CHAPTER 14

Tuesday morning, Dianna thought about calling in sick to work. Then she remembered that she owned the business and had to go in. Great. A full day scheduled with three new clients, two other half-planned events that needed pulling together before next weekend, and, as if all that weren’t enough, an appointment with Edward the accountant brother about … oh, who knew or cared, some financial business thing that he always said was important. And it was. And she did care. She just didn’t want to see him today.

He’d take one look at her and he’d explode and then the big snitch would go tell Mom. And that would mean yelling and tears and freakin’ hell to pay. And Mom would call Tommy, who’d come rushing over, policeman gun and all, ready to press some charges and kill someone.

While that last part sounded pretty okay to Dianna right now, she just didn’t think she was up to dealing with all that drama today. Dear God, there would be no end to it. So, no, she hadn’t wanted to come in to work today. She just didn’t feel like it, and she just didn’t feel like it because she had the great-grandmother of all black eyes. So why would she want to have to listen to her employees? Or have to explain it to her clients? Whoopee. What a fun day.

But, anyway, here she was at work an hour early so she could gather her thoughts; figure out what to say to Mrs. Windhorst so she wouldn’t quit; think of how to handle Dr. Yakahama’s confession and how to broach it with Melanie; hopefully catch Edward on the phone when he got to his office and reschedule her appointment with him; and, finally, she meant to test explanations, otherwise known as outright lies, for her shiner and see how believable they sounded, and then choose one to stick with as her story—all before everyone arrived at work.

So, no, she wasn’t stressed at all. Just another day at the beach. Anyway, while standing in the powder room to the private salon at the back of the first floor—the scene of the first Lenny/Chris debacle—Dianna peered into a large, oval, decorative mirror, and cautiously applied gobs of foundation to the steadily bruising, already swollen, really painful big, fat lump of swollen flesh around her half-closed left eye.

“Like this is helping,” she fussed wretchedly. “I don’t know which is worse—the black eye or the sad cover-up job. Who knew lawyers could hit that hard? Damn. Ouch. Okay, enough. You know what? Forget it.”

She capped the bottle of foundation and set it on the narrow table positioned below the mirror. She pulled two or three tissues out of the box and wiped her makeup-smeared fingers clean. Then she surveyed her handiwork, looking this way and that at her poor, abused face. How to explain it?

“I ran into a door,” she said, testing it out loud. Then she shook her head. “No. That’s the oldest one in the book. No one believes that one.” She sighed, thought a minute, and brightened as she came up with another candidate: “It was the funniest thing. I was coming around the corner outside my condo and my neighbor was walking his dog and came around the other way and we ran smack into each other. Ha-ha-ha. Who knew his head was that hard?”

Dianna quirked her mouth. “No. Not only is the truth stranger than fiction, as Mom always told me when she caught me lying, but it’s also shorter. Got to remember shorter.” She exhaled, sighed, thought again. “I was mugged.”

That was short. And would require huge explanations and would garner sympathy she didn’t deserve. Then she’d have to explain why she still had her purse, her credit cards, her driver’s license, and why she hadn’t called the police, or if she had and if Tommy knew. And, then, no doubt, he’d drop by and wouldn’t know what the heck everyone was talking about when they fell on him about his baby sister being mugged and—

“Morning, boss lady.”

Startled, Dianna turned toward the doorway. There, a shoulder leaned against the doorjamb, dressed like Cyndi Lauper in her heyday, or maybe it was Madonna, stood Paula. She immediately straightened up, her mouth a perfect O. “Whoa! Holy shit! What happened to you?”

Dianna slumped, near to tears. “So the makeup didn’t hide it?”

Paula strolled into the room, stopping in front of Dianna and grasping her boss’s chin to gently turn her head this way and that. “Not if we’re talking about this shiner. Wow. What’d you do—get caught in the wrong person’s bed?”

Stunned, Dianna burst into tears and threw herself into Paula’s arms.

