"You know, I'm really not sure . . ." Brooke Mackenzie was shaking her head, preparing to retreat.

"Just promise me you'll call him and set up a meeting to discuss the party with him," Edward cut in smoothly. "After that meeting, if you feel it's not something you want to do, I'll let him know we won't be able to help him."

"I guess I could do that," she said, though she didn't look happy about it.

"Splendid." He stood and she did the same. He'd learned long ago that once you got what you wanted it was best to conclude the conversation before the other party could change his or her mind. "Here's his information. Just tell him you're part of Private Butler and that I asked you to call."

"All right." She held the notepaper by one corner as if it were a telegram from outer s.p.a.ce, but she didn't hand it back. "I'll call him today. And I'll let you know what I think after I meet with him." She hesitated. "But I'm really not certain that I have the skills necessary to represent your company in this kind of a professional capacity."

He studied her closely and thought how misleading an exterior could be; how small a part of a person it really revealed. Brooke Mackenzie wasn't beautiful. She didn't have a veneer of sophistication, did not possess so much as a hint of swagger. Her eyes were clouded with self-doubt. But buried deep inside there was bedrock, he was sure of this. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, I think you underestimate yourself, Mrs. Mackenzie."

She looked at him oddly, clearly not understanding what he meant.

"I'm certain you can handle this," he said gently. "After all it's not everyone who could handle having her ex-husband and his girlfriend move into her building with such aplomb. You have an amazing amount of self-possession. I'm sure a child's birthday party is nothing in comparison."

"What did you say?" Brooke Mackenzie's voice didn't rise above a whisper. But that whisper was fraught with the same horror he now saw reflected in her eyes.

Good Lord. Edward felt a great deal of horror himself at what was apparently a complete and utter lack of discretion on his part.

She blinked rapidly. He could feel the effort she was expending not to cry.

"I'm so sorry," he said wishing there was something, anything, he might say that would erase his horrible, inexcusable, mistake from both of their memories. "I a.s.sumed you already knew that Mr. Mackenzie had purchased the three bedroom on the tenth floor. He and Ms. Grant are scheduled to move into it in two weeks' time."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

ARE YOU SURE?"

"Absolutely." Samantha eyed her husband, who was already dressed for their Sunday round of golf. "I do have a bit of a headache and a round of golf and Sunday dinner with you is going to make Cynthia feel like it's her birthday, Mother's Day, and Christmas all rolled into one."

"I hate to leave you all afternoon when I'm flying out to Boston right after dinner."

"It's okay," Samantha said. "It'll be my gift to your mother for arranging an interview for Meredith at the Atlanta Preservation Board. But if you tell her I begged you to stay home and you insisted on asking her to play instead, she'll enjoy it even more." She had no doubt that this many hours alone with her son would send Cynthia into the genteel version of hog heaven.

"All right. But I'm tempted to tell her the truth so you get at least a little credit." He leaned down to kiss her.

"Up to you," Samantha said as he turned to go. "But why hollow out her sense of victory?"

After Jonathan left Samantha downed two more Advil and reached for her cell phone. The headache had begun as a small throb behind the eyes the day before when Jonathan had handed her a copy of her American Express bill. He'd said only, "When exactly are you expecting Meredith back?" but his eyes had been carefully blank and the tick in his cheek p.r.o.nounced.

Samantha had already been trying to reach Meredith for almost twenty-four hours at that point. Her interview at the Preservation Board was set for Tuesday and Samantha had booked a flight home from New York for her on Monday, but was not at all positive Meredith would be on that flight since she hadn't yet spoken to her.

Now, with renewed determination-and desperation-she found Fredi Fainstein's cell phone number and called it, holding her breath as it rang.

"'Lo?"

"Fredi?"

"Yes?"

"This is Samantha Davis. Meredith's sister."

"Oh."

There was a silence. As if a hand were covering the mouthpiece.

"Fredi," Samantha said. "Please put her on the phone now." She imitated the tone she'd heard Jonathan use when he would brook no argument.

There was what sounded like a scuffle and then Meredith was on the line.

"What's the big emergency?" Meredith asked, her tone belligerent. The clatter of cutlery and laughter-laced conversation sounded in the background.

