She felt a tremor run through her. This was the moment of truth. She could turn and run or she could hang in there and get her interview. Angela pointed to her shoes. “I’m not going far in these heels.”

“I know the perfect place, then,” he said.

She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle Max on her own, without the distractions of the bar to fill the silences. But this was her chance, to figure out this guy who’d had such a hold on her. And to rationalize her crazy reaction to him. “Sure,” she said. “That sounds nice.” In truth, it sounded impossibly romantic.

“All right, here’s the plan. Where is your car parked?”

“In the ramp just down the block.”

“Why don’t you leave through the front door and start walking toward the ramp. I’ll go out the back and meet you outside. That way, nobody will see us leaving together.”

Angela frowned. “That was not a good line,” she said. “In fact, it was kind of insulting.”

“No!” he cried, taking her hand again. “No, no.

That’s not what I meant. It’s just that if we leave together, there will be all kinds of speculation, maybe even some mention of it in the papers. I don’t want you to get pulled into that.” He paused. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

Angela decided not to lie. What would be the point? She just stared at him silently and shrugged.

“You’re Max Morgan,” she replied. “You play baseball.”

He grabbed her hand. “Come on, we’ll both go out the back.” He laced his fingers between hers and pulled her along behind him, through the crowd to the kitchen and then out the rear door to the alley. “We’ll take my car.” He pointed to a black BMW sedan with tinted windows, parked against the building.

Max opened the passenger side door for her and helped her inside, then hopped in behind the wheel.

Angela wasn’t sure what to say to him. She’d expected they might chat at the bar. She’d been prepared to ask him a few questions, to get a sense of the man he was.