*   *   *

That old saying from somewhere in literature, Chris reflected, was true: “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Or, in this case, like a woman who only thought she had been. But he hadn’t been able to make that point yet because in front of him, and having just arrived on this fine Tuesday morning, was a woman essentially screaming “scorned” at him, only she was using many, many more words than that to make her various points.

Though Chris was letting Ronnie have her say and do her venting while she tore through his bedroom and cleaned all of her things out, it didn’t mean he had to like what she had to say. It also didn’t mean he wasn’t hacked off at her for attacking Dianna like she had, because he was. With all his emotions roiling and his temper barely in check, Chris stood with his arms folded across his chest, his shoulder leaned against his bedroom door, and his jaw clenched as tightly as a sprung bear trap.

Watching Ronnie now, Chris realized that Dianna had been right when she’d pointed out to him that he didn’t really seem to like Ronnie in the way you do friends you hang out with. Ronnie didn’t invite liking or easy intimacy. It was all work with her—all one-sided, and on the part of others. He had to believe, then, that even had he never met Dianna, he would have been true enough to himself to realize that. So there it was—he and Ronnie would have had this parting of ways at some point. In fact, going to Popping the Question had been for him, Chris now knew, a way of pushing that very point.

He simply hadn’t counted on Dianna West. But there she’d been, and now here he was. No way could he have married Ronnie after meeting Dianna. No way. All of this meant that now he had to, figuratively speaking, put his house in order—once Ronnie got through literally trashing it. Not that he was going to stop her. Let her have her moment. Hey, maybe he owed it to her. He was mature enough to look at things through her eyes. She comes over, ready to say “I do” … and he’s in bed with Dianna. That had made its own quiet statement, now hadn’t it?

Still, he had never intended for his relationship with Ronnie to end like this. They’d meant something to each other once, and he respected that—or thought he had until he lost his mind when Dianna started taking her clothes off. But even before that had happened, he’d already decided to tell Ronnie it was over. In a much more civilized way, certainly—and with his clothes on. But this way was a lot quicker, more surgical, he wryly admitted. Okay, sure, he felt like a heel on one level. If nothing else, apparently Ronnie had still thought she was in a relationship with him. She hadn’t been, only she didn’t know it yet. And yes, he would have been glad to tell her that if she would have taken his calls. And no, he shouldn’t have slept with Dianna until Ronnie knew, but things hadn’t played out like that. And for that, he was sorry.

But the one thing he wasn’t sorry for was what had happened between him and Dianna. Making love to her had been the most right thing he’d ever done in his life. And he would love to tell her that, too, only she currently was not talking to him. Chris scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Man, this was crazy. And it was his own fault. He accepted that. He’d say it again: He hadn’t meant for it to happen this way, but it had, and so now he’d deal with it. One woman at a time.

The woman currently here was ripping and tearing her clothes off the hangers in his walk-in closet and tossing through a chest of drawers looking for her things. On his bed was her open valise into which she was throwing a growing pile of her belongings. Perfume. Hair dryer. Makeup. Bras. Pictures. Jeans. Alarm clock. Laptop computer. Cosmetics. Slips. Everything. And she wasn’t doing it silently, either.

“I have never been so humiliated in my whole life, Chris,” Veronica was letting him know, her voice somewhere between cold and sobbing. “I will never forgive you. How could I be expected to? I have to say I cannot believe it of you. I really can’t. I had no idea. None. Why should I? You ask me to marry you and then two days later you’re in bed with that—that woman?”

Chris worked his jaw, feeling the muscles jump and his teeth clench. “Don’t call her ‘that woman,’ Ronnie.”

“You’re going to defend her? Even now?”

“She doesn’t need defending. But let’s tell the truth here. I never actually asked you to marry me.”

Ronnie waved her curling iron at him. “Are you going to stand there and split hairs like this? Was that not your intention last Saturday night to ask me to marry you?”

“Yes, it was.” Madam Attorney.

“Well, thank you for that much. Then you do know how hurt I am, right?”

Actually, he wasn’t sure if she was at all. Pissed, he could buy. Telling herself she was hurt, okay. But really hurting, like you would if this were someone you truly cared about? No. Still, for the sake of the argument, he quietly replied, “I think I do.”

