While stuck talking to Air Euro Airways’ President Monsieur Jérôme du Tautou in the first-class lounge, Taddy had missed her flight and booked herself on the next departure, two hours later.

A true Frenchman, Monsieur Jérôme didn’t scold her over the Hôtel de France Kiki debacle. Rather, he’d asked to use her Park Avenue residence that summer. Taddy didn’t see his visit as a problem, since she holidayed Memorial Day through Labor Day out east in Bridgehampton with Blake and Vive. Although, after he’d busted her sex toys up, her replacement items would be off-limits. Jérôme promised to arrive with his own dildos, corsets, and whips.

Late from her Paris connection, Taddy finally arrived home. Her Manhattan penthouse felt unlived in and dark. Díma, already asleep in his servants’ quarters, had left a note in her boudoir which read, “Muffie stopped by. The puppies were good while you were gone. Breakfast is at 8.”

The city’s summer humidity had settled in early for the spring season, so she set the air-conditioner to sixty-eight. Kissing Ruby, Carmine, Scarlet, and Cherry on their black snouts, Taddy doted over each puppy. Cherry danced in circles, spinning the tucked-in sheets out from the bed’s corners. Scarlet barked with a not-quite-a-dog yelp. Ruby licked Taddy’s dry hands with her tongue. And to finish the list, Carmine waited for Taddy to snuggle her face in his silk coat and kiss his belly.

She crawled under the covers, but before she closed her eyes, she did what she promised herself she wouldn’t do—Taddy referred to her cell phone. No calls, texts, or e-mails from Warner wishing her a good night. She was familiar with personal disappointment and realized she might have to accept that being in his arms that weekend would never come to more than a Big Daddy good time. If she allowed her mind to fill with expectations, she’d go mad.

At eight o’clock the following morning, her cell phone chimed with two messages, one from Lex and another from Vive. Leaving them unanswered, she dressed in a Chanel suit, pulled her hair in a bun, and sat in the formal dining room while Díma served her breakfast.

Díma called the dish zavtrak. She identified it as crap. He considered breakfast an essential meal for the day. His usual preparations included protein-rich foods fit for an Olympic athlete. With a loud thud, he placed a Hermes bowl before her filled with Kasha.

Yuk. “Díma, darling, didn’t I say you can’t make me suffer like Oliver Twist living in some godforsaken orphanage by serving me this…shit?” Resentment filled her empty belly.

“Huh?”

“You can’t put this crap in my good china, either. It dries like flippin’ concrete.”

“Kasha is good for you.”

Taddy stared at the gray-brown slop, wishing he’d prepare crepes, eggs Benedict, or lemon poppy seed pancakes. “Why do the Shih Tzus receive better meals than me?”

“Ms. Brill, please do not start.” For some reason, Díma’s Russian accent thickened in the morning. His muscular body frame leaned over the table, teasing her with his chest as he poured orange juice.

Once tempted to make him wear a slave collar, she’d settled on a formal black-tie uniform. “Where’s your bowtie?” She shook her head, dropping the spoon in the gruel.

“Pardon?”

“I told you, man-cleavage turns me on.” But oddly that morning, Díma’s pectoral wonderment exposed did nothing for her. Zero. Zilch. Nada. WTF? This is a first. Usually I’m sitting here eating my porridge while imagining a cock ride on your Mount Elbrus. She studied her butler’s physique. Nothing had changed. Standing tall, delicious, and Eastern European-imported, he remained a stud—one who, as a rule, she’d fuck. Damn, Big Daddy, get out of my head.

“Apologies, Miss Brill.” Díma withdrew his tie from his front pocket and slid it around his neck. “Let me cook you something else. Kolbasa won’t take but a few minutes.”

“Perfect.” She pulled out her papers and jotted down her day’s punch list.

Not caring if Taddy paid attention, Díma talked to her from the kitchen. He chatted on, claiming to be a distant relative to Michael I of Russia, first Tsar from the House of Romanov. Díma filled the dead silence between them with elaborate stories on the Romanov dynasty’s former wealth. Supposedly, they also ate—and enjoyed—the buckwheat paste.

Taddy thought about what her father used to like to eat when she was growing up. “You noted Aunt Muffie came by yesterday.”

“Yes, she brought friend,” he shouted from the kitchen in broken English.

“Who?” she asked then sipped her orange juice.

