The man behind the cluttered desk looked like the devil,
and Nell Dysart figured that was par for her course since
she'd been going to hell for a year and a half anyway.
Meeting Gabriel McKenna just meant she'd arrived.
"Yes, I think you better to look into that," he said
into the phone with barely disguised impatience, his sharp
eyes telegraphing his annoyance.
It was rude to talk on the phone in front of her, but
he didn't have a secretary to answer the phone for him,
and she was a job applicant not a client, and he was a
detective not an insurance salesman, so maybe the regular
rules of social intercourse didn't apply.
"I'll come up on Monday," he said. "No, Trevor,
waiting would not be better. I'll talk to all of you at
eleven."
He sounded as if he were talking to a fractious uncle,
not a client. The detective business must be a lot better
than this place looked if he could dictate to clients like
that, especially clients named Trevor. The only Trevor
Nell knew was her sister-in-law's father, and he was
richer than God, so maybe Gabe McKenna was really powerful
and successful and just needed somebody to manage his
office back into shape. She could do that.
Nell looked around the shabby room and tried to be
positive, but the place was gloomy in the September
afternoon light, even gloomier because the ancient blinds
on the equally ancient big windows were pulled down. The
McKenna Building stood on the corner of two of the city's
prettier thoroughfares in German Village, a district
wherepeoplepaid big bucks to look out their windows at
historic Ohio brick streets and architecture, but Gabriel
McKenna pulled his blinds, probably so he couldn't see the
mess inside. The walls were covered with dusty framed
black and white photos, the furniture needed to be cleaned
and waxed, and his desk needed to be plowed. She'd never
seen so much garbage on one surface in her life, the
Styrofoam cups alone would —
"Yes," he said, his voice low and sure. The light from
his green-shaded desk lamp threw shadows on his face, but
with those dark eyes closed now, he didn't look nearly as
satanic. More like your average, dark-haired,
fortysomething businessman in a striped shirt and loosened
tie. Like Tim.
Nell stood up abruptly and dropped her purse on the
chair. She went to the big window to open the blinds and
let in a little light. If she cleaned the place up, he
could leave the blinds open to make a better impression.
Clients liked doing business in the light, not in the pit
of hell. She tugged once on the cord and it stuck, so she
tugged again, harder, and this time it came off in her
hand.
Oh, great. She looked back, but he was still on the
phone, his broad shoulders hunched, so she shoved the cord
onto the windowsill. It fell off onto the hardwood floor,
the plastic end making a sharp, hollow sound as it hit,
and she leaned into the blind-covered window to get it
from behind the chair that was in the way. It was just out
of her finger's reach, another damn thing out of her
reach, so she pressed harder against the blinds,
stretching to touch it with her fingertips.
The window cracked under her shoulder.
"I'll see you on Monday," he said into the phone, and
she kicked the cord behind the radiator and went back to
sit down before he could notice that she was destroying
his office around him.
Now she had to get the job so she could cover the tracks
of her vandalism. And besides, there was that desk;
somebody needed to save this guy. And then there was her
need for money to pay for rent and other luxuries.
Somebody needs to save me, she thought.
He hung up the phone and turned to her, looking
tired. "I apologize, Mrs. Dysart. You can see how much we
need a secretary."
Nell looked at his desk and thought, You need more
than a secretary, buddy, but she said, "Perfectly all
right." She was going to be cheerful and helpful if it
killed her.
He picked up her résumé. "Why did you leave your last
position?"
"My boss divorced me."
"That would be a reason," he said, and began to read.
His people skills needed work, she thought as she
stared down at her sensible black pumps, planted firmly on
the ancient Oriental rug where they couldn't walk her into
trouble again. Now if he'd been Tim, he'd have offered her
sympathy, a Kleenex, a shoulder to cry on. He would have
followed that up by suggesting the purchase of some
insurance, but he would have been sympathetic.