“No you don’t. Four years, Chris. I’ve given you four years of my life. Four.” She slam-dunked the curling iron into the valise on the bed and then stood there, her hands clamped to her waist. “I feel like such an idiot for not knowing. I mean, how could I not?”

“Before yesterday, there was nothing to know, Ronnie.”

“Oh, really? I caught you with her twice before that.”

“No, you didn’t. There was nothing to catch. The first time was a fluke. She was there with another client. And the second time she was there for me.”

Ronnie’s eyes narrowed shrewishly. “Wasn’t she, though?”

“Sarcasm is not attractive on you, Ronnie.”

“Forgive me if I don’t care.”

“Fine. Are you about done here?” All Chris could think about was how devastated he’d be if this were Dianna wanting to leave him for any reason at all. But it was Ronnie … and he pretty much didn’t care. He just wanted the damned scene over with and her gone. Very illuminating.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I boring you, Chris?”

“Everything but.” He really shouldn’t be provoking her like this, he knew that, but he was suddenly tired of her tantrum. He’d done all the explaining he was going to do; he’d said he was sorry he’d hurt her; and he’d tried to be patient and let her get it out of her system. But this was enough.

Ronnie had been staring at him, but now her Nordic features hardened into an angry mask. “I could sue her, you know.”

Though his stomach muscles clenched, Chris gave nothing away as he ran a hand through his hair. “Come on, Ronnie, I told you I’d already decided to break it off with you before I … well, before. You don’t want to sue her. It’s me you’re mad at. And I understand why you are. It shouldn’t have happened the way it did. It’s all on me. Just leave Dianna out of this.”

Fire flashed from her eyes. “Don’t tell me who I can sue and who I can’t, Chris. I’m the attorney here, not you. And the truth is anybody can sue anybody at any time for any reason and make their lives a pure living hell.”

“Your specialty. So, what would you sue her for, exactly?”

Smugly triumphant now, she said, “It’s really pretty simple. She owns a business, the express purpose of which is to facilitate proposals, right?”

“Right.” It was as though someone had turned on a bright light and, in its harsh glare, he was seeing Ronnie for the first time as she truly was. How could he have ever thought he loved this woman?

“And now, by her own willful behavior, she has compromised a client and destroyed a relationship—”

“Bullshit. I don’t feel the least bit compromised, and our relationship—mine and yours—was all but over. Admit it: That’s the truth.”

“The truth is I had an engagement ring from you and an implied proposal. But truth isn’t even the issue here, Chris. It’s what the law is. And under the law, she’s guilty of fraud—or will be when my lawyer is done. He’ll probably want to toss in alienation of affection, too. So, see? We entangle her time and money and shut her business down in a heartbeat. She’ll lose everything.”

Though his blood ran cold, Chris quietly said, “No, she won’t. She’ll still have me, Veronica.”

Veronica softly applauded him. “Oh, nicely said, Chris. You have a very high opinion of yourself. Let’s see how comforted and warmed your little friend is by that when it’s all over.”

Chris exhaled. “Look, why don’t you just sue me? I’m the one you’re mad at.”

“True. I could. But suing her will hurt you more.”

A cold calm settled over Chris. He eyed his former lover very levelly. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it, hurting me back?”

She laughed. “Now you’re catching on.”

Chris knew he had to think quickly, had to see if he could talk Ronnie out of this. He went with the one thing he knew would push her buttons: her vanity. “So you want to expose all this in public? You want me to stand up in court and say I never really asked you to marry me? That you assumed I was going to? Because I didn’t ask you, Ronnie. You and I both know it. I don’t want it to be this way, but I’ll go there if you do. So think about your reputation here.”

She pulled herself up to a proud and injured posture, blond hair perfect, eyes wide and round. “My reputation? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It won’t matter, and you know it. You always told me about how people talk, Ronnie, about how it’s a small legal community. In fact, you’ve been one of the chief ones to hit your colleagues when they’re down. So don’t think they’ll cut you any slack. They’ll talk, and they’ll laugh. And this will get tremendous airtime on TV and in the newspapers. Your boss won’t be happy. And, yeah, you’ll be compromised professionally. Is that what you want?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, but Chris felt certain he saw some hesitation in her expression, as if what he’d just said had made her think. “So now you’re going to tell me what I want and don’t want, Chris? I think you’ve lost that privilege.”