Díma popped his shaved head out of the kitchen. A whiff of meat sausage filled the room. “A small woman, late fifties, black hair. She introduced herself with a regal title. I did not get name.”

“Flat-chested?”

“Very.”

“C–Countess?” Taddy choked on the title as it left her lips. “Countess Irma Brillford?” The citrus nectar in her stomach turned to acid. Her mother had accompanied her aunt?

“I don’t recall. Muffie mentioned she will ring you today.”

“Díma, I’ll take a rain check on your sausage. I better get into the office.”

“What is a rain check? It’s sunny outside.”

Ignoring his lost-in-translation question, she grabbed her bag and called down to José, who pulled the car around. As she rode to work, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She just needed to work.

Taddy headed straight for Blake’s executive offices on the opposite side to her suite. Pushing her mother and Big Daddy from her mind, she focused on the day ahead. Ass-kissing remained on her agenda to cover up for her sex-filled weekend, but she wasn’t looking forward to Blake filling her in on the Neve Adele account. She imagined his tone would be bitter.

She walked into his office, unnoticed. Blake sat at his desk, surfing Craigslist for ass. “Happy Tuesday, Blake.”

Blake grinned. “For someone who claims to have worked the Cannes film festival this weekend, your smile is anything but media-related.” Sporting Prada, he walked out from behind his desk. “Did you attend the parties I e-mailed you?”

“Well…”

Arms crossing at his chest, Blake examined her. “My Vanity Fair peeps reported back that you didn’t show up to any of the events. Not a one.” He made a tsk-tsk noise, as if he’d already come to the conclusion she’d spent the weekend in bed.

“I worked on Hôtel de France for three days.” On purpose, she kept her voice flat, so she wouldn’t raise suspicion. “Time escaped me. Please tell your magazine friends I’m grateful for the invites, and I’ll be sure to go next year.”

“Work doesn’t explain why your lips look like you’ve had a collagen injection.” Blake’s signature wit and sarcasm never stopped.

“It’s from Baden Cosmetics new lip treatment. It’s called Blow Me,” she lied.

“You sucked dick.” Going in for the attack, he accused, “I can smell the sex coming off you.” Blake stepped closer, breathing in.

“Stop it.” She pushed him back. “Jealous green isn’t becoming on you.”

“Pardon me.” He laughed. “Over-sexed red looks fabu on you.”

“Ha. And how long has it been since you and your hubby got it on, Blakey?” She attempted to redirect his interest, but realized they were tormenting one another as if they were kids again.

His manicured eyebrows rose. “My soon-to-be ex-husband and I haven’t topped or bottomed in years. Speaking of bottoms…” Whack! He smacked her ass.

“BLAKE.” Taddy rubbed her heinie. Inching back to the door, she realized her office visit had backfired.

“I’ve never seen your ass up s-o-o-o high. Your tush is grazing the popcorn ceiling.”

“It’s called squats. Suck it.” She turned around to show him what he envied. “Come with Lex and me to Gilad’s Pilates studio and you’ll get a better butt, too.”

“And your long legs are spread a teensy bit farther apart.”

Crossing one foot over the other, she put her hands on her hips. “Ah-ah-ah.”

“Taddy Brill, you reek of a good ol’ fashioned face-fucking.”

“Ha?”

“A clit-shaking!”

“What?”

“An ass-pounding.” His voice was filled with envy as he clapped his hands together, causing her to flinch.

“I told you I worked this weekend, Mr. Morgan.” Taddy’s nipples pebbled just thinking about what pleasure the previous forty-eight hours had brought her. “Anyways, I came in to give you my gratitude for dealing with Neve this weekend. And to bring you this check.” She slipped him a thank-you bonus as she always did when he covered for her. “I love you and your work.”

“Thank you. I’ve enjoyed our friendship and our business together.” He sat back down at his desk and handed her today’s Wall Street Journal. She graced the cover, in Warner’s arms. The headline read, “TRUMAN’S PROFITS RISE FROM SEXY NEW IMAGE.” Warner’s Hollywood smile beamed, but his stare didn’t find the camera as intended. He looked into Taddy’s eyes, as if ready to kiss her. The photographer had captured the moment’s true essence. “Your canoodling was caught at the Hôtel de France press conference. Mr. Truman shows good face.”

“Mr. Truman is very handsome.”

Blake’s eyes rolled back. “You must’ve given him good head. Wanna tell me about—”

“Nope.”

