affairs. There was no mention that Vivian had ever married.
Mike shuddered from the cool air against her damp skin as she pulled on a pair of gray flannel shorts and a tank top. After quickly brushing her teeth, she climbed into bed, grateful to tug up the covers for warmth. She grabbed one of the many pillows and buried her face in the crisp cotton fabric. Out of long habit, she began to hum an old lullaby. “Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder where you are…” It was one of the few things that always helped settle her.
Unprepared for the image of Vivian that appeared behind her closed eyelids, Mike stopped humming and drew a deep breath, uncertain what to think. The memory of how Vivian had focused on her made her heart race. She hugged the pillow to her chest and let Vivian’s image fill her mind as sleep overcame her.
Chapter Five
“Good morning, Ms. Belmont,” her assistant, a blond, thin man with a receding hairline, said. “The press conference went well.”
“Glad you approve, Dennis,” Manon said absently and put her briefcase down next to her computer. With dark cherry hardwood floors and an enormous rolltop desk from the early 1900s, her office held a lot of Belmont history. It was located in a building constructed in 1796 and protected for many years by the National Historical Registry.
Manon sat down behind her desk and welcomed the familiar surge of comfort. This was home, so much more so than her penthouse condo. Here she did what she was meant to do and interacted with the people who helped her make it happen. Her staff had been with her a long time, a couple of them having even worked for her grandfather. They were as loyal as family members and nearly as dedicated to the foundation as she was.
“Are those my messages?” Manon pointed at Dennis’s hand.
“Yes. They require your personal attention.”
“Thanks. Coffee?”
“I’ll make some.”
As Dennis left the room Manon booted her computer and glanced through her phone messages, two of which were from the woman coordinating the charity event. Concerned, Manon dialed the phone number at the bottom of the notes. Someone answered after only one ring. “Belmont Foundation. Kay Masters.”
“Kay, Manon here. I got your messages. What’s the problem?”
“Our leading lady.”
“Vivian?” Manon frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t put my finger on it—but something seems off and it’s making me nervous.”
Manon knew how Kay could get when every single detail wasn’t ironed out. “All right. Can you at least give me a hint?” Please, not yet, Vivian. Hold on.
“I don’t know. It’s how she’s dealing with the staff at the concert hall. I know she’s the prima donna whatever, but she’s always had a reputation for treating her crew properly.”
“She’s mistreating the stagehands?”
“Heavens no! But she’s acting…weird. She doesn’t seem to want to be around anyone—or have anyone near her. I’ve even seen her literally stumble backward when any of the crew comes near. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s paranoid.”
“Sounds odd. Want me to drop by later? I’ve got some time just before lunch.” She checked her watch. The concert hall was just two blocks down the street. “If rehearsals have started by then.”
“Yes, that’d be a good idea. Maybe she needs to talk to you. You know, friend to friend.”
“Maybe so,” Manon said noncommittally before she hung up.
She logged into her e-mail and browsed through the urgent messages, responding to the most critical ones and then starting on the others.
She’d been at it for several hours when the intercom buzzed. “Yes, Dennis?”
“A Ms. Goddard from the New Quay Chronicle on line one. Do you want it or should I take a message?”
Manon flinched. The call was unexpected and, considering last night’s guilty pleasure, somewhat disturbing. “Thank you. I’ll take it.” Manon switched lines. “Ms.
Mike shuddered from the cool air against her damp skin as she pulled on a pair of gray flannel shorts and a tank top. After quickly brushing her teeth, she climbed into bed, grateful to tug up the covers for warmth. She grabbed one of the many pillows and buried her face in the crisp cotton fabric. Out of long habit, she began to hum an old lullaby. “Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder where you are…” It was one of the few things that always helped settle her.
Unprepared for the image of Vivian that appeared behind her closed eyelids, Mike stopped humming and drew a deep breath, uncertain what to think. The memory of how Vivian had focused on her made her heart race. She hugged the pillow to her chest and let Vivian’s image fill her mind as sleep overcame her.
Chapter Five
“Good morning, Ms. Belmont,” her assistant, a blond, thin man with a receding hairline, said. “The press conference went well.”
“Glad you approve, Dennis,” Manon said absently and put her briefcase down next to her computer. With dark cherry hardwood floors and an enormous rolltop desk from the early 1900s, her office held a lot of Belmont history. It was located in a building constructed in 1796 and protected for many years by the National Historical Registry.
Manon sat down behind her desk and welcomed the familiar surge of comfort. This was home, so much more so than her penthouse condo. Here she did what she was meant to do and interacted with the people who helped her make it happen. Her staff had been with her a long time, a couple of them having even worked for her grandfather. They were as loyal as family members and nearly as dedicated to the foundation as she was.
“Are those my messages?” Manon pointed at Dennis’s hand.
“Yes. They require your personal attention.”
“Thanks. Coffee?”
“I’ll make some.”
As Dennis left the room Manon booted her computer and glanced through her phone messages, two of which were from the woman coordinating the charity event. Concerned, Manon dialed the phone number at the bottom of the notes. Someone answered after only one ring. “Belmont Foundation. Kay Masters.”
“Kay, Manon here. I got your messages. What’s the problem?”
“Our leading lady.”
“Vivian?” Manon frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t put my finger on it—but something seems off and it’s making me nervous.”
Manon knew how Kay could get when every single detail wasn’t ironed out. “All right. Can you at least give me a hint?” Please, not yet, Vivian. Hold on.
“I don’t know. It’s how she’s dealing with the staff at the concert hall. I know she’s the prima donna whatever, but she’s always had a reputation for treating her crew properly.”
“She’s mistreating the stagehands?”
“Heavens no! But she’s acting…weird. She doesn’t seem to want to be around anyone—or have anyone near her. I’ve even seen her literally stumble backward when any of the crew comes near. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s paranoid.”
“Sounds odd. Want me to drop by later? I’ve got some time just before lunch.” She checked her watch. The concert hall was just two blocks down the street. “If rehearsals have started by then.”
“Yes, that’d be a good idea. Maybe she needs to talk to you. You know, friend to friend.”
“Maybe so,” Manon said noncommittally before she hung up.
She logged into her e-mail and browsed through the urgent messages, responding to the most critical ones and then starting on the others.
She’d been at it for several hours when the intercom buzzed. “Yes, Dennis?”
“A Ms. Goddard from the New Quay Chronicle on line one. Do you want it or should I take a message?”
Manon flinched. The call was unexpected and, considering last night’s guilty pleasure, somewhat disturbing. “Thank you. I’ll take it.” Manon switched lines. “Ms.
Similar Books
