She held up her hands. “Okay, okay. But what in the living Christmas carols are his wife and daughter doing here without him?”

“Well, his wife is getting sloshed in my parlor, when she’s not following me around. His daughter is upstairs having some kind of emotional breakdown because Jack didn’t answer his cell phone all day and she ended up having to drive here by herself.”

“Oh, poor little princess.”

“My thoughts exactly. Now let’s mingle. The Stevensons showed up this year.”

“That’s a good sign for Phil, isn’t it?”

Where’s Mr. Lowry?

“I guess so.”

“How are you?” Amy asked.

“Trying to get over Mr. Farley’s Christmas bonus.”

“Which was?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Zip. He said we didn’t make enough this year. Nut-case.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. I haven’t even told Joe.”

“He’ll be fine with it . . . just talk to him.”

“I will. I will.” Carol Anne looped her arm through Amy’s and they grabbed glasses from Celia, who slid by with a platter of full champagne flutes. They clinked glasses and smiled. Ah, all was well, it really was.

Bill and Mrs. Stevenson—damn Amy couldn’t remember the woman’s first name—came and grabbed her elbow. “Thank you for having us to your party. You have a lovely home.”

“Well, thank you for coming. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Revvy appeared at Amy’s side, leaned across her and spoke to Mr. Stevenson. “You in charge of Stevenson and Sons?”

Mr. Stevenson lifted his head like a peacock just asked to show his feathers. “Yes, young man, I am.”

“Well, did you know you have a client who is trying to ruin a national treasure, a nature preserve full of endangered plants and animals, not to mention a historic pre-Civil War home?”

The floor seemed to shift beneath Amy—if only it would open up and take her.

“Revvy, not here.” Amy grasped his hand, pulled him away from the Stevensons and into the parlor.

“What? You don’t care about it now in front of all your highfalutin friends?”

“Revvy,” she whispered. “They know how I feel but that is my husband’s boss. You can’t just get in his face like that.”

“Why not?”

She looked over her shoulder at the Stevensons standing in the same spot, watching her like disapproving parents. The mixing of her two worlds was not going well.

“Revvy, let me talk to them.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Reynolds. It’s your house.”

Disappointment filled his voice, the letdown that she was not quite as cool as he’d thought when she’d brought Nick Lowry on board.

She walked back to the Stevensons and apologized for Revvy.

“No problem, sweetie,” Mrs. Stevenson said. “Young people are just very passionate about their causes and they don’t always know all the facts.”