“No, you can’t tell me because you slept with him to secure Truman Enterprises as a client?”

“God, no.”

“No, you won’t share any details because nothing salacious happened between you and Mr. Beefy?”

“No, as in I didn’t sleep with him in hopes he’d become a client. Warner dropped the charges against our beloved Kiki, and I executed his crisis communications. Nothing more.”

“Nothing less?” Blake didn’t buy it. “Speaking of our Utah virgin, is Kiki coming back?”

“Next week.” I hope. I pray.

“Your Mormon will call and quit, in the same fashion as your other assistants have before her. I’ll wager this bonus on it.” He held up the check and rubbed her face in it.

“Thanks, Blake. As always, I appreciate your support.” You are much nicer when you have a cock to suck on. She turned, holding the doorknob.

“I take it you haven’t set foot in your office yet,” Blake warned over her shoulder.

She turned back. “No, why?” Taddy hoped there’d be long-stem red roses from Warner or Teuscher’s champagne truffles or maybe some new sexy Agent Provocateur lingerie. It was too soon for Harry Winston, but she’d even be happy with something as simple as a voice mail from her Big Daddy.

“Our gal pal Lex arrived early this morning. Crying, a total mess. I put her in your office with a box of tissues. She wouldn’t tell me what’s up.”

“Birdie drama returns.” She felt her day sinking. Damn it.

Blake pulled out a client folder. “Taddy, I’m not sure who or what you did this weekend, but keep at it. It’s nice seeing you smile.”

“Thanks.”

“I was afraid you’d forgotten how.” Blake tapped his cheek with his pointer fingers, demonstrating a Shirley Temple grin.

“Funny.”

“You deserve love.” He held the Wall Street Journal photo up and continued, “And I’m hoping that’s where this Warner Truman is headed.”

“No comment.” She wouldn’t admit she wanted the same thing. He’d tell the entire office.

“Here’s hoping your luck will rub off on me. My body could use some TLC.” Blake’s handsome face grimaced.

“Hang in there. I understand it’s been difficult for you and Diego.” Taddy realized Blake didn’t talk about it much at the office. She wanted to take him away from Brill, Inc. for a heart-to-heart.

“Yup. That’s the reason I don’t attend Gilad’s Pilates classes with you and Lex.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Gilad has been having sex with Diego.” His face reddened. “For a year now.”

“My Pilates instructor is gay?” Taddy hadn’t a clue.

“You’ve heard of ‘gay for pay,’ right? When a straight dude sleeps with a guy for cash?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he is ‘straight for pay.’ Gilad has all the Upper East Side women thinking he’s straight so they’ll sign up for workout classes. But he’s secretly been getting plowed by my husband.”

“Are you okay?”

Blake nodded. “I’ve known for a while.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad between you.” Taddy felt awful for him.

“I’ve sorta played it off like it’s just been a tiff. Haven’t I?”

“Yes. Let’s have lunch tomorrow and talk about it.”

“I’d like that.”

Taddy closed the door behind her as she left, heading out into the hall while looking down at her cell phone. No messages.

Damn!

The sudden clacking sound of fingernails striking plastic keyboards increased as Taddy walked toward her office. She couldn’t help but giggle. The few days out of the office were the longest she’d been away all year. Her staff probably thought she’d been abducted by aliens when she didn’t come in the previous day. But the office racket became white noise to her as she thought about Lex and Birdie. The second she opened her door, she asked, “What’s wrong?” She set her purse and briefcase down on her desk and hugged her friend.

“I called you last night, but your phone went to voice mail.”

“Thanks to Monsieur du Tautou at Euro Air, I missed my Paris connection. Long story. I went right to sleep when I got home. What’s up?”

“Work is exploding.”

“In a good way?”

“Too good.”

“Congrats, darling.” From the look on Lex’s face, her visit didn’t have anything to do with Easton Essentials, but she’d humor her, as always.

“Last December, we agreed to focus on careers.” Lex sat on a loveseat alongside the window and pulled Taddy down beside her. “Easton Essentials is hot. We’ve sold out worldwide.”

“The fashion press gave you great coverage this season.” She reached over to the coffee table and poured Lex a glass from the water pitcher. “Easton’s fabric is the best.”

Lex took a sip. “The textiles we sourced from Girasoli Garments in Milan worked better than forecasted.”

“Isn’t this kind of success what you dreamed?”

“Yes, but I never imagined the brand would take on a life all its own.”

