"There's someone asking for you downstairs - Brett Kline."
I sat there for a long minute, letting that sink into my fevered brain.
I forwarded the alert digest to Gideon's e-mail so he'd know that I knew.
Then I said, "I'll be right down."
* * * I saw Brett in the lobby the minute I pushed through the security turnstiles.
He wore black jeans and a Six-Ninths T-shirt.
Sunglasses hid his eyes, but the spiky hair with its bleached tips was eye-catching, as was his body.
Brett was tall and muscular, more muscular than Gideon, who was powerful without any bulk.
Brett's hands came out of his pockets when he saw me coming, his posture straightening.
"Hey.
Look at you."
I glanced down at my cap-sleeved dress with its flattering ruching and acknowledged that he'd never seen me dressed up.
"I'm surprised you're still in town."
More surprised that he'd looked me up, but I didn't say that.
I was glad he had, because I'd been worried about him.
"We sold out our Jones Beach show over the weekend, then played the Meadowlands last night.
I skipped out on the guys because I wanted to see you before we head south.
I searched for you online, found out where you worked, and came up."
Good old Google, I thought miserably.
"I'm so stoked that everything's working out for you now.
Do you have time to grab lunch?" "Yes."
His answer came quickly and fervently, which set off a little warning.
I was pissed, extremely hurt, and eager to retaliate against Gideon, but I didn't want to mislead Brett.
Still, I couldn't resist taking him to the restaurant where Cary and I had once been photographed together, in the hopes of getting caught by the paparazzi again.
It would serve Gideon right to see what it felt like.
On the cab ride over, Brett asked about Cary and wasn't surprised to learn that my best friend had moved across the country with me.
"You two were always inseparable," he said.
"Except when he was getting laid.
Tell him I said hi."
"Sure."