“Oh, come on.”
“Country clothes, then.”
“If you say so.”
“You were a wonderful surprise last night,” he said.
“So were you.”
“Are you taking me to Connecticut so Harlan won’t find out?”
“I think it might be politic to avoid being seen together in the city for a little while, don’t you?”
“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” she admitted.
“I wouldn’t want him to get mad and take it out on the law firm; he’s an important client. Let him down easy, will you? Let your Swedish side handle it, not your Italian side. The stiletto wouldn’t look nice, protruding from between his shoulder blades. Figuratively speaking.”
“You’re a card.”
“It was your line.”
“See you Sunday at three.” She hung up.
Joan buzzed him.
“Yes?”
“Lance Cabot on line two.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Hello, Lance.”
“It’s Holly,” she said. “Hang on, I’ll get him for you.”
“Did you enjoy your stay in Connecticut?”
“Not so much, after you left.”
“A man’s gotta work.”
“A woman, too. Hang on for Lance.” She put him on hold.
He was on hold for an annoyingly long time before Lance spoke. “Stone?”
“Yes, Lance.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I plead national security.”
“You must be a Republican.”
“I don’t do politics; it’s bad policy in my line of work.”
“I agree.”
“I want to thank you for looking in on Barton. I’m much relieved to know that he’s doing better.”
“Better, except he still can’t remember the assault.”
“That’s understandable. I once took a cricket bat to the head and didn’t remember twelve hours. Still don’t.”