“I did. Why else do you think I’d give you my life savings?” Taddy laughed. Lex constantly underestimated her own designer talent. Some called it being humble but with Lex, it was being insecure. Taddy hoped her friend’s skin would thicken after a few more fashion shows.

“For the first time since Daddy’s death, we are debt-free. I paid off all my parents’ past bills. We have money to live again.”

“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.”

“Blake showed me the Wall Street Journal article when I came in. Spill it.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb. Warner Truman. The richest man in America. The one who resembles the NFL player Brayden Brooks you’ve been crushing on for years.”

Taddy locked her pinky finger with Lex’s. It was a childhood tradition and with Lex’s encouragement, Taddy shared everything, from Garner in St. Barth being Warner, Kiki going to jail, the dinner, the lovemaking, and Warner’s desire to keep the getting-to-know-you-better going. “My stomach is in knots. Who knew I’d have puppy love at this age. It’s as if I’m fifteen.”

“A love interest is wonderful news.”

“But I haven’t heard from Warner yet. I doubt he’ll call.”

Lex placed her hand on Taddy’s knee. “Have faith and confidence, would ya? You’re Taddy Brill. He’ll be in touch. Be happy.”

“You’re the one who should be in high spirits, darling. You’ve become the fashion phenomena. Do you have any clue just how competitive your industry is?” Over the years, Taddy’s talents had launched numerous brands. Although, no label had ever reached the same status as Easton Essentials.

“I’m afraid I’ll lose the company.”

“Having your own business is similar to blowing a balloon into the air. You have to keep huffing and puffing to keep it up.” Lex’s losses were different than hers. Taddy had lost her shirt as a teenager. Lex, on the other hand, owned the whole enchilada, until two years before when her father killed himself and Birdie filed bankruptcy. Lex had grown up with comforts and luxuries Taddy’s parents had stopped providing.

“I’ve worked twenty-four-seven to build this year’s collection. Easton is all I have.” Lex squeezed her hand. “Same way your company is all you’ve got, too.”

“Right.” No argument there. “We both have to deal with our insecurities this summer. Mine is with a relationship, and yours is with money.” She studied her friend’s face. Something in addition to Easton’s runaway success worried Lex. “Anything else you wanna talk about?”

The color drained from her cheeks. Taddy hadn’t seen her friend so serious since Vancouver, when Birdie’s life was in question. “I didn’t come to talk about fashion. I’m trying to find some courage to tell you something. Hence, my rambling.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“I figured as much. Is Birdie okay?” Six months had passed since the fatal skin condition scare, and Taddy assumed they were due for another cray-cray spell.

“Mom’s great, and she says hello. Still sober. Easton’s success has given her this renewed energy and will to live. It’s a blessing.”

“Then what is it?”

Her friend reached into her black croc tote. “Vive gets why I’m here.” Lex pulled out a Farnworth Firewater bottle from her bag.

“Where did you get that from?” Taddy laughed.

“Vive suggested we do a shot first. Then I’ll give you the news.”

“You don’t drink.”

Lex’s forehead lifted. “This could prove a great time to start.”

“It’s a few minutes after nine. I’m not drinking anything but espresso.” Taddy gawked at her. She hadn’t seen Lex have a boozy drop since her father died. What the flip is going on?

“I have to.” Lex unscrewed the lid and threw back one chug.

“Lex! You can’t be serious.”

“Lord, that’s strong.” Her friend thrust the bottle in her hands. “Down one tiny glass. Then I’ll talk.”

Taddy wiped the bottle’s neck with her palm and sipped quickly. “Okay, spill it.”

“Your mother…called my mom.”

“Come again?”

“Irma says she has to see you.”

It felt as if cold water had poured over her body. “My…mother?” She gulped two more Farnworth Firewater mouthfuls. The liquor burned going down, making her eyes water. But Taddy knew her tears weren’t from the high-proof alcohol. Preparing for the details, Taddy sat strong.

“Irma rang my mom yesterday. She caught you on the financial news. Your France press conference aired globally. Irma told Birdie she must see you and quick.”

Suddenly, a sharp pain went up the side of Taddy’s neck. She cocked her head, swallowing back the bitterness coming up. The two sat speechless for several minutes. Aunt Muffie had come by her penthouse with her mother. Her mother had come to her door. But why? When Taddy was able to speak, she remarked, “I’m surprised. Birdie still talks to my mom after—”

“Mom hasn’t spoken to the Brillfords since you emancipated. She picked your side, as did most everyone, including the law.”

