“Laroche was wrong about that, wrong about men not understanding love.Anyway, most of the romantic poems and songs and paintings in the world were by men, so what was she talking about?”

“What I like about cooking is that, so long as you follow the recipe exactly, everything always turns out perfect. It’s too bad there’s no recipe for happiness. Happiness is more like pastry—which is to say that you can take pains to keep cool and not overwork the dough, but if you don’t have that certain light touch, your best efforts still fall flat.The work-around is to buy what you need. I’m talking about pastry, not happiness, although money does make things easier all around.”

“I noticed you right away.” She gave me an approving look. “I like quiet, polite men. And men who wear Hugo Boss. I was hoping you weren’t gay. Or that you were only half-gay. Like Paul.”“Uh…sorry,” I said. “It’s pretty much full-time now. The pay’s not great, but the perks…”

“Emma sat up very straight in the saddle. Her eyes were huge, but she said bravely, “I could do it!”“I know you can.”“I wasn’t afraid.”“There’s nothing wrong with being afraid,” I told her. “It’s how you handle it.”

“It’s more believable that a cop would get involved in solving these murders. I mean, you’re talking about writing a series. How believable is it that this Hollywood gossip columnist is going to keep stumbling on all these murders?”

“Guy was saying, “What the hell is it about you that attracts murder and mayhem?""Something in my body language?"He groaned. “That was bad—even for you.”

“You don't look so hot, Adrien." "Yeah, well I'm having a bad heart day."His upper lip curled in a semblance of a smile. "Tell me about it.”