There was a spot on the carpet, and she rubbed at it
with the toe of her shoe, trying to blend it in. Spots
made a place look unsuccessful; it was the details that
counted in an office environment. She rubbed harder, and
the carpet threads parted, and the spot got bigger; it
wasn't a spot, she'd found a hole and had managed to shred
it to double its size in under fifteen seconds. She put
her foot over the hole and thought, Take me, Jesus, take
me now.
"Why do you want to work for us?" he said, and she
smiled at him, trying to look bright and eager, plus the
aforementioned cheerful and helpful, which was hard since
she was middle-aged and cranky.
"I think it would be interesting to work for a
detective agency." I think I need a job so I can hold onto
my divorce settlement for my old age.
"You'd be amazed how boring it is," he said. "You'll
be doing mostly typing and filing and answering phones.
You're overqualified for this job."
I'm also forty-two and unemployed, she thought, but
she said brightly, "I'm ready for a change."
He nodded, looking as though he wasn't buying any of it,
and she wondered if he was enough like Tim that he'd
recycle her in twenty years, if after the passage of time
he would look at her and say, "We've grown apart. I swear
I haven't been interviewing other secretaries on the side,
but now I need somebody new. Somebody with real typing
skills. Somebody —"
The arm of the chair wobbled under her hand, and she
realized she'd been pulling up on it. Relax. She shoved it
back down again, clamping her elbow to her side to stop
the chair arm from moving any more, keeping her foot on
the spot on the rug. Just sit still, she told herself.
Behind her, the blind rustled as it slipped a little.
"You certainly have the skills we need," McKenna said,
and she forced a smile. "However, our work here is highly
confidential. We have a rule: We never talk about business
outside this office. Can you be discreet?"
"Certainly," Nell said, pressing harder on the chair
arm as she tried to radiate discretion.
"You do understand that this is a temporary position?"
"Uh, yes," Nell lied, feeling suddenly colder. Here
was her new life, just like her old life. She heard a
faint crack from the direction of the chair arm and
loosened her grip a little.
"Our receptionist is recovering from an accident and
should be back in six weeks," he was saying. "So October
thirteenth—"
"I'm history," Nell finished. At least he was letting
her know ahead of time that the end was coming. She
wouldn't get attached. She wouldn't have a son with him.
She wouldn't—
The chair arm wobbled again, much looser this time,
and he nodded. "If you want the Job, it's yours."
The blind slipped again, a rusty, sliding sound.
"I want the job," Nell said.
He fished in his center desk drawer and handed her a
key. "This will get you into the outer office on the days
my partner, Riley, or I haven't opened before you get
here." He stood and offered her his hand. "Welcome to
McKenna Investigations, Mrs. Dysart. We'll see you Monday
at nine."
Nell stood, too, releasing the chair arm gingerly in
the hope that it wouldn't fall to the floor. She reached
for his hand, sticking hers out forcefully to show
confidence and strength, and hit one of the Styrofoam
cups. Coffee spread over his papers while they both
watched, their hands clasped over the carnage.
"My fault," he said, letting go of her to grab the
cup. "I never remember to throw these out."
"Well, that's my job for the next six weeks," she
said, perky as all hell. "Thank you so much, Mr. McKenna."
She gave him one last insanely positive smile and left
the office before anything else could happen.
The last thing she saw as she closed the heavy door
behind her was the blind slipping once, bouncing, and then
crashing down, exposing the star-cracked window, brilliant
in the late afternoon light.
When Eleanor Dysart was gone, Gabe looked at the broken
window and sighed. He found a bottle of Bayer in his
middle drawer and took two of the aspirin, washing them
down with hours-old coffee that had been awful when it was
hot, grimacing as somebody knocked on his office door.
His cousin Riley loomed blondly in the doorway, doing
his usual impression of a half-bright halfback. "Who was
the skinny redhead who just left? Cute, but if we take her
case, we should feed her."
"Eleanor Dysart," Gabe said. "She's filling in for
Lynnie. And she's stronger than she looks."
