“Yes, they seemed rather pleased with selling out of product in less than two weeks.”

“Are they planning to restock before Christmas?”

“Already done,” Cat laughed. “The new catalog goes out in a week.”

“Good. Text me the drafts of the adverts you’re supposed to be reviewing, and I’ll make sure nothing is grossly misspelled and that you don’t look like a grinning idiot in them.”

“You’re a good man, Henry.” He knew her so well.

“I’d be a better one if I could get you to your appointments on time,” he grumbled.

“I can literally see the restaurant from here,” she lied, hustling around a dog walker. The man’s jaw dropped open with recognition, and he nearly stepped on a Pomeranian.

Cat wiggled her fingers in his direction and hurried on.

“I realize this is just lunch with your agent, but I’m trying to train you to have better habits.”

Cat snorted. “Good luck with that. Now, go fuss over someone else.”

“Don’t forget you’ve got a phone interview at two and mani at four.”

Cat’s nails were usually destroyed during filming. Home renovation, even for the cameras, was a dirty business. In the off-season she treated herself to shiny, pretty nails. “Then you’ve got that cocktail thing—”

“I already know you programmed each and every one of those things into my calendar.”

“It never hurts to remind you. And I can hear you making that face at me right now,” Henry told her.

“Smart ass,” Cat said, unscrewing her face. “Thank you for your obsessive attention to detail. Now, I need you to stop talking my ear off so I can get to my lunch before this hurricane opens up on us and wrecks my hair.”

“By the time you get there it will be high tea, and we’re only supposed to see about three inches of rain. Further north is going to take the brunt.” Henry was a fount of knowledge. “I hope you remembered your umbrella.”

“Bye, Henry,” Cat sang. She disconnected from her snarky assistant and stowed her phone in her bag. She pursed her lips, ran a hand down her artful over-the-shoulder braid, and smoothed her features into an impassive mask.

A handful of photographers milled about—huddling deeper into their jackets and staring at their phones—in front of the very bohemian, very popular Courtyard Restaurant and Lounge. They were always here, capturing the occasional celebrity on their way to a posh lunch or for pricey cocktails on the sunken patio. It would be the former for Cat today as the outer edge of Hurricane Veronica lumbered its way up the coast.

“Cat! Cat!”