know I ain’t tight-fisted like Nathara, but I can’t abide Robert’s friends. They scrape my nerves. With Nathara here, ain’t much left to scrape.”
They scraped Beth’s nerves too, though it shamed her to think it. “Want me to invite Nathara and give you a break?” She had to ask, but after Nathara’s acidic attitude today, Beth was weary. Please decline. Please …
Nora cackled. “She’d fit right in with that bunch, but no need to make you suffer. Darla invited her. Spare your nerves and go on your own. Shame Joe won’t be there, but maybe you’ll meet a nice young man like him—and be sure security walks you to your car.”
“Me meet a nice man in Robert’s crowd?” Beth grunted. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Smart woman. Just go take their money for the moms and run.”
“As fast as my feet can carry me.” Beth grinned. “We are so bad, Nora.”
“Decadent, dearie.”
“See you at church in the morning.”
“Keep me posted on the truant husband. Nathara says she hopes he stays gone.” Nora sighed. “Hate to agree with her on anything, but Sara could use the peace.”
“She could.” Beth should feel awful for saying that but didn’t. “Try to sleep. ’Night.” She hung up the phone and went back into the kitchen.
Pacing the floor, Sara sneezed three times, took a few steps, and sneezed twice more. Something had triggered her allergies. Frazzled and barely able to conceal it, she stopped beside the sink. “Do you think he’s all right?” She made circles at her temples. “Really?”
What in the world? Sara was fragile but not obsessed. She looked ready to crawl out of her skin. “I’m sure he’s fine.” If Beth could get her hands on him right now, she’d pull a Nora and blister Robert Tayton’s ears. “He probably got to New Orleans late and met with the editor before going to his hotel, or something simple like that.”
Beth sat across the table, thumbed the edge of a soft green silk place mat. “Honestly, if he were hurt, you’d have heard by now, you know? This is a time when no news is good. He’s just doing stuff men do when they’re out on their own.” Hopefully that didn’t include anything he shouldn’t be doing . Beth would rip out her own vocal cords without anesthetic before saying that to Sara.
Still rubbing at her temple, which was obviously pounding, Sara cast her a doubtful look. “If he’d just turn on his mobile …”
Next Sara would be wishing they had agreed to Robert’s suggestion to have locator chips implanted in their necks—a suggestion he made the day he supposedly found out just how wealthy Sara and Beth’s little company had made them. Beth had refused, of course, though she had wished a hundred times then that she’d had a chip implanted in her digital recorder. She’d kept everything loaded on it and when it disappeared, she lost a month’s worth of work, not to mention hundreds of notes on different projects that could never be recovered. “He will when he gets around to it,” she told Sara for the hundredth time. “Let’s get some rest, okay?”
“You’re not going home now, are you?”
“No, I’ll rest in the den. You go to bed for a while. If the phone rings, I’ll answer it right away and get you.”
“Okay. I do need to get off my feet.” Sara went down the hallway to the master suite.
How could she actually believe Robert had no idea about her money? He’d probably run financial histories on both of them before they even left Atlanta—and if not then, certainly he had after he visited Sara’s home.
Her mansion on the cove was impressive by anyone’s standards—even if they had redecorated it to make it “theirs” in a sophisticated, minimalist stylethat was totally Robert and so not Sara. The house used to be beautiful and charming, warm and friendly—more like Beth’s. Now it was palatial and glacial and lacked any evidence of its owners sharing a real life in it. That
They scraped Beth’s nerves too, though it shamed her to think it. “Want me to invite Nathara and give you a break?” She had to ask, but after Nathara’s acidic attitude today, Beth was weary. Please decline. Please …
Nora cackled. “She’d fit right in with that bunch, but no need to make you suffer. Darla invited her. Spare your nerves and go on your own. Shame Joe won’t be there, but maybe you’ll meet a nice young man like him—and be sure security walks you to your car.”
“Me meet a nice man in Robert’s crowd?” Beth grunted. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Smart woman. Just go take their money for the moms and run.”
“As fast as my feet can carry me.” Beth grinned. “We are so bad, Nora.”
“Decadent, dearie.”
“See you at church in the morning.”
“Keep me posted on the truant husband. Nathara says she hopes he stays gone.” Nora sighed. “Hate to agree with her on anything, but Sara could use the peace.”
“She could.” Beth should feel awful for saying that but didn’t. “Try to sleep. ’Night.” She hung up the phone and went back into the kitchen.
Pacing the floor, Sara sneezed three times, took a few steps, and sneezed twice more. Something had triggered her allergies. Frazzled and barely able to conceal it, she stopped beside the sink. “Do you think he’s all right?” She made circles at her temples. “Really?”
What in the world? Sara was fragile but not obsessed. She looked ready to crawl out of her skin. “I’m sure he’s fine.” If Beth could get her hands on him right now, she’d pull a Nora and blister Robert Tayton’s ears. “He probably got to New Orleans late and met with the editor before going to his hotel, or something simple like that.”
Beth sat across the table, thumbed the edge of a soft green silk place mat. “Honestly, if he were hurt, you’d have heard by now, you know? This is a time when no news is good. He’s just doing stuff men do when they’re out on their own.” Hopefully that didn’t include anything he shouldn’t be doing . Beth would rip out her own vocal cords without anesthetic before saying that to Sara.
Still rubbing at her temple, which was obviously pounding, Sara cast her a doubtful look. “If he’d just turn on his mobile …”
Next Sara would be wishing they had agreed to Robert’s suggestion to have locator chips implanted in their necks—a suggestion he made the day he supposedly found out just how wealthy Sara and Beth’s little company had made them. Beth had refused, of course, though she had wished a hundred times then that she’d had a chip implanted in her digital recorder. She’d kept everything loaded on it and when it disappeared, she lost a month’s worth of work, not to mention hundreds of notes on different projects that could never be recovered. “He will when he gets around to it,” she told Sara for the hundredth time. “Let’s get some rest, okay?”
“You’re not going home now, are you?”
“No, I’ll rest in the den. You go to bed for a while. If the phone rings, I’ll answer it right away and get you.”
“Okay. I do need to get off my feet.” Sara went down the hallway to the master suite.
How could she actually believe Robert had no idea about her money? He’d probably run financial histories on both of them before they even left Atlanta—and if not then, certainly he had after he visited Sara’s home.
Her mansion on the cove was impressive by anyone’s standards—even if they had redecorated it to make it “theirs” in a sophisticated, minimalist stylethat was totally Robert and so not Sara. The house used to be beautiful and charming, warm and friendly—more like Beth’s. Now it was palatial and glacial and lacked any evidence of its owners sharing a real life in it. That
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