Paula was sitting at Isobel's desk when Isobel returned, her hand on the receiver and a look of triumph on her face.

"When you've finished sorting through Frank's things, you can start packing your own. We won't be needing you anymore after today."

Isobel pushed her dripping hair out of her face (the umbrella she'd bought at the deli had already given up the ghost) and took a deep breath.

"You can't do that."

"Isn't that funny? I just did," Paula said smugly. "I've informed Felice Edwards that your questionable services are no longer required."

"But Frank said—"

"It doesn't really matter what Frank said, does it? At precisely 5:01 p.m. today, this is no longer his department."

"But I—"

Paula stood up. "You said you'd be gone for ten minutes and it's been," she consulted her watch, "forty-five. You and Conchita cannot be gone at the same time, you know that."

"It was an emergency!"

"Oh, really? What was so urgent?"

What could she possibly say? I had to follow Conchita because I thought she was lying, and sure enough, she was?

"If you must know, I had to give something to my temp agent, and it took a bit longer than I expected."

Paula laughed shrilly. "Whether or not that fool continues to employ you is his folly." She tapped the side of Frank's banker's box. "You've quite a bit left to do in your time remaining with us. You'd best not waste any more of it chatting." She wrinkled her nose in disapproval. "And you've made a puddle. Please clean that up."

Well, that's that, thought Isobel, as she peeled off her sodden coat. She squelched past Conchita's still empty desk and around the corner to the bathroom, where she examined herself in the mirror. She looked like a drowned rat. Thank God her audition was still several hours away, although she was down another umbrella.

She grabbed two large handfuls of paper towels and returned to her desk, where she contemplated her change of fortune as she blotted the excess water from the carpet. All things considered, it was probably for the best. Working for Paula would have been a nightmare of passive-aggressive putdowns. It was time to move on. At least she and James were back on speaking terms. And since he was partly responsible for her being terminated, he owed her one.

James.

He was revealing his secrets slowly, if accidentally. An alcoholic college dropout? Well, the one probably explained the other. Poor guy. Isobel had an uncle who was an alcoholic, and she knew from her father how hellish life had been for his family before he sobered up eighteen years ago. But at least James was in AA. That took courage. She dropped the soggy paper towels into her wastebasket and resolved to be more kindly disposed toward him.

A moment later, Stan appeared in front of her desk, holding a ledger and hovering apologetically.

"Could you make five stapled copies of the twenty pages I've marked? I'd ask Conchita, but she's still out."

Between her mad wet dash back to the office and her spat with Paula, Isobel had completely forgotten James's bombshell about Stan. Now she stared at his soft, doughy cheeks and looked for hints of femininity. They were there, to be sure: long eyelashes, thick hair, full lips, and smooth, fleshy cheeks. He had removed his jacket and was wearing a loose-fitting shirt. Was she imagining the outline of smallish breasts?

"If it's really a problem, I can wait," he said, misinterpreting her silence.

"No, no, that's fine. I'm happy to do it." She took the ledger from him. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm a bit tired."

"I can imagine."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, just that work is probably tiring. And life. And, um, thinking about Doreen and wondering who killed her."

He gaped at her for a moment, then turned and walked away faster than she'd ever seen him move.

Isobel plopped down in her chair with a sigh. I need to just forget about all these crazy people, she thought. They deserve each other, and after today, I'm free of them. She trudged over to the copier with the ledger.

"That's Stan's."

Isobel jumped. She hadn't sensed Conchita's approach and was annoyed at having been caught off guard.

"I know," she said. "He asked me to make copies for him."

"I'll do it."

Conchita grabbed the ledger from Isobel. Isobel resisted the temptation to ask, "How was the AA meeting?" and returned to her desk.

At first, she patiently examined every paper, folder and notebook from Frank's box, separating the items into neat piles: Paula, back to Frank, garbage. After a while, Isobel realized how little it mattered—she would never see these people again—and started tossing more and more stuff into the recycling bin. She hesitated over copies of Nikki's old billing records. The police probably had everything they needed, but it was a good idea to make sure.

She picked up the folder and headed around the corner to Frank's office to double check with him. The door was ajar, and Isobel could hear the soft rumble of his voice as he talked on the phone. She looked around. Stan's door was closed, as was Paula's, and Conchita was nowhere in sight. Probably in with Stan. Isobel couldn't resist. She put her ear to the crack in Frank's door.

