Only You by Francis Ray Page A

of The Dallas Morning News that morning.
    During her stay in Dallas she’d searched the paper daily, and this was the first time she’d seen any mention of the estates. With the project slated for completion in less than two months, there should have been more of a buzz, more units sold. She expected to go after buyers, but they should have also been calling her.
    There was an 800 number listed on the huge sign in front of the building, but none of her sales or those of the other Realtors had come from callers to that number. The article, with a two-by-four-inch black-and-white photo, wouldn’t tempt anyone to call.
    She’d called John to learn the name of the person responsible and learned they’d hired a local marketing firm. Whenever possible, they liked to use local businesses. She asked for the contact name and telephone numbers.
    Sierra refrained from telling John her opinion of the pitiful job she thought the advertising firm was doing. She wrote down the information he gave her, then called the phone number. After being passed on to two people in Fulton Advertising Agency, Sierra was finally connected to the person in charge of the campaign, Char James. Sierra had barely gotten out her name and position before the woman offered to come over and meet with her.
    “Thank you. I’ll be in the sales office all afternoon. I’ll give your name to Security so you can come right up.”
    “He really is there, then?”
    Sierra frowned at the breathless quality of the woman’s voice. “Who?”
    “Never mind. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
    Was that another woman “chasing Blade” or one simply awestruck? Hanging up the phone, Sierra dialed Dominique at her studio. “How would you like the opportunity to take some photos of Navarone Place?”
    “Are you kidding? I’ve been itching to do that since I came over last week for the tea. When?” Dominique asked.
    That was the answer Sierra had hoped for. “Can you be here in the morning? The head of marketing for Navarone Place is rushing over now. I want to discuss some ideas with her. But I think she’s more interested in seeing Blade than me. I’ll set another appointment once she gets here to meet you tomorrow. I want her to see your wonderful photographs as well. We’ve got to kick this campaign up a notch.”
    “I haven’t done much commercial photography, but I’d like to try.”
    “This is your chance. You see people and instinctively know how they’ll best photograph. I need that same eye,” Sierra said. “I want photographs that will pull them in, make them want Navarone Place to be their residence.”
    “It’s fabulous. Daniel certainly jumped at buying an estate. If we hadn’t recently purchased a home with thoughts of starting a family soon, I might be tempted myself,” Dominique laughed.
    Sierra pictured a chubby and happy dark-eyed baby, but the mother wasn’t Dominique. “You’ll make a great mother.”
    “I’m going to do my best. See you tomorrow.”
    Sierra hung up the phone, then went to look out the window. Babies meant marriage, permanence. No sane woman would think of either in connection with Blade. And, above all, she was a sensible woman.
     
     
    S ierra heard someone enter the sales office and looked up, expecting to see Char. Instead, she saw Martin. She stopped making notes and leaned back in the plush leather chair behind her desk. “I might lose track of time, but I know it’s not time for dinner.”
    “Lunch. What would you like?”
    She came to her feet and rounded the desk. “I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
    “Mr. Navarone said that I was to see that you ate. I’m at your disposal.” He had a stubborn look in his eyes. “I take my cooking responsibilities seriously.”
    Folding her arms, she leaned against the desk. “You remind me so much of my brother Brandon. He’s the chef and owner of a restaurant in Santa Fe. He’s fed me more times that I can count.” She looked around, then leaned