make-up, and