But that wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t say yes to Lane’s proposal, despite the fact that she really wanted to. Some of what she’d told Lane was a lie out of self-preservation. If Lane knew the truth, he might change his mind about her.

But now she worried someone did know something.

She had to figure out who’d written that note.

Seven

On Wednesday morning, when Andrea stepped into the lower level where the Silver Swans offices were, there was a big video camera sitting in the hallway almost blocking her way. It was the size of a small dinosaur and had all sorts of technical buttons. Property of Raisinette Productions, it read. She gazed at it warily, remembering the documentary Piper had announced at the breakfast.

“Cool, right?” said a voice, and Andrea wheeled around to see Carson, Piper’s assistant, standing in the doorway, his hands jauntily on his hips. “It’s really happening!”

“So they’re going to film here?” Andrea asked.

“They’re just doing some tests first. They’ll film me, maybe Piper, a few of the kids . . .”

Andrea stiffened. “I don’t want my son filmed.” That was the last thing she needed—after a lifetime of cameras following her, she wanted a different life for Arthur.

Carson shrugged. “Your loss. This documentary is going to be great. A real portrait of the community. But if you don’t want to be a part . . .” He opened the door to Piper’s office. “Make yourself at home. Want some tea? We have a really good chaga.”

“I’m fine,” Andrea said, trying to keep the sharpness out of her voice. This was not, she thought, going to be a meeting over tea. She had something to say, and she didn’t want any pretense or friendliness.

“Piper will be here in a sec,” Carson said, and then walked back into his own office.

The interior of Piper’s office was all white like an Apple store. There were several shaggy rugs, and textured, monochromatic art hung on the walls, likely by famous artists, though Andrea had no idea who. Art hadn’t been her thing in college, when everyone else seemed to embrace it. Actually, all Andrea had wanted to do in her college days was either hide in her dorm and watch Melrose Place or go to dark, seedy clubs where no one recognized her. Those were really miserable times. Even after she and Christine, the part-time model/fashion student, became a couple, she felt drained and empty.

Oh, Christine. Sexy, slinky, seductive, and utterly unsuitable. “Dude, she’s the most bangable woman I’ve ever seen,” Andrea’s brother told her. Max’s approval had meant the world. If she, back then, could land a chick her brother wanted to fuck, then no one would guess what she was secretly feeling inside.