to his lips and kissed them giving her a courtly bow as he did so. He was a tall, handsome man in his late sixties, with beautifully styled silver hair and piercing blue eyes. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit, white shirt, and silk tie with a military stripe, which was held neatly in place with a gold tie pin. There were gold oval cuff links in his shirt cuffs, and just the barest hint of expensive men's cologne about him. Martin Stratford had the elegance of an old-time movie star, and the same sort of charm as well. But he was a very smart man.
Emily retrieved her hands, smiling. 'Your blessing is very important to me, Martin, and J.P. called me the other night to tell me how much she had enjoyed the book. Knowing that I have the approval of both of you is wonderful.'
'It was Rachel who was holding you back,' J. P. Woods said. 'I just knew with the right guidance you could do a more sensual book for us, and do it well. Didn't I say that, Martin?' J.P. smiled brightly.
'Your faith in Emily has always been something of a wonder to me, J.P.' Martin Stratford said smoothly. He wondered if Emily knew the truth, and hoped she didn't. He didn't want to see this lovely young woman hurt. 'Will you be signing your new contracts for us today?'
J. P. Woods beamed, pleased at what she thought would be Emily's agreement.
'Not today, Martin. Right after the holidays, though,' Emily told him.
'Fine, fine. I want you to know I'm going to be naming J.P. to replace me today,' Martin Stratford said quietly. 'I'm going to be seventy next year, and it's time for me to enjoy a little of life while I still can. My wife and I are going to take that fantastic Cunard around-the-world cruise this winter. We won't be back until spring. We've booked a minisafari while the ship is visiting Africa.'
'How wonderful!' Emily exclaimed.
'But not right away,' J.P. chimed in cheerfully. 'You have books to write for us, Emily.' Her white teeth twinkled again. 'Oh,' she exclaimed. 'There goes my beeper. Our special guests have arrived. You stay right here, Emily. I'll bring them to meet you. We've got ARCs bound with the cover for them. You'll sign them.' She hurried off, her Jimmy Choo heels making indentations in the carpet.
'Is someone going to offer us a drink?' Aaron complained.
'Sorry,' Martin Stratford said, signaling a waiter so they might give him their order. 'You did good, Emily,' he told her. 'I know J.P. isn't your favorite person. You're a smart girl. She knows how to run a company, but believe it or not she's unsure of herself, which is what makes her so abrasive to deal with, I'm afraid.'
The drinks came. Emily had ordered a shot of Glenfiddich Scotch for her cold. She sipped it slowly, her eyes sweeping the room. Where was Devlin? Where the hell was he? She was going to have to ask, if he didn't show up soon. Had anything happened to him? she wondered. No. J.P. would have certainly said so. The three distributors were brought over to meet her. She was charming. They were flattering. They chatted. She signed their ARCs for them, and they drifted off. Aaron was deep in conversation with a senior editor of his acquaintance. Martin Stratford had made his announcement, passed out bonus checks, and was now making his departure, wishing them all a happy holiday.
Emily saw him to the elevator and kissed his cheek. 'You like the contract?' he asked her.
'Aaron and I will discuss it in detail this weekend. He'll be out in Egret Pointe for the holiday. Martin, I didn't see my editor. Where is Michael Devlin?'
'I believe he got stuck in London,' Martin Stratford said. 'J.P. spoke to him this morning. She'll know.'
'Oh,' Emily said.
Her companion stepped into the elevator. 'Good-bye, my dear,' he said as Bill closed the doors.
Emily stood alone for a moment or two. She had spoken to Devlin only last night, and he said he was coming home. He should have arrived early this afternoon. As much as she disliked it, Emily sought out J. P. Woods, who was mellowing with her fifth drink. 'J.P. Where is my editor? I understood he would be here today. I did want to wish him a merry Christmas,' Emily said, as if that were actually the case. Then she smiled at J.P.
'Oh, he called this morning. Something came up in London, and he said he couldn't make it back to the States in time for Christmas.' She laughed knowingly. 'Probably some pretty creature he met, knowing Devlin. He really is a wicked devil. He was all business with you, I hope.'