Riley frowned at the window as he sat down in the
chair Eleanor Dysart had just vacated. "When'd the window
get broken?"
"About five minutes ago. And we're hiring her, even
though she's a window breaker, because she's qualified and
because Jack Dysart asked us to."
Riley looked disgusted. "One of his ex-wives we don't
know about?" He leaned on the chair arm, and it cracked
and broke so that he had to catch himself to keep from
falling through it. "What the hell?"
"Sister-in-law," Gabe said, staring sadly at the
chair. "Divorced from his brother."
"Those Dysart boys are hell on wives," Riley said,
picking up the chair arm from the floor.
"I mentioned to Jack that we needed a temp and he sent
her over. Be nice to her. Other people haven't been." Gabe
stashed his aspirin back in the drawer and picked up a
coffee-soaked paper. He used another paper to blot the
coffee off and held it out to Riley. "You've got the Hot
Lunch on Monday."
Riley gave up on the chair arm and dropped it on the
floor to take the paper. "I hate chasing cheaters."
Gabe's headache fought back against the aspirin. "If
relationship investigation bothers you, you might want to
rethink your career choice."
"It's the people, not the job. Like Jack Dysart. A
lawyer who thinks adultery is a hobby, there's the bottom
of the food chain for you. What a loser."
That's not why you hate him, Gabe thought, but it was
late on Friday afternoon, and he had no interest in
pursuing his cousin's old grudges. "I have to see him and
Trevor Ogilvie on Monday. Both senior partners at once."
"Good for you. I hope Jack's in trouble up to his
neck."
"They're being blackmailed."
"Blackmail?" Riley said, his voice full of
disbelief. "Jack? There's stuff out there that's even
worse than the stuff everybody knows about him?"
"Possibly," Gabe said, thinking about Jack and his
total disregard for the consequences of his actions. It
was amazing what a handsome, charming, selfish, wealthy
lawyer could get away with. At least, it was amazing what
Jack got away with. "Jack thinks it's just a disgruntled
employee trying to scare them. Trevor thinks it's a prank
and if they wait a few weeks—"
Riley snorted. "There's Trevor for you. A lawyer who's
made a fortune delaying the other side to death. Which is
still better than Jack, the devious son of a bitch."
Gabe felt a spurt of irritation. "Oh, hell, Riley,
give the man some credit, it's been fourteen years and
he's still married to her. She cracked thirty a while back
and he stuck. He may even be faithful for all we know."
Riley scowled at him. "I have no idea what you're
talking about—"
"Susannah Campbell Dysart, the defining moment of your
youth."
"—but if my choice is between the Hot Lunch and Jack
Dysart," Riley went on, "I'll take the Hot Lunch. I was
going to campus on Mondav anyway; it'll be on my way."
Gabe frowned at him. "I thought you were working a
background check on Monday. What are you doing on campus?"
"Having lunch," Riley said, looking innocent.
Gabe's irritation grew. Riley was thirty-four.
Maturity was long overdue. "You're dating a grad student
now?"
"Junior," Riley said, without guilt. "Horticulture
major. Knows everything about plants. Did you realize that
the coneflower—"
"So she's what, fifteen years younger than you are?"
"Thirteen," Riley said. "I'm broadening my horizons by
learning about the plant world. You, on the other hand,
are in such a deep rut you can't even see your horizons.
Come out with us, get hooked up—"
"With an undergraduate." Gabe shook his head,
disgusted. "No. I'm calling Chloe for dinner tonight. I
will be hooked up."
Riley shook his head, equally disgusted. "Much as I
like Chloe, sleeping with your ex-wife is not going to get
you out of your rut."
"Much as sleeping with a college junior will not help
you achieve adulthood," Gabe said.
"Fine, be that way." Riley stood up, affable as
ever. "Give my best to Jack and the boys on Monday." He
picked up the broken chair and switched it with the one by
the window and then left, and Gabe began to sort through
the rest of the splattered papers on his desk. As an
afterthought, he picked up the phone and hit the speed
dial for The Star-Struck Cup, his ex-wife's teashop. He
could have walked through the door that connected the
agency reception room to The Cup's storeroom and talked to
his ex in the flesh, but he didn't want Chloe in the flesh
at that moment, he just wanted to make sure he had access
to her flesh later.
