Resurgence by M. M. Mayle

spokesperson and intermediary as long as needed.”
    Laurel’s immediate reaction is to thank him profusely; her mouth is open to bless him for providing the help she dared not ask for. She closes her mouth, holds back words that would also reveal how much she wanted a conduit to Nate Isaacs. But that’s unnecessary caution. If David suspected Amanda and Nate were in league, would he have enlisted Amanda’s help?
    “No, of course not,” she says.
    “Did I hear you say no? You’d prefer Amanda not be involved?”
    “No. No, never mind. I was thinking about something else. Amanda’s the ideal person. Absolutely. Colin will be pleased. I’m pleased. Thank you.”
    “In case you do have doubts, I should remind you that the current calamity won’t dominate tabloid news forever. When Rayce’s story starts to get old—and that could be in a very few days—yours and Colin’s betrothal will receive full media attention. Unquestionably. Are you ready to face that alone? Are you prepared to single-handedly take on the world press when you’re no longer in a position to do any serious quashing because—”
    “That’s enough, David. You don’t need to sell Amanda to me, and I don’t need to be reminded that my status has changed—that it would be unseemly of me to defend a fiancé whereas I could do battle when I was only his biographer.”
    “I don’t know about unseemly. Irregular, perhaps. And that prompts me to ask what you’re going to do about the book. Will you finish it?”
    “Way too soon to say.”
    “And I suppose it’s too soon to ask what you plan to do about your house, your brand-new car, your financial picture or, for that matter, your father.”
    “Not now , David. Please. I hear clatter from the kitchen. Let’s get some breakfast.”

EIGHT
    Morning, April 14, 1987
    Nearing exasperation, Nate takes a deep breath. “Amanda, listen to me . . . Don’t do anything but listen. Okay?” He plunges ahead without waiting for her agreement. “You’re not being asked to do anything beyond your capabilities. You demonstrated a staggering amount of initiative and resourcefulness while I was in L.A. That didn’t go unnoticed, nor did your knack for pinpointing solutions before anyone else even saw the problem.”
    He shouldn’t have to say any of this after the major pep talk he gave her when she called earlier for advice. And now that she’s had several hours to get used to the idea, now that they’re face to face in his midtown office, she shouldn’t require any additional bolstering. But he gives her an extra shot in the name of fair play.
    “You possess the basic know-how and you handled yourself like a pro with the celebrities you met the other night. So let’s not waste any more fucking breath on your supposed lack of qualifications when we should be talking about how well you’ll handle the assignment.”
    “I don’t know,” Amanda says.
    “Yes you do. If you didn’t know you could do the job you wouldn’t have accepted it. Must you be reminded that you were about to volunteer in some capacity when David made the request yesterday? Doesn’t that indicate some degree of confidence in yourself?”
    Amanda takes a wary look at the original art decorating the walls of his private office. After that, it’s a worried scan of the custom-made furnishings that shrinks her deeper into her chair.
    Shit. He should have chosen a less intimidating setting for their second get-together in two days; he should have trickled out the dazzlers in smaller doses.
    “Yes,” she says and corrects her posture. “Yes . . . you’re probably right about all . . . that.” She gives a flip of the wrist that could be dismissive of the moneyed atmosphere as well as her crisis of confidence. “But there’s something else—the real hang-up. By consulting with you and accepting your help while I’m in the official employ of someone else, I feel as though I’m serving two masters.”
    “You’re not.