'He was extremely professional,' Emily replied, 'but I can see what you mean, J.P. Devlin is a charming guy. But then, all Irishmen are-even your elevator man, Bill,' she said with another smile.
J.P. laughed. 'Yeah,' she admitted. 'Those Irish boys do have their charms, though I never before considered putting little Bill and Mick in the same category. But I suppose you're right, Emily. Well, as long as he edits you well, what do we care, right?'
Aaron joined them. 'Emily has been a good sport long enough, J.P. I'm going to take her home now. I hope you'll have a good holiday.'
'What's wrong?' J.P. was suddenly businesslike again.
'I just have a little cold,' Emily said. 'Aaron worries like an old woman, but I am a bit tired. Going home sounds really good to me.'
'Well, I'm not surprised,' J.P. said. 'It was a big push, and you came through for all of us, Emily. I won't forget that. Yes, go on home and cosset yourself.'
'Have a good holiday, J.P.,' Emily told her.
'I will,' J.P. said. Then she lowered her voice and said to Emily, 'Have you ever heard of that women-only network? It's called the Channel. A friend suggested it.'
'Yes,' Emily murmured. 'I suspect you'll like it, J.P. Everyone I know who gets it just adores it. But be careful. It can be addictive sometimes, I'm told.'
The two women air-kissed, then parted. Emily and Aaron made their way out to the reception room and took their coats from the closet. Denise was nowhere in sight. Bill, the elevator man, was slightly tipsy, they both noted with amusement as he took them back down to the building's lobby. Outside it was already dark, but Frankie was waiting patiently, and to their surprise Kirkland Browne was already in the car.
'I walked over,' he said. 'This way we can just get out of town. A messenger came, picked up the hamper, and delivered another. I didn't want to open it until you got here, as it's Emily's ride. I'll sit up front.'
Frankie helped them in, and Emily realized as she sat down that she was absolutely exhausted. Despite the Scotch her cold was back full bore. She coughed as she fell into her seat. 'I'll see what's in the new hamper,' she said. 'They sent me soup and little sandwiches for my ride into town.' She lifted the wicker lid. Tea sandwiches, miniature tarts with lemon curd, raspberry, and mincemeat met her eye. There would be tea in the large thermos. 'Frankie, you want some tea and goodies?' she asked the chauffeur.
'Nah, when Mr. Browne came I took the opportunity to run to the deli in the side street and get lunch. I got a couple of packages of Twinkies and some seltzer with me now. I'll be fine. Thanks, Miss Shann.'
Emily poured tea in the cups provided and handed them around to Aaron and Kirk. Frankie began the trip from the city out to Egret Pointe. The two men demolished the little sandwiches and tartlets. Emily fell asleep again, awakening only when Aaron shook her shoulder gently.
'Em, you're home,' he said. 'I'm going to take you in.' He helped her from the car and walked her into the house. The Christmas lights had gone on automatically at five that afternoon. 'I'm going to have Sam stop by tomorrow. You've got bronchitis, if I'm not mistaken. I can hear it.'
'Okay,' Emily said weakly. 'Thanks, Aaron.'
When he had left Emily put on her electric kettle and climbed upstairs to get out of her author clothes. She hung everything neatly, pulled on a violet-sprigged flannel nightgown, and wrapped herself in her fleece robe. Padding downstairs to the kitchen, she made herself a cup of chicken bouillon, and sat down to drink it. A knock sounded at her back door. Emily got up and answered it.
'Aaron says you're sick.' Dr. Sam came in, reaching for Emily's wrist. 'Sit.'
She obeyed. 'It's the first night of Hanukkah,' she said to him.
'So? I've got a sick patient. I'm a doctor. The grandchildren have already lit the first candle in the menorah and ripped open their presents. Rina is in her glory feeding everyone. Aaron and Kirk are both concerned.' He took out his stethoscope and listened to her chest. 'Yep, bronchitis, but not too bad yet.' Pulling out a digital thermometer he said, 'Open,' and stuck it in her mouth. When the thermometer beeped Dr. Sam pulled it from her mouth, looked