"If you'd responded to any of my emails, phone messages, or texts you'd know that Cynthia has arranged an interview at the Atlanta Preservation Board first thing Tuesday morning."

Silence.

"We pay for your phone and Internet primarily so that we have the ability to communicate with you. And yet you don't respond." Samantha realized she sounded as sullen as Meredith. No, not sullen. She was well and truly p.i.s.sed.

"I've been busy."

"Yes, I realized that when I saw my AmEx bill," Samantha said.

"But I don't want to come back now," Meredith whined. "Fredi's been introducing me to absolutely everybody. I met Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson at a party last week. And I sat at a table right next to Ashton Kutcher's table at this adorable little restaurant in SoHo. Our knees were practically touching."

"And this would help you find a job how?" Samantha asked.

There was a brief pause. "The Frick thing didn't pan out. But I did meet someone who knows someone at Sotheby's. I think I might be able to turn that into . . . something."

"Meredith. Today is Sunday. The interview is Tuesday. I've booked a flight for you out of LaGuardia at ten a.m. tomorrow."

Meredith remained silent.

"The job's not yours yet. You have to actually show up and impress them." She backed off a notch. If she made Meredith too angry, there'd be no talking to her. "As you are perfectly capable of doing when you want to."

"But I can't come back now. Not when I'm starting to make inroads here." There was a pause as Meredith regrouped.

It was Samantha's turn to remain silent.

"It's not fair. It's easy there for you married to Jonathan and everything. But I like it up here where things are actually happening. And . . . I met someone, Samantha. I need to stay here and see where it leads."

Samantha knew exactly where it would lead if in fact it were even true. She'd heard the same thing far too many times to hold out any real hope that Meredith would ever be attracted to or settle for the kind of man she really needed. Or a life that didn't revolve solely around herself.

And whose fault was that? she asked herself. Herself did not answer. "I'm sorry," Samantha said determined not to be swayed. "But Cynthia's called in quite a few favors on your behalf. You will be at that interview and you will be charming and professional. Once you have a job and the money to take yourself back to New York for a visit, you'll go. Or you can invite him down here. We'd all be glad to meet him."

Samantha could feel the waves of resentment behind Meredith's silence. "I'll be at the airport to pick you up. If you're not there, your credit cards will be canceled and your bank account closed." And then because she couldn't stay on the phone another minute, she said, "Have a nice day," and hung up.

Barely thirty seconds later her phone rang. She drew a shaky breath of relief. She'd been afraid Meredith wouldn't come to her senses. Meredith had never mastered the art of apologizing. Samantha would meet her halfway.

"Meredith, I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean-"

"Sorry," Hunter's voice cut in. "Wrong sibling."

"Oh." Samantha hurried to regroup. "What's going on?" She hadn't seen Hunter in more than a week. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," he said heartily. Too heartily. "I was just wondering if I could come by and speak to you tonight."

Samantha's antennae quivered. "About what?"

"Can't a guy just stop by to see his sister without an ulterior motive?"

It was possible that some brothers did this. Hunter wasn't one of them. Hunter Jackson was a weigher of options, a contemplator of angles.

"Of course," she said. "I've got a screening in the building tonight. And I'm picking Meredith up at the airport around twelve thirty tomorrow, but other than that I'm pretty open.

"Tomorrow could be too late," he said curtly. Which pretty much eliminated the possibility that this bore any resemblance to a casual drop-in. "I'm getting ready to board a flight back from DC and I need to stop off at my apartment when I get in," he said. "Can't you just go to whatever you're doing after we talk?"

Samantha's jaw clenched. As always, he expected her to drop whatever she was doing simply because he wanted or needed something. But she'd been looking forward to the Downton Abbey screening and it was clear that whatever he wanted to talk about was not going to put a smile on her face. Still agitated from her argument with Meredith, she wasn't inclined to humor him.

"I'm going to be in the clubroom on the eighth floor," she said, making up her mind. Maybe if she spoke to him in a public place it wouldn't be as bad as she was starting to fear it would be. "It's right across from the fitness room on the way to the pool. Just come in and get me."

"Okay." His agreement was grudging. She could tell he was surprised that she would put her own plans before his needs. Once again she had to ask herself whose fault was that? Once again her "self" didn't want to answer.

