“Thanks, I guess, for what I’ll be dealing with for the next week. I thought you could help us.” She gathered her handbag, sobs racking her body as she slunk from his office.

The horror of his behavior numbed him, and he stared at the doorway. Daniel had never lost a client, but now that copybook was well and truly blotted.

He heard a bright knock on his door. Monique appeared, balancing a steaming mug of coffee and a muffin the size of a bowling ball. “Have you got a moment to talk?”

“Not now, Monique.”

Her lower lip quivered. “I made this for you. I know how much great cooking means to you.” She placed her gifts on his desk and took a seat on the couch. “We need to talk.”

Daniel clenched his jaw. “Now is not a good time.”

She recrossed long legs. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Another wave of anger crested over him. He needed some space, some air. “Not at the moment.”

She leaned forward, and a waft of Chanel drifted over to him. “I understand you, Daniel, and I can see you need to talk. Talk to me.”

Daniel closed his eyes, his pulse pounding. “I said not now, Monique!” He opened his eyes to an empty sofa. Sobs filtered in from the corridor. What else could go wrong?

The sobs were replaced by the ring of the practice switchboard. A second ring. A third. Monique never let it get to four. Another ring. Then a fifth.

The light flashed impatiently on his phone. It was probably best if she didn’t take the call in the state she was in. He punched at the light. “Welcome to Crossroads Counseling. This is Daniel Whiteley.”

The briefest hesitation. “Daniel? Amanda Porter. Are you answering your own phones nowadays?”

Daniel forced a laugh, which he regretted in an instant. “I think I know why you’re calling.”

A beat of silence on the other end of the conversation disagreed. “I’m not sure you do.” Amanda’s voice wasn’t serving its usual dollops of encouragement. It was flatter. Steelier. More knife than spoon.

“You’re after the ideas for my next book, and it’s coming together a little slower than I wanted.”

“I’m calling to request our advance back.”

Daniel’s future rolled up in front of him like retracting blinds pulled too quickly. The house. His business. His reputation. His family.

“We’ve reached that point now where we need to move on. In truth, we passed it a long time ago.”

Daniel’s breathing grew ragged and shallow. “Can’t you give me a little more time? I think in another two weeks I’ll be able to—”

“It’s been months. How will another two weeks help?”

“You don’t understand. The advance has gone toward the house—”