When Chloe answered, her voice bubbling over the
phone, he said, "It's me."
"Good," she said, some of the bubble gone. "Listen, a
woman was just in here buying almond cookies. Tall and
thin. Faded red hair. Pretty eyes. Did she come from you?"
"Yes, but she's not a client so you can skip the pep
talk about how I have to save her. She's Lynnie's temp
replacement."
"She has an interesting look to her," Chloe said. "I
bet she's a Virgo. Give me her birth date."
"No. Dinner at eight?"
"Yes, please. We need to talk. Lu thinks maybe she'd
rather backpack through Europe this fall."
"Not a chance. I paid her first-quarter tuition."
"This is your daughter's life, Gabe."
"No. She's only eighteen. That's too young for Europe
by herself."
"She's the same age I was when I married you," Chloe
pointed out.
And look at the lousy decision you made. "Chloe, she's
going to college. If she hates it after the first quarter,
we'll talk."
Chloe sighed. "All right. Now about this Virgo—"
"No," Gabe said and hung up, thinking about his lovely
blonde daughter making plans to backpack through faraway
countries filled with predatory men while his lovely
blonde ex-wife consulted the same stars that had told her
to divorce him.
He reached for the aspirin again and this time he
washed it down with the Glenlivet he kept stashed in his
bottom drawer, just as his dad had before him. He was
going to have to do something about Chloe and Lu, not to
mention Jack Dysart and Trevor Ogilvie and whatever mess
they'd gotten themselves and their law firm into this
time. The only cheerful thing in his future was that he'd
be sleeping with Chloe later. That was always nice.
Nice? He stopped. Christ, what had happened to "hot"?
It couldn't be Chloe, she was the same as she'd always
been.
So it's me, he thought, looking at the scotch bottle
in one hand and the aspirin bottle on the desk. I'm played
out, relying on booze and drugs to get me through the day.
Of course, it was Glenlivet and Bayer he was abusing,
not Ripple and crack. His eye fell on the photograph on
the wall across from him: his dad and Trevor Ogilvie,
forty years before, hands clasped on each other's
pinstriped shoulders, grinning at the camera, which they
toasted with glasses of scotch. A fine old tradition, he
thought and remembered his dad saying, "Trevor's a great
guy, but without me, he'd ignore his problems until they
blew up in his face."
You left me more than half the agency, Pop.
Not cheered by this, Gabe stashed both bottles in the
desk and began to sort through the mess on his desk to
find his notes. Damn good thing they had a secretary
coming in on Monday. He needed somebody who would follow
orders and make his life easier, the way Chloe had when
she'd been his secretary. He shot an uneasy glance at the
broken window. He was pretty sure Eleanor Dysart was going
to make his life easier.
And if she didn't, he'd just fire her, even if she was
the ex-sister-in-law of their biggest client. If there was
one thing he didn't need in his life, it was more people
making him crazy.
He was full up on those already.
On the other side of the village park, Nell sat at her
large dining room table in her very small apartment and
said, "And then as I left, the blind fell down with this
huge crash and there was the broken window." She watched
straight-faced as her sister-in-law Suze Dysart hiccuped
with laughter, platinum beautiful even while gasping.
"Maybe he'll think it was somebody outside who broke
it," Nell's other sister-in-law, Margie, said from beside
her, her plain little face as hopeful as always over the
cup of coffee Nell had just poured for her. "If you never
tell him, maybe he'll never know." She took a small silver
thermos out of her bag as she spoke and topped up her cup
with the soy milk she carried with her.
"He's a detective," Nell said. "I hope to God he
knows, or I'm working for Elmer Fudd."
"Oh, God, it's been too long since I laughed like
that." Suze took a deep breath. "What are you going to do
about the rug?"