Chris pressed his advantage while he had one. “For God’s sake, what are you—some wronged soap opera diva? Christ, Ronnie, last night just happened. We didn’t plan it, and no one was trying to humiliate you or hurt you. That’s not what it was about. And today, whether you’d come over last night or not, you and I would still be having this conversation because you and I are over. I think we have been for a while, too, if you’d only admit it. But since you won’t, you have the opportunity to behave with some dignity. Just get your things and walk away. Why can’t you do that?”

He saw Ronnie’s chin tremble, yet he wasn’t certain he believed that any honest emotion lay behind it. “Because I choose not to, Chris, that’s why. I’m hurting and someone is going to pay.”

Chris had thought they were making some progress. But if Ronnie wanted it like that, then fine. “You do remember Dianna’s eye, don’t you? You hit her pretty hard. So, before you go talking about suing somebody, let’s talk about assault and battery.”

She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Easily explained. I was overwrought, emotional. A jury would be sympathetic. Oh, and let’s not forget, Chris,” Ronnie continued as she stalked into his walk-in closet and began shoving his shoes aside as she presumably looked for pairs of hers—shoes she knew damn well she didn’t have here. “I could bring your Miss West up on charges of running an escort service. I could have her business investigated and see if this has happened before. If she’s done this before—”

“She hasn’t ‘done this’ before, Ronnie. And let me tell you, you’re skating on some pretty thin ice. Pretty damned thin. You can come in here and trash my place all under the guise of looking for your things, and I’ll take that. And you can diss me all you want. But I won’t listen to you insult Dianna.”

Ronnie stalked out of the closet to confront him. Dangling from her hand was a pair of red strappy sandals that Chris had no idea had been in there. “Do not defend her to me. Not today. Maybe Polly Pureheart hasn’t seduced her clients before, but if anybody who works for her has, well, what they’re doing out there at Popping the Question is called prostitution.”

Chris’s gut tightened. Melanie and Dr. Yakahama and the dentist’s chair at the museum were all he could think about. Holy shit. Even though it had turned out not to involve a third party, what could Ronnie make of that? One hell of a lot, probably. And beyond that, if his memory served, the advertising and publicity for Popping the Question that would hit the stands and the airwaves in about two weeks’ time. Oh, man. The last thing Dianna needed was for this thing to make the news at the same time.

Feeling helpless, Chris watched Ronnie tossing her shoes on top of her messy pile. Standing in profile to him, she suddenly turned to look at him. Though blond and beautiful and very familiar to him physically, she still was a complete stranger as far as Chris’s heart was concerned. It was the oddest thing to him, when he compared this to how he felt about Dianna. He’d known her less than a month and yet already felt as if he’d known her all his life.

“You don’t have anything else to say for yourself, Chris?”

With his arms crossed over his chest, he shrugged his shoulders. “Only that I can’t believe you’re going to do this and ruin three lives.”

“Three lives, Chris? No. Only two.” With that, and a self-satisfied smile, Ronnie pulled her gaze away from his. “I’ll be perfectly fine.”

All Chris could do was feel sick at heart and watch as she flopped the lid over on her luggage, smashed it down, and zipped it. She then tugged it off the bed and set it on the floor on its wheels. Releasing the catch for the long handle, she smoothly pulled it out. Only when she was poised to walk out of his penthouse and his life did she turn back to him. “Good-bye, Chris. I’ll see you and your little friend in court. And soon.”