"Of course there's nobody else. We've been through this. I thought things might be different with you, but I'm not going to change. And a baby...even if it's in a test tube, it's a terrible idea in more ways than you..."

Isobel stepped away from the door and backed into Conchita's desk.

So his wife does know, she realized with surprise. And not only does she still want him, she wants his child. She walked slowly back to her desk, shaking her head in bewilderment, and tossed the folder with Nikki's records onto Frank's pile. As she did, she resolved never to be the kind of woman who begged to stay with a man who didn't want her.

*  *  *

James was feeling surprisingly upbeat as he settled himself back at his desk after his encounter with Isobel. It had been more restorative than the AA meeting would have been. He hadn't apologized or explained about Jayla, but the breach had been mended, and the path of communication was open once again. That's what counted.

Anna poked her head into his office, and James jumped instinctively.

Anna laughed. "It's just me. Ginger's at lunch with that PR guy. Listen, while you were gone, I took a message for you from Felice Edwards at InterBank Switzerland."

Felice. His date tonight. He'd almost forgotten. "I think I know what that's about."

"I wouldn't worry too much about it. Ginger was just waiting for her to be finished so she could close the account."

"Wait—what?"

"Your temp, Isobel. She's done. You have to file a termination report." Anna pulled his door shut as she retreated.

So, Paula had cut her loose. James felt the loosening of a small knot in his stomach that he didn't even realize had been there. He was relieved to have Isobel safely out of there. He'd better call Felice back and get the official reason. They also had to set the details of their date tonight, although with Jayla out of the picture, the illicit thrill was somewhat diminished.

"Felice? James Cooke here."

"Hey. Sorry about this," said Felice.

"What's the deal?"

"The whole department is breaking apart. Frank Lusardi's moving up to Procurement, and Paula Toule-Withers is replacing him. I'm sure you've heard that Nikki Francis is gone. So there's really not much left for Isobel to do there."

"That's the reason Paula gave?"

Felice hesitated. "Well, not exactly. She said Isobel was taking inappropriate breaks and not completing her assignments. But you have to consider the source," Felice added quickly. "Paula's hard on secretaries, and we never had any complaints from Frank."

"Can you give Isobel a good recommendation? I need to put something down on her form."

"Sure. You can write that we were pleased with her work, but the position has been eliminated."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." James circled the five on the one-to-five performance scale on Isobel's form. "Aren't you surprised that Paula got the job? I thought you said it was unlikely."

"It was. But apparently Frank called Mr. Jeffards—he's the head of IBS North America—and said he definitely didn't think it should be Stan."

"What reason did he give?"

"I don't know, but whatever it was, he must have been pretty persuasive."

"Did Paula put him up to it?"

"I wouldn't put it past her," said Felice, "except that would be begging. Not her style. I'm telling you, it's not going to be easy to find people willing to work for her. To change the subject," Felice dropped her voice half an octave, "we're still on for tonight, aren't we?"

For a moment, he was tempted to lie and say that something had come up, but he figured he might as well go through with it. Especially since she'd given Isobel a good recommendation.

"Yeah, sure."

"Have you been to Xavier's?"

"No. What's Xavier's?"

"Oh, it's the hot club! Impossible to get into."

"Doesn't sound like a good bet, then," James said, relieved.

Felice gave a dismissive chuckle. "My buddy Dexter is a bouncer there. He'll let us in. We'll hardly have to wait at all."

James's mind raced. He hadn't been to a club in months. Alcohol was absolutely unavoidable at those places, and Felice had made it clear that she was looking for a good time. That was why his gut had told him to wriggle out of it a moment ago. Now it was too late. He blamed Jayla. Somehow, somewhere, she was behind this: putting him in the way of temptation, knowing he would fail, proving that he needed her.

"Let's go somewhere for a nice dinner, just the two of us without the mob scene," James said, as seductively as he could over his rising panic.

"Xavier's has bar food. And I'll get Dexter to put us in the small room."

"I gotta be honest, it doesn't sound like my scene."

"How do you know if you've never been there?" she teased. "Meet me there at eight thirty. The big thing about Xavier's is that they start hopping early. It's their gimmick. And then if you want to, you can go to one of the other clubs that start later, but nobody ever does. See you tonight!"

Before James could say anything more, she had hung up.

Life on the wagon is a fucking roller coaster of temptation, he thought. I'll never last.