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  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 for six weeks. It’s 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. Annoyed. 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 sett
ing 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 you’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 agency 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 cookie plate, visibly upset. “He’s scum. I hate him. Find somebody 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.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “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 wacko, 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.

  Chapter Two

  When Gabe came downstairs at nine on Monday, the outer office was empty. Not impressive. He was in a bad mood, and now his new secretary was not there with a cup
of coffee. Her ass was fired in six weeks, that was for sure. He turned toward the coffeemaker to make his own, and it wasn’t there, either. In fact the entire top of the old oak bookcase was empty—no dented coffee can, no stack of Styrofoam cups, no little red stirrers, nothing.

  “We’ve been robbed,” he told Riley who came down from his second-floor apartment a moment later. “Some caffeine addict has wiped us out.”

  “It’s not like it was good coffee,” Riley said. “Want me to go out—”

  He stopped as Eleanor Dysart walked by the big window at the front of the office, carrying a cardboard box that looked too heavy for her thin arms.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she came in and set the box on her desk, her brown eyes opened wide in apology. “You were missing a few things, so I went to get them.”

  “Like a coffeemaker?” Gabe said.

  “That was not a coffeemaker. That was an antique that should have been put down long ago.” She unpacked the box as she spoke, putting paper towels and spray cleaner on the desk before lifting out a gleaming white coffeemaker.

  “You bought a coffeemaker?” Gabe said’

  “No, this is mine. I brought my coffee, too.” She tore a paper towel off the roll, picked up the cleanser, sprayed the coffee shelf, and wiped it clean with one ruthless swipe, her hand a pale blur against the dark wood. “I’m going to be drinking it here for the next six weeks anyway.” She set up the coffeemaker and added, “Also, your coffee was terrible.”

  “Thank you,” Riley said, clearly fascinated by the whole process, which Gabe could understand. He’d never seen anybody as gracefully efficient as this woman. She’d pulled out a small white coffee grinder, plugged it in, and poured beans into it from a shiny brown bag, and now she flipped the switch and went back to unpacking as the heavy, sweet smell of the beans filled the room.

  “God, that smells good,” Riley said.

  She was setting out china cups in their saucers, her long pale hands almost the same color as the cream china. “How do you take yours?”

  “Four creams, two sugars,” Riley said, still mesmerized by her.