*   *   *

By about lunchtime Tuesday, Dianna had her various crises sorted into some kind of prioritized order. She’d changed her appointment with Edward to the end of next week. Ought not to be so bruised by then that makeup can’t cover it. And, on Paula’s advice—once she’d told her a true but abbreviated version, sans details of the lovemaking, of last evening’s rumble—Dianna had decided on the “I walked into a wall” story for her other employees and any curious new clients. Then she’d reassured Paula that she didn’t have to worry about her new best friend Melanie because she, Dianna, had good news for her. And finally, after all that, Dianna had simply gone to work on her day’s tasks. She’d even managed to school herself not to jump every time Mrs. Windhorst told her she had a call. None of them had been Chris.

Dianna could only imagine what he was going through with Veronica Alexander. She didn’t envy him that scene. However, her greatest fear was that maybe Chris wouldn’t end it with the lawyer, that maybe Dianna would be the loser. Again. As always. The little friend who was easy to talk to—and apparently just plain easy. No. Stop that. It wasn’t like that and you know it. Focus on today and the job. Just get through the day. He will call. He will.

Dianna smiled. Everything will be fine. Of course, that was precisely the point where, again, the caca hit the fan—and again in the form of the redoubtable Mrs. Windhorst. The woman stood in the doorway to Dianna’s office, waiting for her attention. Just like yesterday afternoon. Dianna barely stifled a whimper. No wonder they killed the messenger. It was beginning to sound like a good idea. “Yes, Mrs. Windhorst?”

“If you have a moment, Miss West?”

Dianna would have smiled at her secretary, but her face (her own) hurt too much to move the muscles involved. “I have all the time in the world for you,” she said cheerily, hopefully. “What’s up? Something good, I hope?”

Maybe not. The older woman, dressed today in a flowered shirtwaist dress that did nothing for her stalwart figure, stood there hesitantly and held a sheet of letterhead in her hand. “I have prepared my letter of intent to leave after a suitable two-week notice and it requires your signature.”

It took Dianna a moment to cut through the rhetoric before she got the message: Mrs. Windhorst was quitting. No. Dianna swallowed back the primal scream and her fervent desire to beat her forehead against her desktop. Instead, she tightly folded her hands together atop said desk and calmly, sincerely said: “Tough patooties. I refuse to sign it. I also refuse to let you give your notice. So there.” Nanny-boo-boo.

Mrs. Windhorst looked suitably thunderstruck. “But … you can’t do that.”

“Can. And I just did. Look, I’m your boss, and I’m telling you to tear that letter up. You’re not quitting. And you’re not being replaced by some computer. That’s just silly. A machine could not replace you, Mrs. Windhorst. You’re extremely valuable to me, and I like having you here. In fact, I’m going to give you a raise to prove it.” Feeling pretty darned good and adult here—well, except for that nanny-boo-boo and the patootie thing—Dianna added, “So, is there anything else?”

The older woman didn’t seem able to comprehend what had just happened. She divided her attention between the letter in her hand and Dianna. “But you don’t understand, Miss West. This letter—”

“Old news. Tear it up.”

“I don’t really see how I can. Mr. Adams—”

“Should not have said anything to you about computers. Yes, he and I have talked about installing them. We need them, Mrs. Windhorst. But that doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

“But I don’t understand the technology—”

“No one does, except for people like Mr. Adams. But think about it, you probably don’t understand what makes a car run, but you can drive one, right?”

“No. I take the bus.”

Damn. “Okay, bad example. How about your dish-washer?”

“I don’t have one. I do my dishes by hand.”

“VCR?” Dianna was desperate for a viable technological example, but the older woman kept shaking her head no. “How about a TV? You have a TV, right? And a washer and dryer, I’ll bet? I don’t think you’re out at some creek beating your clothes against a rock—”

“Of course I have a TV and a washer and dryer.”

“Aha!” Dianna pointed at her secretary. “How do those work? Do you know all the technology behind them? No, of course you don’t. But you can use them. You’ve mastered them, haven’t you? It’ll be the same with computers, I promise you.”

Mrs. Windhorst shook her head sadly. “No, it won’t. I’ve tried in the past, and I just couldn’t understand it all. It’s so … humiliating.” She held her letter of resignation out to Dianna. “You promised me no computers. And now we’re to have them. Therefore, I have to leave your employment.”

