you doing home at this time of day?"
When she heard Zac's voice, Guinevere thought her throat would close up completely. "I had lunch nearby. Just thought I'd stop and grab my mail."
"I see. When I couldn't get hold of you at the office I decided to take a chance and try the apartment. Trina said you should have been back from lunch by now."
"What did you want, Zac?"
"I was just doing my consultant's duty and reporting in. I still can't get hold of Denise Bates. I think we're going to have to drive over to the coast. What about tomorrow morning?"
She nodded, realized belatedly he couldn't see her response, and finally found her voice. "Yes. Tomorrow would be fine, Zac. I'll tell Trina she'll be in charge all day."
"Okay, then I'll make arrangements here. Maybe it's all for the best. I was supposed to meet with that crazy interior designer in the morning. This will give me a perfect excuse for canceling the meeting. Oh, by the way, the caterer called to discuss adding a basil dip, for the vegetables, and a bunch of miniature eggplants. I told him to forget both, but he insisted on talking to you first."
"I'll give him a call, Zac."
"I don't care what you do about the basil dip, but I do not want to waste a dime on eggplant, miniature or otherwise. I hate eggplant. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Zac."
"I mean it, Gwen. No eggplant," he said, suspicious of her quick, obedient response.
"I heard you. No eggplant. I'll call him this afternoon. Is that all, Zac?"
There was a short pause. "Are you going back to the office now?"
"Yes."
"I'll pick you up after work. We can walk back to your place together this evening."
Guinevere cleared her throat in a wave of panic. "Uh, Zac, you've been over here for dinner every night this week. And you've stayed the night every night this week. Don't you need to take care of some things around your own apartment? What about your laundry?"
"My laundry's under control, Gwen," he said laconically. "Don't worry, if you don't feel like cooking, I'll handle it. We can have tacos again."
She wanted to cry, and instead she had to sound calm and firm. "Zac, I think we need a little time apart, don't you? After all, we've been almost living together lately. I think . . . I think we're rushing things. We need to maintain our separate identities. We haven't really discussed this, I know, but I thought we understood each other. Please, Zac." She held her breath, knowing her inner agitation was showing and unable to control it.
There was another brief pause from Zac's end of the line, and then he said quietly, "I thought we understood each other too. I'll pick you up tomorrow for the drive to the coast. Have a good evening, Gwen."
When he gently hung up on her, Guinevere let go of the hold she had been maintaining while on the phone. The tears fell freely until there were no more left inside. Then she picked up the phone again, called the office, and calmly told Trina that she would not be in for the rest of the afternoon or tomorrow.
"Is anything wrong, Gwen?" Trina added, concern in her voice.
"No, Trina. Nothing's wrong." She replaced the receiver and went into the living room. There she spread out the awful photos on the coffee table and tried to imagine exactly how Zac would respond if he ever saw them. When her mind refused to form a picture of his reaction, she decided it was because she couldn't bear to think about it.
Feeling weary and drained, Guinevere leaned back against the couch cushions and wondered vaguely how Madame Zoltana had learned about her and Zac. She wondered how Zoltana knew enough to select Rick Overstreet to use in the photos. And she wondered how Zoltana had found out that Guinevere was making inquiries.
When she got nowhere with that line of questioning, she remembered something Zoltana had said about Zac. You will not be able to trust him.
"Oh, Zac," Guinevere whispered wretchedly, "it's not a question of trust." But it was, wasn't it? Yet how could any woman expect
When she heard Zac's voice, Guinevere thought her throat would close up completely. "I had lunch nearby. Just thought I'd stop and grab my mail."
"I see. When I couldn't get hold of you at the office I decided to take a chance and try the apartment. Trina said you should have been back from lunch by now."
"What did you want, Zac?"
"I was just doing my consultant's duty and reporting in. I still can't get hold of Denise Bates. I think we're going to have to drive over to the coast. What about tomorrow morning?"
She nodded, realized belatedly he couldn't see her response, and finally found her voice. "Yes. Tomorrow would be fine, Zac. I'll tell Trina she'll be in charge all day."
"Okay, then I'll make arrangements here. Maybe it's all for the best. I was supposed to meet with that crazy interior designer in the morning. This will give me a perfect excuse for canceling the meeting. Oh, by the way, the caterer called to discuss adding a basil dip, for the vegetables, and a bunch of miniature eggplants. I told him to forget both, but he insisted on talking to you first."
"I'll give him a call, Zac."
"I don't care what you do about the basil dip, but I do not want to waste a dime on eggplant, miniature or otherwise. I hate eggplant. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Zac."
"I mean it, Gwen. No eggplant," he said, suspicious of her quick, obedient response.
"I heard you. No eggplant. I'll call him this afternoon. Is that all, Zac?"
There was a short pause. "Are you going back to the office now?"
"Yes."
"I'll pick you up after work. We can walk back to your place together this evening."
Guinevere cleared her throat in a wave of panic. "Uh, Zac, you've been over here for dinner every night this week. And you've stayed the night every night this week. Don't you need to take care of some things around your own apartment? What about your laundry?"
"My laundry's under control, Gwen," he said laconically. "Don't worry, if you don't feel like cooking, I'll handle it. We can have tacos again."
She wanted to cry, and instead she had to sound calm and firm. "Zac, I think we need a little time apart, don't you? After all, we've been almost living together lately. I think . . . I think we're rushing things. We need to maintain our separate identities. We haven't really discussed this, I know, but I thought we understood each other. Please, Zac." She held her breath, knowing her inner agitation was showing and unable to control it.
There was another brief pause from Zac's end of the line, and then he said quietly, "I thought we understood each other too. I'll pick you up tomorrow for the drive to the coast. Have a good evening, Gwen."
When he gently hung up on her, Guinevere let go of the hold she had been maintaining while on the phone. The tears fell freely until there were no more left inside. Then she picked up the phone again, called the office, and calmly told Trina that she would not be in for the rest of the afternoon or tomorrow.
"Is anything wrong, Gwen?" Trina added, concern in her voice.
"No, Trina. Nothing's wrong." She replaced the receiver and went into the living room. There she spread out the awful photos on the coffee table and tried to imagine exactly how Zac would respond if he ever saw them. When her mind refused to form a picture of his reaction, she decided it was because she couldn't bear to think about it.
Feeling weary and drained, Guinevere leaned back against the couch cushions and wondered vaguely how Madame Zoltana had learned about her and Zac. She wondered how Zoltana knew enough to select Rick Overstreet to use in the photos. And she wondered how Zoltana had found out that Guinevere was making inquiries.
When she got nowhere with that line of questioning, she remembered something Zoltana had said about Zac. You will not be able to trust him.
"Oh, Zac," Guinevere whispered wretchedly, "it's not a question of trust." But it was, wasn't it? Yet how could any woman expect
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