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first woman Renault had done this to, and I clearly wasn’t, then he had some way to silence his victims. I didn’t want to find out what it was. Maybe I could just go to the dean and request a new advisor for “personality conflict” or something and we would both let it drop.
    “Karina, are you still there? Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “Yeah, I mean, yes , I’m all right.” I blew out a breath. “I still don’t know what to call you.”
    “What do you want to call me?” came his rejoinder.
    “I mean, even in my head, I’m just calling you Him, with a capital H .”
    He laughed. “I rather like that. No other man but me, if I’m the only ‘him’ you think about.”
    “Yes, but it doesn’t work on the phone,” I insisted as I lay back down. “Hello, is this Him? Oh, wait. That kind of does work.” I started to laugh myself. “You know what I mean, though! Like you can say my name to get my attention, but I can’t exactly say ‘Hey, you,’ can I?”
    “You can’t?” he teased.
    “No, it’s rude and uncouth, and you don’t like rude and uncouth things.”
    “I don’t?”
    “Clearly not. So I need something to call you.”
    There was a beat of silence, then, “What about sir ?”
    “Because you’re my knight in shining armor? Sir Limos-a-Lot?”
    His chuckle was dark and rich. “I was thinking of it in a less innocent context.”
    “There’s nothing innocent about that limousine,” I said. “But really? Sir, like Daddy or something?”
    He sounded a little tentative. “Would you prefer Daddy ?”
    “Hell no. Oh gosh, that would just… yuck. ” I couldn’t even make a coherent sentence. I wasn’t sure why I found the idea so off-putting. My father had left us when I was six. Maybe I never had time to be a “daddy’s girl.” “Why can’t I call you what other people call you?”
    “Because you are nothing like other people,” he said seriously. “Now, really. I want a special name, one that’s only for you to use.”
    “Hmm.” I tried to think of something. “This is like trying to name a cat.”
    “I reserve the right to veto any name like Mittens .” He sounded a bit worried.
    “You’re like a British fashion model, so you need a name like Bastian or Antonio,” I said, “except you’re not really British, are you?”
    “I spent some time in school there,” he said. “My mother was from there, but I was born here. You know, neither Bastian nor Antonio is particularly British.”
    “Oh, hush. I’m just trying them on for size. I suppose I meant European anyway. Lars? Marco? Gideon? None of them seem like you. Maybe something British after all.”
    “The most British names of all are those of kings,” he suggested helpfully.
    “Aha, is it a guessing game, then? Arthur? No way, that is way too old for you.”
    “Is it? How old do you think I am, Karina?”
    I closed my eyes. I’d thought his age was hard to gauge in the bar. He seemed so self-possessed and refined, which made him seem older than he was, I thought. So if the oldest he physically could be was forty, then he was probably more like: “Thirty-four.”
    He whistled. “That is amazing.”
    “I’m right, aren’t I? Yes!” I pumped a fist in triumph. “In that case, Henry sounds too old, too.”
    “You could try James.”
    “You mean like the Bible? The King James Bible?”
    “Well, the Bible isn’t exactly what I hope you’ll be thinking about when you’re thinking of me.”
    “Okay, James what?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You need a last name, too.”
    “Do I?”
    “If you don’t, you’re even more like a cat. Or like Cher or Prince,” I teased. “Here, I’ll give you a last name, too. Rich. James Rich. Then you can be Mr. Rich when I want to be formal about it.” I blushed and hid my face under a pillow. I don’t know where I got the nerve to be so forward with him, but it was easy somehow. It didn’t even feel like flirting, really, but more like I was letting my