“In Dallas?” Casey said. “Too many. Why don’t you call him back?”

“You think I care about money?” Stacy asked, raising her eyebrows and snorting. “I work here purely for the glamour.”

“I know,” Casey said, “you like the excitement, too.”

Stacy frowned. “I thought we help people?”

“I’m the woman to call if you shoot someone in the nuts,” Casey said. “What did he say?”

“Who?”

“Mr. Billionaire.”

“He wants to have dinner with you,” Stacy said. “I told him you’ve got to do Nancy Grace’s show, then you’ve already got dinner plans. I asked him if he’d like me to schedule something, trying to give him the hint that you’re busy, too, and don’t just drop everything because some billionaire’s got an itch.”

“The Freedom Project isn’t an ‘itch,’ ” Casey said. “It’s a foundation. And Robert Graham isn’t just some billionaire. He’s a philanthropist.”

“Did you know the angle behind all these rich people’s foundations is a bunch of tax write-offs and bullshit?” Stacy asked. “They like to ease their minds with cocktail parties and fund-raisers. Those Timberland boots and flannel shirts don’t fool me. He keeps a gold rod up his ass.”

Casey sighed and shook her head. “Call Mr. Graham back and tell him I’ll change my plans and ask him where he wants to meet.”

“You’re meeting José at Nick and Sam’s at eight,” Stacy said.

José O’Brien was an ex-cop who did most of the clinic’s investigative work. He had also been Casey’s on-and-off boyfriend. Right now, he was off after falling off the wagon once again.

“Apologize to José for me, will you?” Casey said.

“He’s a good guy, you know.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Casey said. “He needs to pull it together and I don’t have time to play Mama.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Sometimes harsh is good.”

“Sorry,” Stacy said, pausing, “to pry.”

“Listen, Robert Graham is talking about a million dollars a year in funding if I agree to take on a couple high-profile cases for the Freedom Project,” Casey said. “Shouldn’t I find that the least bit appealing?”