Mrs. Windhorst crossed Dianna’s office and placed the letter on her desk. Defeat ate at Dianna’s heart as she eyed the offending document. “All right, look. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll keep this for now.” She tapped the letter. “But we won’t enact it, okay? All I’m asking you for is a chance. Let Mr. Adams help you. And if you truly can’t get the hang of a computer, then you don’t have to have one on your desk.”

“But everyone else will have one, correct? And you’ll want to put the files and the billing on the computer, won’t you?”

This whole scene was making Dianna’s injured face throb. It was tough being the boss. “Yes.”

“Therefore, I’ll be obsolete. I won’t have access to my own job.”

Well, she was right there. Still, Dianna tried one more time. “Mrs. Windhorst, I think you can do this. You’re one smart woman, and I respect you.” Dianna attempted a shameless, pleading smile but couldn’t produce much more than a grimace of pain. “One month. Just give me a month. Mr. Adams will be here every day with you to help you. That’s part of my deal with him. You like Mr. Adams, don’t you? Think of him here all the time with you. Pretty cool, right? But if, after that time, you’re still convinced you can’t learn to use a computer, then we’ll do this.” She held up the letter. “What do you say?”

Nothing, right off. But then, a tiny smile cracked the corners of her secretary’s mouth. “Mr. Adams will be here with me? Every day? Well … all right, then.” She put on a brave face. “I’ll try.”

“Yah!” Dianna actually cheered—and totally wanted to scream from the smarting around her eye and cheek. She gently cupped her offended flesh in her hand. “That’s the spirit. Good for you.” And for me. One disaster averted. She put the letter of resignation aside and, acting all business-as-usual, asked, “What’s next on the agenda?”

Looking more cheered, Mrs. Windhorst said, “Miss O’Hara wishes to speak with you. Shall I send her in?”

“Yes. Excellent.” A perfect opportunity to avert a second disaster. “Send her in.”

Mrs. Windhorst nodded and exited Dianna’s office. Hearing her secretary talking to Melanie out in the foyer and telling her she could come in now, Dianna quickly opened a drawer to her desk and stuck the letter of resignation inside it. She’d won that one. No more talk today of resignations, thank God.

Just then, Melanie entered. The woman was wearing chiffon and silk. Pink chiffon and silk. Her chin was trembling and her eyes were red and puffy, as if she’d been crying, but she held her head high. “Thank you for seeing me, Di. I know I don’t deserve your time or your attention.”

Dianna had to grit her teeth for patience. Cannot do Blanche DuBois today. “Melanie, it’s okay. Really.”

“You’re very kind.” In Melanie’s hand was a document she held out to Dianna. “I hate very much having to do this because I love working here. But I’ve wronged you and my coworkers and I’ve compromised your business. I must do the right thing and tender my resignation—”

“No! No you’re not, dammit. Uh-uh. No way. Not gonna happen.” Dianna jumped up and rounded her desk and pounced on the startled Melanie and her stupid letter, yanking it from her employee’s hand and proceeding to tear it into tiny shreds and allowing them to sprinkle the carpet. “No! Do you hear me? N-O. I have had it. No one is resigning. Not today. Not ever.” Dianna’s heart pounded and her head hurt. She felt too hot and way out of control.

Melanie wasn’t in much better shape. She backed up in total shock and fear, yet Dianna advanced on her and kept tearing up the letter, which was now down to postage-stamp-sized pieces. “You’re not quitting. You’re not leaving. Dr. Yakahama called me late yesterday. He has no girlfriend, Melanie. He likes you—”

“What?” Melanie finally stopped her retreat. “He has no girlfriend he wants to marry? Then, why—”

“Because he wants you, Melanie. Which is pretty obvious by now. He was too shy to say anything to you—although not too shy, I have to say, to engage in public sex—but the truth is he’s very sorry and I was supposed to put this gently to you, but I don’t feel like dancing all around this. So get over yourself. Nothing here is compromised—not if you care about Dr. Yakahama. Do you?”

Melanie was doing some rapid eye-blinking and pretty good blushing. “I … I think I do.”

