“Well, I do,” Fran said, going over to the credenza. Upending a tumbler, she pulled the stopper from the scotch and filled the glass.

“What the hell are you doing, Fran? It’s barely nine o’clock, and that’s not going to help.”

Fran calmly picked up the glass and headed back to the desk. “It’s not for me,” she said, promptly tossing the scotch in Addison’s face. “It’s for you.”

“What the fu—”

“Trust me. You deserve a hell of a lot more than that!” Fran said, slamming the glass on the desk. “Now, clean yourself up and pull yourself together. Nahas will be here at two, and you’re going to be—”

“I canceled that.”

“And I uncanceled it!” Fran said, leaning over so she could look Addison in the eye. “Believe it or not, you stupid cow, this company isn’t just about you. We’ve had no less than twenty people working on this for over a year. Twenty people who were promised bonuses once the deal was made. They gave up their nights. They gave up their weekends. Hell, some of them even gave up their holidays, and I’ll be damned, just because you can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself, they’re going to pay for it.” Fran marched to the door. “I’ll be back before two, and when I get here you sure as hell better be ready for that meeting, Addison, or as God is my witness, I’ll walk away from Kane Holdings and never look back.”

“Where are you going?”

Fran stopped and spun around. “I’m going to go see just how much damage you’ve done, and if Joanna’s hurt...if you hurt her in any way, after the Nahas meeting, you and I are through.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Joanna listened as the rain pattered against the windows behind her. On her lap was the first of many newly-purchased novels. It had appeared on all the best seller lists, yet opened for over an hour, it still remained on the title page.

To ward off the dampness of the day, she had asked that the fireplace be lit. Unlike many of the others in the house, the hearth in the parlor had been left as originally built, so instead of the even, silent fire produced by gas, flames of orange, yellow, and red danced across logs of oak. As she sat with her feet propped on the ottoman, she stared into the blaze as if it held an answer she sought.

She shifted ever so slightly in the chair and a wince crossed her face, the pang transporting Joanna back to the night before. To a few minutes of passion infused with anger and need, and to gasps and tastes and touches. Touches she had craved for so long.