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what happened at his place?”

      Oh, murder, Genevieve thought, did she have every thought mirrored on her face? “I will give you my very next referral regardless of the potential value of the property if you will please change the subject.”

      Looking a bit impatient, the brunette crossed her legs, her black designer slacks whispering as linen brushed linen. Then she straightened the collar of her red silk shirt. “You may not think four years is long enough to prove that you were devoted to Adam, but from this side of our age difference, I assure you, I’m convinced. I suspect so is every person in this freaking town who is watching you waste your youth.”

      Aghast at her boldness, particularly since Avery had divorced twice, Genevieve gasped. “Stop it! You have no right to tell me how I should feel or behave. You don’t know a thing about it.”

      “No, I don’t. But I have a right to worry about you.”

      Her sudden tender tone and gentle look had Genevieve shaking her head. “Thank you,” she grumbled.

      “The truth is I’d like to feel that deeply about someone just once,” Avery replied ruefully. “So was that Mr. Hold-On-To-Your-Heart Roark you were talking to on your BlackBerry just now? You just left him and he’s already calling you? Why couldn’t I have been born a honey-eyed blonde?”

      “You’re perfect just the way you are,” Genevieve replied in total honesty. “A little scary at times, but I know there are strong men who aren’t intimidated by that.”

      Avery sucked in her cheeks as she continued her speculation, which added to the sharpness of her high cheekbones and sharper chin. With her ear-length bob, the rinse-enhanced brunette reminded Genevieve of a modern-day Cleopatra, who had also been purported to be no great beauty, but a captivating character nonetheless.

      “Trying to shut me up with flattery?”

      “Did it work?”

      “Almost.” Avery tilted her head as she studied her. “You may not want to hear this either, but I do think it’s started.”

      That got Genevieve’s attention. “What has?”

      “The remoteness that’s been like a fog around you all this time. It’s lifting. You’re less the Ghost of Genevieve Past and more present. Bravo.”

      Sneaky, conniving woman, Genevieve thought, returning to sorting her files into stacks. But she was determined not to be totally suckered in by Avery. “Thank you…I think.”

      “Damn it, G.G., don’t make me wish your luscious Mr. Roark would have called me instead of you. He’s what, closing in on forty?”

      “Thirty-eight.”

      For a moment Avery was nonplussed, then she shrugged. “That’s only four years younger than me. He does comes off as older.”

      “He takes life seriously. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s had reason to.”

      “I could redirect his focus. Maybe even teach him a few things.”

      “I doubt it.”

      Snickering, Avery rose. “Well done, Sleeping Beauty. Okay, I’ve had my fun.” She floated the paper she’d come in with so that it landed in front of Genevieve covering what she’d been pretending to peruse. “I just wanted you to know I’m dropping the Ferris property. It’s overpriced and you’ll see by my notes on all of the calls I’ve received after viewings that prospective buyers concur.”

      Genevieve winced at the number of negative comments. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Ferris that clueless about the market that they’re resisting a price adjustment?”

      “Blinded by ego and greed.” A veteran in the business, Avery pulled no punches. “Like too many, they feel a smart buyer will recognize all that they’re getting for that money.”

      Genevieve studied the address to refresh her memory. “Okay, but isn’t this the house at the end of a dirt road where people have used the woods for dumping?”

      “Bingo. Quite an attractive and well-kept property, but out of the city limits. Those woods could have a trailer parked on adjoining land next week and a meth lab operation thereafter. Too much of a risk for a buyer.”

      “In that case, I’m with you—release them.”

      “Thanks. Oh, and Raenne is on her way back from her viewing.”

      Relieved, Genevieve asked, “Did she hint at how it went?”

      “The buyers are following her in to fill out a contract.”

      “Wonderful.” Genevieve knew better than to assume anything before it happened, but she was proud of Raenne and grateful for the good news for the agency. “That one would make a nice ‘sold’ announcement in our newspaper ad next week.”

      “I thought you’d want to do that. Some of our rural clients are getting so depressed with the slow market.” Avery retrieved her printout from Genevieve’s desk. “I’ll make this call before I head out to meet my afternoon appointment.”

      “Good luck with them. I know they’re wearing you out, too.”

      “It hasn’t been my easiest account, but I have a good feeling about this house I’m showing them today.”

      No sooner did Avery leave then Genevieve’s BlackBerry started playing Beethoven’s infamous Fifth. That immediately informed her that the caller was her mother. “Mother, unless Bart has run off with Dorothy,” she said referring to her mother’s full-time housekeeper, “I don’t have time for this.”

      Sydney Sawyer clucked in exasperation. “That’s not remotely amusing, Gigi, and why is it that you can eke out an hour here and five there for everyone but me?”

      Her earlier suspicions about being watched confirmed, Genevieve said wryly, “Could be because you’re a notorious busybody and you’re not interested in attention from me, you only want to fish for more information about Marshall Roark.”

      “For your information,” her mother replied with maximum hauteur, “I was merely going to ask if he was officially settled in and would be staying around for a while? I’d like Dorothy to bring over a casserole and pie. He must be thinking we’re all barbarians what with our lack of neighborly concern.”

      “Mother, are you about to write a flashback scene? Because you’re sounding dangerously close to a conniving Scarlett in Gone with the Wind.”

      “Obviously, all of this extra responsibility is taking a toll on your poor nerves,” Sydney replied.

      Genevieve was minimally apologetic. “That and constant interruptions since I’ve returned to the office. Just leave the man alone. The movers have barely left and he’s been through enough for a few days. And don’t even think of casting him in one of your stories. That’s not an empty threat. I’ve already warned him about you.”

      “You what?” Recovering, Sidney summoned regal disdain. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t possibly. I’m booked three years out. By then I may be too old to do more than watch Bart fondle his cigar collection.”

      “Let him fondle. When his doctor warned him that his heart couldn’t take many more smokes, it was a blow to his ego.” Her mother’s self-pitying forecasting had Genevieve massaging her brow. “At any rate, in three years, you’ll still be too young to collect social security.”

      “Finally, a compliment from my own flesh and blood. Now why on earth did you stay over at his house for so long?”

      “I reminded you the other day. I’d agreed to supervise the movers.”

      “I mean after they left.”

      Had she used a stopwatch, for pity’s sake? “Marshall asked for decorating input.” Genevieve figured she might as well get that out there; otherwise she would be accused of hiding something

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