Over the years, Astrid had witnessed plenty of small indignities. People poking fun at her parents’ accents. Greta being ignored at the market while someone less foreign was served ahead of her. But none of that came close to what Bo had to suffer.

In the past, when Bo used to take her shopping or accompanied her on errands, he often avoided confrontation by either sliding into the background or using charm as a distraction. She became accustomed to aiding him, cheerfully reassuring department store clerks that he was there to carry her bags, or whatever lie they wanted to hear to make them look the other way.

Astrid now stared back at the wealthy woman beneath the awning. It would be easy to pretend it didn’t happen. To look away. Maybe it was Astrid’s already taut nerves, but she wasn’t in the mood to let the affront slide. They’d been standing there first. They weren’t doing anything wrong. And really, how dare this woman look at them that way?

Astrid was suddenly livid.

“What’s the matter?” she said to the woman in challenge.

“Pardon?”

“You have a problem?”

The woman’s head jerked back in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “If you want to make a scene, I suggest you cross Stockton,” she said, waving a hand toward Chinatown.

“You want a scene? Oh, I’ll make a scene, all right. Right here, right now.”

“Winston,” she snapped at her companion. “Are you just going to stand there and let her talk to me that way? Go get the building manager.”

Winston hesitated.

The woman muttered something about “trash” and “immigrants” overtaking their apartment building.

Astrid had the violent urge to rip the woman’s hair out by the roots. But before she could say or do anything more, Bo herded her inside the building. “Come on,” he told her in calm voice. “We’re already late.”

Astrid didn’t take her eyes off the woman until Bo pulled the door shut behind her.

“What have you told me before?” Bo murmured. “It’s not worth it.”

“I was wrong,” she said, only half aware that her voice was echoing off the walls. “It’s not fair. Why should a stuck-up bitch like that get away with that kind of rude behavior? If people are going to act like goddamn jackasses, they ought to have the decency to do so in private.”

Bo cleared his throat. Astrid spun around to find herself standing in the middle of a marble-floored, chandelier-lit lobby, facing an amused attendant behind a raised desk.

Astrid’s cheeks warmed. Her anger deflated.

“Mr. Yeung and Miss Magnusson here to visit Dr. Maria Navarro,” Bo said.

The attendant consulted a large book with handwritten notes and winked at Astrid as he confirmed their appointment. Dr. Navarro’s apartment was on the top floor.

They were pointed to an elevator behind them, where a handsome elevator operator in a burgundy uniform greeted them. He was almost as big as Winter and looked a little like the famous boxer Jack Johnson. Astrid suspected he’d also heard her profanity-laden outburst, but he was too polite to comment. He just closed the scissor doors and pulled the lever to take them up to the top floor.

She blew out a long breath and summoned her dignity. Though her embarrassment was abating, she was still trying to tamp down the irritation caused by the woman outside. On top of that, she was more than a little frustrated that she didn’t get any time alone with Bo.

“The answer is yes,” Bo said over the clack of the rising elevator, surprising her.

She raised her head. “What’s that?”

“You asked me earlier if I missed you. And I did. Terribly.”

Oh. Well, then. Astrid flicked a glance to the elevator operator. He looked straight ahead.

Bo wasn’t finished. “I thought about you the entire time I was at work last night. I went to sleep thinking of you. I even dreamed about you. About us. Together.”

“Stars,” Astrid murmured breathlessly.

The elevator operator slid her a sideways glance of approval. He was impressed with Bo’s daring, too. It was thrilling to hear Bo say any of this at all—and in public? Well. That knocked her for a loop.

How did Bo do this? And so effortlessly? In a matter of seconds, he’d erased all her negativity. Anxiety, anger, frustration . . . it all just faded away. And, for once in her life, words failed her.

The elevator operator pulled the lever and slowed their ascent.

“Also, you look stunning today,” Bo added as the elevator came to a stop. His gaze fell down her legs and leisurely rose back up again. “Whatever fashion genius decided to raise the hemline even higher this year has my full appreciation.”

As the operator opened the scissor gates, Astrid recovered her wits. “A girl pays five bucks for imported silk stockings, you can’t blame her for wanting to show four dollars and fifty cents of them.”

Bo laughed and tipped the grinning operator while she exited, chin high.

—

Dr. Navarro’s penthouse apartment was luxurious and jammed full of expensive art. The grimacing statues, stonework disks, and ancient woven cloth decorating the cream walls of her high-ceilinged rooms made it look as if she’d raided a Mexican temple. Astrid couldn’t stop gawking. Plush rugs cushioned their feet as they followed a stiff butler to a receiving room with a stunning view of Huntington Park. And it was here, in front of a fireplace, that two women lounged.

The Wicked Wenches, as Lowe had put it.