“Well, good, Melanie, under the circumstances. So go call him and tell him and then get back to work, do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” Grinning broadly, apparently brimming with happiness, Melanie shrieked her joy and grabbed Dianna in a bear hug. “Oh, Dianna, I am so very happy this has all worked out. Thank you so much.” She planted two or three big lipstick kisses on Dianna’s uninjured cheek. “I will call Dr. Yakahama—well, I guess I can call him by his first name now, can’t I?” Still holding Dianna a squawking hostage in her embrace, Melanie giggled. “Just think, he did all that and paid that deposit and met with me just because he likes me. Oh, this is so wonderful … me and Harold.”

Dianna struggled and finally freed herself from Melanie’s joyous grip. “I’m going to hate myself, but who’s Harold?”

Melanie stared at Dianna as if she were the nutty one. “Honey, haven’t you been paying attention? Harold is Dr. Yakahama, of course.”

“His name’s Harold?” Dianna held up a hand to forestall any explanation that might be forthcoming. “No. Never mind. Come on, now”—she herded Melanie to the office’s door, which stood open to the foyer—“back to work. Everything is fine.”

“Oh, Dianna, I just love you. And you must be careful, honey, and take better care of yourself. No more walking into walls.”

A guiding hand on Melanie’s back, Dianna escorted her frothy employee to the foyer. “Excellent advice. I’ll try to remember that. Off you go, now.” She gently shoved Melanie along her way. The woman went happy and trilling and floating down the hall to her office. Dianna exhaled, shook her head, made a move to go back into her office, had another thought, and turned to face the hall. “Paula?” she called out a little too loudly for her swollen facial nerves. “Ouch,” she whimpered.

Paula zipped out of her office, auburn eyebrows raised in question. In her hand was the world’s largest chocolate-chip cookie, on which she’d obviously been munching. “You bellowed, boss lady?”

“A word of warning: Don’t you even come in to my office today or any other day to tell me you’re resigning because if you do, I’ll tear your head off and beat you with it until you die, understood?”

A couple of doors down the hall from Dianna, and eyeing her boss, Paula calmly took a bite of her treat, chewed it, and then swallowed. She rubbed at her nose and nodded. “Sure. That’s cool. Understood. No resigning; keep head.”

“Good. Just so you understand.”

She nodded again. “How’s the eye, Ali?”

“Hurts like hell. Especially when I yell.”

“And yet you can still rhyme.” Paula started up the hall toward Dianna. As she came, she looked left and right, giving the impression she was trying to ascertain if they were essentially alone. When she stopped in front of Dianna, who had her back to the front door, Paula adjusted her blue-framed eyeglasses on her nose and said, “He call yet?”

To her utter consternation, tears sprang to Dianna’s eyes. “No.”

Paula shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“What if he…” She couldn’t get the words out. Inhale, exhale, just say it. “What if he doesn’t call, Paula? What if he doesn’t even break up with her?”

“Then you should tear his head off and beat him with it until he dies. Pretty effective corporate policy, if you ask me, so it will probably work in the private-life sector, too.” Smiling, she took a bite of her cookie, chewed, and just stood there in front of Dianna, watching her.

Dianna’s heart warmed, and the stupid tears threatened. “You know what, Paula? I like you. I really do.”

Paula nodded. “Most people do. I’m pretty cool.”

“Well, just so you know.”

“Yeah.” Then, “Hey,” her multiply-pierced employee said, using what was left of her cookie as a pointer as she shook it at Dianna. “What happens if, instead of wanting to resign, someone asks for a raise?”

Her expression sober, Dianna said: “That someone would be hanged from the front porch.”

“Whoa.” Paula gave a subtle quirking of one side of her mouth and pivoted around. “I’ll just hang out with Melanie instead. She’s rich. Anyway, I don’t think we’re going to get much work done this afternoon.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

“’Cause if you’ll whirl around real quick, boss lady, you’ll see Mr. Chris Adams himself coming up the steps outside. Looks like he’s got lunch with him. Just in time, too. I’m starved.”