He was interrupted, at intervals, by the telephone. Mrs. Carraway tried to field his calls, but there were several that could not be avoided, one from a pedantic bank clerk questioning the deposit he’d made to Shay’s account after Ivan had left, one from his daughter, Kelly, who wanted to tell him that she could visit over Christmas vacation, and one from Lucetta White. Lucetta had heard, through the grapevine, that he’d landed a “plum” of an assignment and asked for details. Mitch had talked for fifteen minutes and told Ms. White exactly nothing.

He was sitting back in his desk chair, his hands cupped behind his head, when the telephone rang again. To spare Mrs. Carraway the problem, he answered it himself with a crisp “Hello?”

“Hello,” Shay replied, and the single word resounded with bewilderment. “About that money…”

Mitch waited for her to go on, but she didn’t, so he replied, “Your share, as agreed. Is anything wrong?”

“Wrong? Well, no, of course not. A-are we working tonight?”

“I’m working. From now on, your part will be an occasional consultation. Of course, I’ll need you to read over the material, too, as I write it.”

“Oh,” she said, and she sounded disappointed. Perhaps even a little hurt.

“Shay, what’s the matter?”

She sighed. “I feel a little—a little superfluous, I guess. And overpaid for it in the bargain.”

Mitch laughed. “You could never be superfluous, my love. Listen, if you want a more active part in writing the book, you can have it.”

He could almost see her shaking her beautiful, leonine head. “No, no. I have things of my own to do, now that I’m a woman of means.”

Mitch arched an eyebrow, not sure he liked the sound of that. “Like what?”

“Oh, getting solid financial advice, talking to the tax people, starting my catering service. Things of that nature.”

Mitch hadn’t known that Shay had aspirations to go into business for herself and he was a little peeved that she’d failed to confide something so important. He scowled down at his watch and saw that it was nearly five o’clock. “I won’t keep you, then,” he said stiffly, and even as he spoke the words he wondered what it was that made him want to put space between himself and this woman when he needed her so much.

There was a brief silence, and then Shay answered, “No. Well, thank you.” She hung up and Mitch sat glaring at the receiver in his hand.

No. Well, thank you, he mimicked in his mind. She had what she wanted now, the money; apparently their lovemaking and the special rapport they’d formed weren’t important anymore. Mitch hung up with a bang that was no less satisfying for Shay’s not hearing it.

As Shay wandered up and down the aisles of the public library that evening, choosing books on the operation of small businesses, she was awash in a numbing sort of despair. All of her dreams were suddenly coming true, or, at least, most of them, and she should have been happy. She hugged the stack of self-help books close to her chest. Why wasn’t she happy?