“That’s what they pay me for.” Lily flipped a page in her book. “The Mincko job needs some finishing touches, and nothing’s satisfied the suits at Rightway. Tilghmanton thinks you can. He sent down a memo this morning asking you to look over the drafts and come up with something new—by the end of the week.”

“Good.” She nodded and pushed up to her desk again. “A challenge like that might be just what I need. Let’s see Rightway first, Lily. You can fill me in on Mincko later.”

“You got it.” Lily headed for the door. “Oh, I should tell you. Rightway wants something traditional, but different, subtle, but bold, sexy but restrained.”

“Of course they do. I’ll get my magic wand out of my briefcase.”

“Good to have you back, Shannon.”

When the door closed, Shannon let out a deep breath. It was good to be back, wasn’t it.

It had to be.

Rain was pelting the streets. After a miserable ten-hour day that had concluded in a showdown with a man she’d tried to convince herself she’d been in love with, Shannon watched it from the cab window on the way back to her apartment.

Maybe she’d been right to go back to work so quickly. The routine, the demands and concentration had helped shake some of the grief. At least temporarily. She needed routine, she reminded herself. She needed the outrageous schedule that had earned her her position at Ry-Tilghmanton.

Her job, the career she’d carved out, was all she had now. There wasn’t even the illusion of a satisfying relationship to fill a corner of her life.

But she’d been right to break things off with Tod. They’d been no more than attractive props for each other. And life, she’d just discovered, was too short for foolish choices.

She paid off the cab at the corner, dashed toward her building with a quick smile for the doorman. Out of habit she picked up her mail, flipping through the envelopes as she rode the elevator to her floor.

The one from Ireland stopped her cold.

On an oath she shoved it to the bottom, unlocking her door, tossing all the mail on a table. Though her heart was thudding, she followed ingrained habit. She hung her coat, slipped out of her shoes, poured herself her usual glass of wine. When she was seated at the little table by the window that looked out over Madison Avenue, she settled down to read her mail.

It took only moments before she gave in and tore open the letter from Brianna Concannon Thane.