“Oh Sam,” she said, her voice low in wonder. “This is so beautiful…It’s marvelous.” Words failed her, and she simply stared into the night.

“I love it, too.” He didn’t know what had brought her here, and he didn’t care. She’d been on his mind all day. He regretted the abrupt way in which he’d ended their telephone conversation, and all because his fragile ego had been pricked. Most of the evening had been spent trying to come up with a way to see her again and preserve both his pride and hers.

“Sam,” she said, tearing her gaze from the water and turning to face him. Her features were strained with an expression of practiced poise. “I’ve come to apologize for this morning.”

“No,” he countered quickly, sensing her apprehension. “I should be the one to do that.” The appeal in her gaze cut a path straight to his heart, but he kept his own features tightly controlled.

“You?” she said, and laughed shortly. “I was the one who was rude.”

“Something was troubling you. I knew it the minute you spoke.” He longed to ease whatever was bothering her and kicked himself more than once for having been such a fool.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. If Sam found her so readable, it would be difficult to hide anything from him.

“Come in and relax,” he offered, leading her into the living room. The white leather couch was L-shaped, and decorated with several huge pillows in brilliant shades of blue to complement the plush carpet.

Marjorie sat, and her gaze drifted once more to the panoramic view of Commencement Bay. Just being here with Sam soothed her. All day she’d been battling her resentment toward Al and what the loss of this commission would mean to her already strained budget.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Sam asked, taking a seat beside her.

Marjorie nodded. “I owe you that much, at least.” For the next half-hour she explained what had happened with Al—though she was careful not to name names—and how his devious methods had cheated her out of half the commission. By the time she’d finished, Sam was pacing in front of the coffee table with barely restrained anger. The corners of his mouth were pinched and white, his hands knotted in tight fists.

“What’s being done about this?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Sam repeated incredulously.

“The decision’s already been made.”

“But he lied.”

“I know that, and so does nearly everyone else, but it’s his name on the contract, so he’s entitled to a commission no matter how much time I spent with those people. At least my protest to the manager earned me half of it. That’s the way things are done in sales.”