"Maybe you can stick the holey part under his desk."
Margie reached for an almond cookie. "If he never sees it,
maybe he'll never know." She bit into the cookie and
said, "I love these, but the woman who makes them is very
stingy with the recipe."
"If you could make the cookies, would you buy them
from her?" Suze said, and when Margie shook her head, she
said, "Well, there you are." She turned back to Nell and
pushed the cookie plate toward her. "Eat and tell us about
it. What's the place like? What's your new boss like?"
"He's a slob," Nell said. "It's going to take me the
entire six weeks just to clean off his desk." That was a
good thought, organizing somebody's life, getting back in
charge of things. Time to get moving again, she thought
and sat still.
"Ouch." Margie looked under the table. "What did I
just kick? Why are there boxes under here?"
"My china," Nell said.
"You haven't unpacked your china yet?" Margie sounded
scandalized.
"She'll get to it." Suze sent an unmistakable shut-up
glare Margie's way.
Margie, of course, missed it. "If she had her china
out, she could look at it, and it would make her feel more
settled."
"No, it wouldn't," Suze said, still staring at her
with intent. "Mine's out and it makes me want to throw up,
although that may be because I'm stuck with the butt-ugly
Dysart Spode."
"I love looking at my dishes," Margie said sadly over
her coffee, which was not news to the rest of the table.
Margie had more Franciscan Desert Rose earthenware than
any other woman on the planet.
Suze finally caught Margie's eye, and Margie
straightened, smiling. Nell wanted to say, "Look, guys,
it's all right," but then she'd just have to cope with
both of them reassuring her again.
"Well, I think it's wonderful," Margie said, faux
chipper. "This new job and all. You've always liked
working." She sounded slightly bemused by that, as if it
were a mystery to her.
"I didn't like working," Nell said. "I liked running
my own business."
"Tim's business," Margie said.
"We built it together."
"Then why does he have it now?" Margie said, and Nell
wished Suze would glare at Margie again.
"Well, I'd like working," Suze rushed in. "I don't
know what I want to do, but after fourteen years of
college, I must be qualified to do something."
Then get a Job, Nell thought, impatient at hearing
Suze's lament again, and then felt guilty. Suze talked
about work and didn't do anything about it, but Nell
hadn't done anything, either, until Jack had called about
the McKennas.
Margie was still obsessing about Tim. "Tell me you at
least got half of those ugly glass awards he was so proud
of."
Nell kept her temper. Snarling at Margie was like
kicking a puppy. "The Icicles? No. I left them with the
agency. It wouldn't have been fair—"
"Don't you ever get tired of being fair?" Suze said.
Yes, Nell thought. "No," she said. "And as for the new
job, all I'm going to do is answer phones and type of six
weeks. I'ts not a career. It's like practice, just to get
me started again."
"It's a detective agency," Suze said. "I thought that
would be exciting. Sam Spade and Effie Perine." She
sounded wistful.
"Who?" Margie said.
"A famous detective and his secretary," Suze said. "I
studied them in my film noir course. I thought Sam and
Effie had the best jobs. The clothes were good, too." She
pushed the plate toward Nell. "Have a cookie."
Margie refocused on Nell. "Is your boss cute?"
"No." Nell stirred her coffee and thought about Gabe
McKenna. It was his eyes that had made her nervous, she
decided. That and the sheer weight of his presence, the
threat of potential temper there. Not a man to mess
with. "He's tall and solid-looking, and he frowns a lot,
and his eyes are dark so it's hard to read him. He
looks ... I don't know. An- noyed. Sarcastic." She
remembered him sitting behind his desk, ignoring
her. "Actually, he looks like Tim."
"That doesn't sound like Tim," Margie said. "Tim's
always smiling and saying nice things."
"Tim's always trying to sell insurance," Suze
said. "But you're right, that doesn't sound like Tim.
Don't get them confused. Tim is a loser. The new guy might
be good. Anybody but Tim might be good."