“I remember.”

“Irma is, and I quote, ‘the friend who keeps my mother’s secrets’,” Lex confessed. “It’s possible the Banging Birdie book didn’t tell the world enough. You all right?”

“No.”

With a hug, she offered, “Vive’s flying back from Chicago today. We’re here for you. We’ll go with you to see Irma, if you want. And if you decide not to contact her, we’ll support the decision. Mom told me to tell you she’d be more than happy to call Irma back and tell her to drop dead.”

“I must see what she wants.”

“Okay…Vive suggested hosting a girls’ night at her place when you get off work. I’ve already ordered the fuck-it buckets filled with our favorite Dylan’s candy.” Lex’s route to peace and happiness existed in filling large plastic containers with Swedish Fish, Sour Watermelon Gummies, and Mini Gummy Bears.

“I love you guys.” She pulled Lex in close to hide her tears.

“We’re here for you.” Lex gave her a squeeze. “It’s about time you leaned on us for a change.”

“Thanks.”

“Vive and I can handle it. We wonder what the hell Irma wants. You haven’t seen her in how long?”

“Since the emancipation hearing.”

A beep from her desk’s intercom sounded. “Miss Brill?”

“Yes?”

“Neve Adele is on line four. I’m putting her through.”

I miss Kiki to field client drama. “Be right there.” She dropped her voice and said to Lex, “Let me take this.”

Lex nodded in agreement. “I’m headed back to the showroom. I’ll see if I can get more dirt from my mom about Irma.” She handed Taddy a note. “This is the number Irma gave Birdie. She asked that you call her today.”

Taddy glared at the paper. Why wasn’t I good enough for my mother’s love? Taking the paper, she read the number, though she didn’t have to. Taddy knew the seven digits by heart.

Suddenly, she remembered the last time she’d called that line. Taddy had spoken to Irma on her sixteenth birthday. She’d called home to tell her mother she’d filed the legal paperwork separating herself from her parents. Helpless, her mother hadn’t said a word. She’d just held the line and sobbed. When Taddy heard her father shouting in the background, Irma hung up. The line went dead, as had their communication.

She placed the note on her desk as a reminder, but knew she didn’t need anything to prompt her to call home. “I have to put on my poker face and best PR voice for Neve. Will you excuse me?” Another tear fell down her face. She felt it bead over her chin.

Her friend nodded, knowing not to step closer and hug her again or for sure she’d lose it. Lex cupped her hands over her lips and slowly blew a kiss to Taddy.

Taddy sat at her desk and answered her phone. “Neve, darling, how are you?” Her mind wasn’t on Neve. As selfish as it seemed, Taddy didn’t give two shits and a fuck as to how this beauty queen, who wanted to be a handbag designer, felt. Countess Irma Brillford wanted to see her. She glanced at the time. It was 10:18 a.m. in New York, which meant it was 5:18 p.m. in France. Warner’s meetings should’ve been wrapping up. Taddy couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t called.

Neve’s voice broke through her subconscious. “Hello? Taddy? Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, darling, go ahead.” She put her head on her arms, realizing she’d missed everything Neve had said.

“I wanted to check in and get an update on my brand and talk to you about a PR idea I had.” Neve’s shrill voice, the one she never used when answering a judge’s question onstage, demanded answers. “We should use as many animal prints as possible. Leopard and cheetah fabric would be gorgeous.”

Hell no! “Interesting.”

“I told Blake—”

“He worked on your account all weekend. What did Blake say when you suggested this?”

“Blake mentioned animal prints are now passé.”

She skimmed over the Neve Adele account folder on her desk. “In his notes, it says you want varying shades of purple. We agree with your favorite color, wisteria.”

“It’s lilac.”

“Right, sorry! Anyways, our team presents to Lifestyle TV later this week. If they approve the inspiration boards, we’ll move forward with sourcing and manufacturing.” Holding the receiver away from her face for a second, she felt tempted to throw it out the window. Taking a deep breath, Taddy brought the phone back to her lips, summoning the strength to do her job. “How’s your reality show going?”

“Ratings are dropping. The network is concerned. We can’t keep up with the Kardashians. The producers asked me to do a stunt.” Neve paused. “Similar to a sex tape or pose in Playboy.”

“Are you comfortable going nude?” Taddy didn’t think Neve had the guts.

