Goddard…Eryn. Manon Belmont here.”
“Ms. Belmont. Am I interrupting anything important?”
“Call me Manon, please. And no. I’m just about finished.” Manon rolled a fountain pen between her fingers, her mouth dry. “What can I do for you?”
“Since you arranged the press conference for Ms. Harding, I’m curious what you think of my article.”
Eryn sounded enthusiastic but cautious. She also sounded as if Manon’s opinion mattered.
“I thought you did a very good job. The townspeople will know a lot more about our most famous performer.” Manon fiddled with the up and down arrows on the laptop keyboard. “So, is there—”
“I was wondering—I have to go to a photo shoot near your office this afternoon. Are you free for lunch?”
Manon glanced at the calendar sitting next to her computer, surprised by Eryn’s directness. Say no to her! “Yes, I think so. Let me check.” Her calendar was clear. Why didn’t I just say no?
“Great! How about meeting me at the Lobster House, on the corner of your block?”
“Would it be on or off the record?”
“Neither. Just lunch between neighbors. I just want to try the chowder. Nothing to do with work and no inquisitive questions, I promise.”
“Their chowder is superior.” Her cheeks warming, Manon relented. I can be there at 12:30. Should I ask my assistant to reserve a table?” She heard papers being shuffled.
“Perfect. See you there!”
Eryn hung up before Manon had a chance to say good-bye. Manon slowly put the receiver down and considered the unexpected invitation. Despite her reservations, she was looking forward to seeing her persistent, and very attractive, neighbor again.
*
Eryn turned to her computer and tucked another pencil into her hair, just where the loose braid began. She was having lunch with Manon Belmont! Her boldness didn’t surprise her—she was normally spontaneous—but she had been pretty daring.
She’d been at her desk since seven o’clock, working on her current assignment. The school board misappropriation of funds appeared to reach as high as the principal himself. And the whistle blower who had made the situation public was none other than Manon Belmont.
Manon was definitely mysterious and exciting, even if her less than positive attitude toward the press still pushed Eryn’s buttons. She thought of all the hours she spent doing her job in a way she could be proud of, and her ire flared again.
She Googled the Belmont Foundation in search of more info about the family. She scrolled down one page after another, certain that there was more to Manon Belmont than the woman Manon allowed the world to see.
The first several hits showed clippings from different newspapers’ society columns. It didn’t take her long to conclude that Manon had never married and attended functions with a different man on her arm each time.
Looking regal, Manon posed for photos at charity events, elegantly turned out in designer dresses and expensive jewelry. The men by her side beamed at the cameras more than Manon did, and Eryn wondered if she was imagining it or if the measured smile on Manon’s lips was just for show.
Her interest piqued, Eryn moved on to the archives of both the New Quay Chronicle and the New York Times . It didn’t take her long to assemble a rough timeline of events in Manon’s early life, and the resentment she’d harbored for her new neighbor’s standoffish approach evaporated. Eryn squeezed the mouse hard as she read about Manon’s twin being killed when they were thirteen.
Because the articles became fewer, Eryn deduced that the Belmonts withdrew from the spotlight after the tragedy. From what she could determine, Eryn pieced together that Manon grew up living with her father, who never remarried after his wife left him, and her grandparents. She graduated from Harvard with a double major in social science and business management, which suggested toEryn that Manon had always been as driven and
“Ms. Belmont. Am I interrupting anything important?”
“Call me Manon, please. And no. I’m just about finished.” Manon rolled a fountain pen between her fingers, her mouth dry. “What can I do for you?”
“Since you arranged the press conference for Ms. Harding, I’m curious what you think of my article.”
Eryn sounded enthusiastic but cautious. She also sounded as if Manon’s opinion mattered.
“I thought you did a very good job. The townspeople will know a lot more about our most famous performer.” Manon fiddled with the up and down arrows on the laptop keyboard. “So, is there—”
“I was wondering—I have to go to a photo shoot near your office this afternoon. Are you free for lunch?”
Manon glanced at the calendar sitting next to her computer, surprised by Eryn’s directness. Say no to her! “Yes, I think so. Let me check.” Her calendar was clear. Why didn’t I just say no?
“Great! How about meeting me at the Lobster House, on the corner of your block?”
“Would it be on or off the record?”
“Neither. Just lunch between neighbors. I just want to try the chowder. Nothing to do with work and no inquisitive questions, I promise.”
“Their chowder is superior.” Her cheeks warming, Manon relented. I can be there at 12:30. Should I ask my assistant to reserve a table?” She heard papers being shuffled.
“Perfect. See you there!”
Eryn hung up before Manon had a chance to say good-bye. Manon slowly put the receiver down and considered the unexpected invitation. Despite her reservations, she was looking forward to seeing her persistent, and very attractive, neighbor again.
*
Eryn turned to her computer and tucked another pencil into her hair, just where the loose braid began. She was having lunch with Manon Belmont! Her boldness didn’t surprise her—she was normally spontaneous—but she had been pretty daring.
She’d been at her desk since seven o’clock, working on her current assignment. The school board misappropriation of funds appeared to reach as high as the principal himself. And the whistle blower who had made the situation public was none other than Manon Belmont.
Manon was definitely mysterious and exciting, even if her less than positive attitude toward the press still pushed Eryn’s buttons. She thought of all the hours she spent doing her job in a way she could be proud of, and her ire flared again.
She Googled the Belmont Foundation in search of more info about the family. She scrolled down one page after another, certain that there was more to Manon Belmont than the woman Manon allowed the world to see.
The first several hits showed clippings from different newspapers’ society columns. It didn’t take her long to conclude that Manon had never married and attended functions with a different man on her arm each time.
Looking regal, Manon posed for photos at charity events, elegantly turned out in designer dresses and expensive jewelry. The men by her side beamed at the cameras more than Manon did, and Eryn wondered if she was imagining it or if the measured smile on Manon’s lips was just for show.
Her interest piqued, Eryn moved on to the archives of both the New Quay Chronicle and the New York Times . It didn’t take her long to assemble a rough timeline of events in Manon’s early life, and the resentment she’d harbored for her new neighbor’s standoffish approach evaporated. Eryn squeezed the mouse hard as she read about Manon’s twin being killed when they were thirteen.
Because the articles became fewer, Eryn deduced that the Belmonts withdrew from the spotlight after the tragedy. From what she could determine, Eryn pieced together that Manon grew up living with her father, who never remarried after his wife left him, and her grandparents. She graduated from Harvard with a double major in social science and business management, which suggested toEryn that Manon had always been as driven and
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