Nell sighed. "Look, he was very polite, but that was
it."
"Maybe he was fighting his attraction to you," Suze
said. "Maybe he was distant because he didn't want to come
on too strong but his heart beat faster when he saw you."
Margie shook her head. "I don't think so. Nell isn't
the type to drive men crazy on first sight. Men do that
for you because you're young and beautiful, so you think
it's that way for everybody."
"I'm not that young," Suze said.
"He was not attracted to me," Nell said firmly. "This
is a job only."
"All right," Margie said. "But you do have to start
dating now. You should be married again."
Yeah, because that worked out so well the last time.
"She's right," Suze said. "You don't want to be
alone." She said it as if it were a fate worse than death.
"Although maybe not," Margie said, staring off into
space. "Come to think of it, it's the men who always want
to get married. Look at Tim, marrying Whitney so soon."
Ouch, Nell thought and saw Suze swing toward Margie,
ready to snarl.
"And Budge can't wait, he's driving me crazy about
setting a date." Margie bit into her cookie and chewed,
deep in thought. "You know, he moved in a month after
Stewart left, so I never had much of a chance to look
around. There might be somebody better."
Nell was so surprised she almost dropped her coffee
cup.
Suze put hers down in her saucer with a loud
clink. "Marjorie Ogilvie Dysart, I am astonished at you.
That man's lived with you for seven years and vou're
thinking about leaving him?"
"Well," Margie began.
"Go for it," Suze said. "Don't think twice. If you
need help moving, I'm there."
"Or maybe I'll get a job," Margie went on. "If you
like your job, Nell, maybe I'll get one. Not at the
agency, though. Budge says the McKennas deal with too many
low people."
"Really?" Nell said, not caring. Margie's Budge looked
like the Sta- Puf Marshmallow Man and talked like a Moral
Majority leader. "I'm amazed Budge lets you hang out with
me, then."
Margie blinked at her. "You're not low. You're just
depressed."
Suze shoved the cookie plate toward her to distract
her. "Nell is not depressed. And speaking of Budge, if
you're going to stay with him, would you please tell him
again not to call me `Suzie.' I've reminded him over and
over and he still does it. One more time and I swear to
God, I'm going to break his glasses."
"I just wonder sometimes," Margie said, not paying
attention. "You know. Is this all there is?"
Nell nodded. "I used to wonder, too. Sometimes I'd
look around the insurance agencv and think, `This is the
rest of my life?' Then it turned out it wasn't. Trust me,
Margie, don't push your luck."
"You didn't push your luck," Suze said. "You married
the wrong guy."
"No, I didn't," Nell said. "He was the right guy for
twenty-two years." She stared into her coffee cup. "It's
not like he cheated—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Suze said. "If I hear one
more time about how it's not Tim's fault because he didn't
cheat before he left you, I'm going to throw something. He
left you alone and hurt you so much you don't even eat
anymore." She stared at the coolie plate, visibly upset.
"He's scum. I hate him. Find somebodv new and start a
new life."
I liked my old life. Nell took a deep breath. "Look,
can we wait to see if I survive working for Gabriel
McKenna for six weeks before I deal with other men?"
"Okay, six weeks, but then you date," Suze said. "And
you eat now."
"I think we should unpack your china," Margie said.
God, preserve me from those who love me, Nell thought
and drank the rest of her coffee.
Five hours later, in his third-floor apartment above the
agency, Gabe would have thought much the same thing if
he'd been thinking at all. After the day he'd had, all
he'd wanted was sex and silence, and now he was halfway
there, making only a vague pretense of listening to Chloe
in bed beside him.
"I liked the way she looked." Chloe was saying. "And I
checked her birth date on the application, and she is a
Virgo, just like I thought. She's going to be an excellent
secretary."
"Hmmmm."