Just before eight, Samantha took the elevator down to the clubroom, where a definite party atmosphere prevailed. Some of the women had already moved to their chairs and couches. She spotted the tops of Brooke and Claire's heads on the sofa they'd claimed for their own and was pleased to see the seat between them open. Edward shot her a smile when she entered, James handed her a gla.s.s of wine, and Isabella c.o.c.ked her head and said, "The yooshall, me'lady?"

"Yes, thanks." She accepted the bag of popcorn and made her way down toward the front of the room.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked when she reached the sofa.

"Only by you," Claire said with a tap of the cushion. Brooke gave her a shy smile as she settled in between them.

"I see we're back to wine," Samantha said to Claire. "I think you scared Edward away from the shandies and back to the straight and narrow."

"Works for me," Claire said. "I'm not planning to let any beer of mine get in the same room as a gla.s.s of lemonade anytime soon."

Brooke raised an eyebrow and smiled. But the smile was fleeting. Her brow furrowed.

Edward Parker took his place in front of the screen. "Welcome, ladies," he said, raising his arms and his voice above the din. Conversations ended and all eyes turned to the concierge. "I don't think you need any introduction from me tonight, but I do hope you'll stay for a bit afterward. We'll be having apple crumble for 'afters' with a choice of brandies."

There were murmurs of pleasure as Edward aimed the remote at the DVD player. "So now without further ado," he said. "I bring you episode three."

The theme music swelled as the concierge stepped out of the way. Downton Abbey appeared on the screen. Samantha gave a mental heave, trying to push Meredith and Hunter from her mind as she and every other person in the room leaned forward, eager and ready to be transported.

KEMAL PAMUK, THE TURKISH DIPLOMAT LADY MARY had been flirting with since they met at the hunt earlier that day, appeared in Mary's bedroom. Was he going to harm her? Was she actually going to flout propriety and . . .

The tap on Samantha's shoulder yanked her out of Lady Mary's bedroom with a gasp. Heads turned her way but only briefly. Even she was having a hard time tearing her eyes from the screen.

"Hey," Hunter whispered.

It took her a moment to come back to the present. When she did she could see what looked like panic in her brother's eyes. Worry creased his face. "Hey," she whispered back even as she girded her loins.

Claire and Brooke tore their gazes from the screen to look at her.

"Be right back," she said and hoped this would be the case.

Samantha bent down so she wouldn't block anyone's view and led Hunter toward the door. No one paid them any mind. It seemed that Lady Mary was about to have s.e.x with Pamuk. Samantha couldn't believe she was going to miss it.

When Hunter hesitated near the bar, she shook her head and motioned him out into the hall. He hugged her a trifle too hard.

She looked steadily at him, her heart already pounding with dread. "What's wrong," she asked. "Are you ill?"

"I wish." He said this quietly. A small snort of laughter followed.

Samantha considered her brother, waiting for him to explain. She saw his gaze sharpen. "Stop it," she said.

"Stop what?"

"Trying to figure out how to 'handle' me."

He looked surprised and she realized that she'd never called him on it before.

"Apparently whatever it is is more important than anything I might be doing. So go ahead and tell me now."

Again, she saw that she'd surprised him. Good. She was tired of always being on the receiving end of unpleasant surprises.

"The nanotechnology deal has gone south. There were some . . . irregularities. It's a little unclear who actually owns the patent. And there are questions about the stock that was issued. I have to pump in another hundred thousand dollars to stave off an SEC investigation into me and my backers."

She looked at him as his words sank in. "But Jonathan is one of your backers." Her head began to pound. "Does Jonathan know?"

He shook his head and dropped his eyes in the way he had as a child. "I was hoping you could tell him. And ask him if he could make this one last investment to straighten things out."

She shook her head. Oh, no.

"It's only a hundred thousand," he said.

"Did you really just say that?" she asked. "When did one hundred thousand dollars become an only to you?"

"When you married Jonathan," he said simply.

She looked at her brother, really looked at him. Hated that he actually thought this was true. That in her attempt to take care of him and Meredith she'd simply gone out and married a lifetime bankroll. Was that what she'd done?