“I loved your photos in Playboy. Your body is stunning.”

“Thank you.” Something had to pay for Columbia University’s tuition.

“I’d forfeit my Miss Glamour USA crown if I posed nude, so I can’t. My tiara and title are my greatest accomplishment.”

Stick a fork in my eye right now, Jesus. “I understand. We could do a philanthropic activity. Footage where you’re visiting women’s shelters wearing your crown and sash.” She tried not to laugh as Neve mumbled over her. Taddy added, “You realize, to drive ratings.”

“Being humane won’t work for this trashy network.”

“Then be yourself on TV, darling.”

“My idea was to sing a song at your Candy Land Ball,” Neve said.

“Sing?”

“Yup. I’ve been practicing this song I wrote called ‘I’m a Reality’. It’s good.”

Taddy hated when clients thought they should have iTunes hits. It drove her nuts. The girl had gone from beauty pageants to handbags to music. What next? Her own line of wine from Napa Valley? So she tested her. “Sing it.”

“Huh?”

“Right now, on the phone. To me.”

“Well…I can text you a link to hear it digitally.”

“Why?”

“My voice has to be mixed and stuff. You know, to the music.”

“Naturally, of course.” Figures.

Another beep came through her intercom and the receptionist alerted, “Miss Brill, Kiki is holding on line two for you.”

“Neve, I have to go. Send me the link. I’ll listen to it and call you later about Candy Land. Bye, darling.”

Taddy muttered a quick prayer that Neve would get some common sense. Then she picked up the other line. “Kiki, how’s Utah?” She closed her eyes.

“Miss Brill, my folks and I have been talking about whether or not I should come back to New York City.” Her assistant’s voice sounded shakier than usual.

“And?” After they’d talked in the car, she thought the air had been cleared, but Taddy realized her parents were influencing her. Damn Blake and his on-the-money assumptions about my assistants.

“We think it’s in my best interest if…I do return to New York.”

“YEAH!” Taddy cleared her throat, “I mean, I do, too.”

“But there’s one condition.” Kiki spoke as if her father had put her up to it. Perhaps he was listening in on the other line.

Sweet Jesus Jersey White Corn. “What’s your stipulation?”

“Dad, stop—” Kiki covered the phone and hushed a voice in the background. “My folks want me to leave Jersey City and move into Manhattan. They want me within walking distance of the office.”

“Agreed.” She opened her eyes and sat back in her chair. “You’ll receive a raise. We’ll retroact your paycheck so it goes into effect for the next pay cycle. I’ve got a great broker who can get you an apartment in midtown. I’ll even make your first month’s rent.”

“Honest, Miss Brill?” she asked in a choked voice.

“Tell your father I appreciate him coaching you.”

“Thank you,” Kiki sniveled over the phone.

“Please, don’t cry.”

“Waaaah. Suuh, suuh… “

“I’ll see you back at work, next Monday.”

After several sniffs, her assistant’s tears subsided.

“I’m glad to hear you’re coming back. Please, give your family my best.”

“Bye, Miss Brill.”

Taddy PR’d her way through lunch at her desk and listened to Neve’s song. To her surprise, “I’m a Reality” was good. It reminded her of “Tardy for the Party” and you could dance to it, which was all that mattered. Taddy agreed to let her perform at her Candy Land Ball. She glanced at her cell phone once. After two p.m. she elected not to check it again until her dinner arrived. She ate a tuna salad at her desk and didn’t hear a peep from Warner. At six p.m., she gave in to temptation and called his cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. Either he wasn’t answering or he’d turned off his phone. Screw him and the having-a-man-in-my-life fantasy.

She wasn’t sure if she grew angrier at herself for having expectations that what they’d shared could lead to something, or for buckling under and calling him. She didn’t leave a message when his sweet voice came on the line, and promised herself she wouldn’t ring him again. Taddy couldn’t help but reflect back on her emotions from the week before when she’d thrown his number away over the misconception that he was engaged or, by that stage, married.

After swallowing another shot of Farnworth Firewater, Taddy dialed her mother’s number. She kept the trashcan by her desk in case she heaved.

“Brillford residence,” a man’s voice answered.

“Hello…is Countess Irma there, please?”

“Whom may I say is calling?”

“Mr. Constance, is this you?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“Taddy.” Her voice sounded childlike. “I mean…Tabitha Adelaide, Irma’s daughter. Is my…mother there?”