Page 37 of About Last Night

JANINE'S SHOULDERSdropped in relief as she stared at the handwritten note, then she raised a smile to the messenger standing in the hallway.

Manny seemed surprised at her reaction. "Gee, the message didn't sound like such great news when I took it over the phone."

"Oh, but it is," she assured him. She glanced guiltily over her shoulder where she'd left the room door slightly ajar. She pulled the door closed and lowered her voice. "I, um... could use some time to sort through a few things."

He nodded thoughtfully, then crossed his arms. "Since I've been away from Atlanta for a couple of years, I didn't connect with the name Larsen at first. Your future father-in-law is the vice-mayor."

She nodded. "Lance Larsen."

"The champion of the Morality Movement."

"Right." The Morality Movement was a group of ultra-conservatives who'd formed to banish prostitution and drug dens in a particularly seedy part of town. But once they'dmade headway, the group had moved on to more controversial practices, and in the process, had propelled Lance Larsen to one of the most recognizable personalities in the city. Steve's father had run on the platform of being a family man with solid southern values and had won the election by a nose.

"I know the man," Manny said, reclaiming her from her muse. "He and I clashed a time or two during rallies in my youth." He smiled, although the mirth didn't quite reach his eyes. "Is the son anything like the senior Mr. Larsen?"

Janine shook her head. "Steve's much more open-minded." But she stopped before the echo of her own words had died. Was he really, or was it simply the persona he'd perfected? "He's... a surgeon," she murmured, then caught Manny's gaze, which reflected her own revelation. What did Steve being a surgeon have to do with anything that truly mattered?

But her new friend let her off the hook, his mouth softening into a smile. "A surgeon, huh? Sounds like a real catch."

She nodded slowly.

"And I understand now why you wouldn't want word of your accidental sleeping arrangement to get back to the Larsen family." His tone was light and breezy. "After all, they might jump to some crazy conclusion about you and Mr. Stillman."

Janine blinked once, twice. "Manny, I... I think I'm in over my head and I don't know what to do."

He exhaled, then smiled sadly. "There's only one thing youcando when you're in over your head, sweetheart."

"What?"

"You have to cut anchor." He gave her an encouraging wink, then turned on his heel.

"Manny," she called after him. He looked back, and she gestured to the shopping bag of goodies he'd brought her. "Thanks. For everything."

He inclined his fair head, then disappeared around the corner.

Janine hesitated long enough to scan the bright yellow tag on the doorknob which indicated an occupant remained symptomatic. From her point of view, she could see only one additional yellow tag, on a door at the end of the hall. She sighed at Maureen Jiles's empty doorknob. Apparently the woman was still kicking.

Uneasy about returning to the tension-fraught room, she nonetheless picked up the shopping bag and elbowed open the door. Derek glanced up from the desk where he'd been sitting for the past several hours, but immediately turned his attention back to his laptop computer screen.

Janine set the shopping bag on the end of the bed, trying to quiet the emotions warring within her. Since she'd talked to Steve this morning, she and Derek had retreated to separate areas of the room and, except for a few words exchanged when their lunch had been delivered, they'd maintained conversational silence by mutual consent.

She'd passed the time playing solitaire and doing yoga. To her exasperation, he was just as handsome upside down. She pretended to watch television, when in fact she'd absorbed little of what flashed across the screen. Instead, she had replayed in her mind scenes from her relationship with Steve, from meeting him on her first P.A. job to his romantic proposal six months later at the most exclusive restaurant in Atlanta. All told, she'd known him for one year.

Had she been so swept away by Steve's charming good looks and his position and name that she'd fallen in love with the image of him? A stone of disappointment thudded to the bottom of her stomach. Not disappointment in Steve, of course, but in herself. Was she so anxious to share her life with someone that she'd sacrificed the chance of finding a man whomovedher?

Involuntarily, her eyes slid to Derek, who looked cramped and uncomfortable sitting at the froufrou desk and jammed into the stiff chair. Frustration lined his face, and his dark hair looked mussed by repeated finger-combing. He winced, then ripped yet another sheet of paper from a legal pad, wadded it into a ball and tossed it toward the overflowing waste can at his knee. His face contorted, then he snagged a tissue from a box and sneezed twice, his shoulders shaking from the force. The crumpled tissue landed in the trash, displacing more yellow balls of paper. When he rubbed at his temples and groaned, a pang of sympathy zipped through her.

"You're feeling worse, aren't you?"

With head in hands, he glanced over at her, then closed his eyes and nodded.

"Have you been taking the antibiotics Dr. Pedro gave you?"

He nodded again without lifting his head.

She crossed to the desk, itching to touch him, but determined not to. "Are you running a fever?"

Straightening, Derek said, "No, my temperature is fine. It's the congestion that's so annoying." He massaged the bridge of his nose and winced.

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