"So I think you should fire Lynnie and make this
Eleanor permanent," Chloe said, her usual delicately
suggestive voice blunt, and Gabe woke up a little. "Even
before I knew Lynnie was a Scorpio, I didn't trust her. I
know she's efficient, but she doesn't take care of anybody
but herself. That dark hair. Eleanor will be perfect for
you."
Gabe ignored the dark hair bit—tracking down Chloe's
free associations could take hours—to concentrate on the
important point. "Chloe, I don't tell you how to run your
business, so butt out of mine." Another thought
intruded. "How did you see that application?"
"It was on your desk. I looked after you left. She has
a Cancer moon."
"If that means she has a nice ass, you're right. Stay
out of my office." Gabe rolled away in the forlorn hope
she'd shut up.
"I bet she was a real redhead once," Chloe
said. "There was fire there, I'd bet anything. But she's
all faded out now." She nudged him with her elbow. "You
could do something about that, put some of the fire back
into her."
"She's going to answer the phone," Gabe said into his
pillow. "Unless AT&T inflames her, she's out of luck."
Chloe sat up and leaned over his shoulder, and he
closed his eyes in pleasure at all that warm softness
pressed against his back. Then she said, "Gabe, I don't
think we should see each other anymore."
Gabe turned his head to look up at her. The moon came
through the skylight and backlit Chloe's short blonde
curls, making her look angelically lovely. Too bad she was
insane. "You live next door. You work in the same building
I do. You sleep with me several times a week. What's your
plan, blindfolds?"
"I'm serious, Gabe. I think it's time we broke up."
Gabe turned his back on her again. "We did that
already. It was a success. Go to sleep."
"You never listen," Chloe said, and Gabe could feel
the bed bounce as she rolled out of it.
"Where are you going?" he said to her, exasperated, as
she struggled into her clothes.
"Home," Chloe said, and since that was just next door,
Gabe said, "Fine. See you tomorrow."
"Gabe," Chloe said a minute later, and Gabe rolled
over to see her standing at the foot of his bed, braless
in her moons-and-stars T-shirt, her hands on her hips like
a particularly demanding child. When she didn't say
anything, he propped himself up on his elbows and said
with exaggerated patience, "What?"
Chloe nodded. "Good, you're awake. You and I have
stayed together partly because of Lu but mostly because
there wasn't anybody else we liked better. You're a very
nice man, but we're not right for each other, and we owe
it to ourselves to find our soul mates."
"I love you," Gabe said. "If you weren't such a
fucking whacko, I'd still be married to you."
"I love you, too, but this is not the great love we
both deserve. And someday you're going to look at me and
say, `Chloe, you were right.'"
"I'll say it now if you'll shut up and come back to
bed."
"I think this Eleanor could be the one for you. I
spent two hours on her horoscope, and I can't tell for
sure without getting her time of birth for her rising
sign, but I really think she might be your match."
Gabe felt suddenly cold. "Tell me you didn't tell her
that."
"Well, of course not." Chloe sounded
exasperated. "Look, I know how you hate change, so I'm
setting us both free so you can start over with Eleanor
and I can find the man I was meant to be with."
Gabe sat up straighter. "You're not serious about
this."
"Very," Chloe said and blew him a kiss. "Good-bye,
Gabriel. I'll always love you."
"Wait a minute." Gabe rolled toward the foot of the
bed to reach for her, but she faded away into the dark,
and a moment later he heard the door to his apartment
close with a finality that was rare for Chloe.
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Chloe did exactly
what he told her to do. This was clearly the hundredth. He
fell back into bed and stared up at the skylight,
depressed by the realization that his ex-wife had just
dumped him again.
A shooting star traced its way above the skylight, and
he watched it fade. Weren't those supposed to be good
luck? Chloe would know, but she'd walked out. His future
now consisted of an endless string of days spent coping
with clients like Jack Dysart, keeping his daughter in
college, chasing down a series of cheating mates, and
watching his temp secretary destroy his office, all as a
celibate. "I want my old life back," he said and rolled
over, pulling his pillow over his head to block out the
stars that were responsible for his latest disaster.