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records and I can’t find anyone named Cindy or Cynthia employed on the executive floor.”
    â€œThen look again,” Thorne said urgently.
    â€œSir, I’ve checked the files three times.”
    â€œThen please do so again.” Thorne hung up the phone. He wondered grimly if he’d have to go down there and locate Cindy’s name himself.
    A half hour later, Thorne had to agree with Wells. There wasn’t a secretary or assistant in the entire company namedCindy. Thorne slammed the filing-cabinet drawer shut with unnecessary force.
    â€œWho was in charge of the Christmas Ball?” he demanded.
    Jeffrey Wells, a diminutive man who wore a bow tie and glasses, bowed his head. “I was, Mr. Prince.”
    â€œThe ball was by invitation only. Is that correct?”
    â€œYes, sir, I received my instructions from—”
    â€œI want the list.”
    â€œThe list?” He pulled out a file and handed Thorne several sheets of paper. “The name of every employee who received an invitation is here, except one, and—”
    â€œWho?” Thorne whirled around to face the other man.
    â€œMe,” Wells said in a startled voice.
    Thorne scanned the list, then again more slowly, carefully examining each name. No Cindy.
    â€œHow many extra invitations were sent to outside guests?”
    â€œA dozen—I have the list here.” Wells pulled a sheet of paper from the file and Thorne took it and counted the names. Exactly twelve. But again, no Cindy.
    â€œSir…perhaps this Cindy crashed the party…. There are ways,” he stammered. “The hotel staff do all they can to assure that only those with an invitation are granted admission, but…it’s been known to happen.”
    â€œCrashed the ball…” Thorne repeated, stunned. He rubbed a hand over his face. That was what had happened. The instant he heard Wells say it, he’d recognized the truth. “Thank you for your trouble, Mr. Wells.”
    â€œIt was no problem, Mr. Prince. Perhaps if you could describe the girl, I could go through our files and locate pictures. Perhaps she’s employed by Oakes-Jenning, but was assuming another name.”
    Thorne shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned and left the office, reaching his own without remembering how he got there.
    Ms. Hillard stood when he entered the room, her hands filled with the mail. Thorne gave her a look that told her he’d deal with his correspondence later, and she sat down again.
    For two days he’d been living in a dreamworld, acting like an idiotic, romantic fool. The joy drained out of him and was replaced by a grim determination not to allow such folly to overtake him a second time. He’d put Cindy out of his mind and his heart as easily as he’d instilled her there. She was a fraud who’d taken delight in duping him. Well, her plans had worked beyond her expectations. He slumped into his chair and turned to look at the sky. Ms. Hillard was right. The weather was terrible, but then so was the day.

Five
    T horne’s violent sneeze tore the tissue in half. He reached for another in the nick of time. His eyes were running, he was so congested he could barely breathe and he had a fever. He felt thoroughly miserable, and it wasn’t all due to this wretched cold. He’d gotten it the night he’d given Cindy his coat. Cindy. Despite his resolve, she haunted his dreams and filled his every waking thought. He wanted to hate her, shout at her and…and take her in his arms and hold her. There were moments he despised her, and then there were other times, usually late at night, when he’d welcome the memories. That was when she came to him, in those quiet hours. He’d be on the ballroom floor with her in his arms; a second later he’d recall with vivid clarity the agony in her eyes as she tearfully told him goodbye. When she told him how sorry she was,