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Which was why she was here today. And if Caldwell wanted the pleasure of seeing her in a setting she might find daunting, so be it.
He was in for a disappointment.
She would not be intimidated. She would only be relieved to get him out of her life forever.
A swipe of lipstick? Not bad. Adjust the pins that held her hair back from her face.
Sage turned and looked at the attendant.
“How do I look?”
The attendant hesitated. “Um, uh …”
“‘Um, uh’ is absolutely right.” Sage dug in her handbag, extracted a dollar bill, hesitated and took out another. “Thank you,” she said.
“You don’t have to—”
So much for looking as if she belonged here, despite her last year’s, or maybe her last-last year’s, on-sale gray suit, on-sale gray pumps and definitely on-sale gray handbag.
“I want to,” Sage said gently.
“Thank you, miss. And—good luck.”
Good luck, indeed, Sage thought, as she walked across the ornate lobby.
She had a funny feeling about this meeting. Thomas Caldwell had been so persistent. And then, wham, he’d rolled over.
She’d felt good about that until this morning, when she’d suddenly thought, Why? Why had he rolled over?
Her footsteps slowed. The elevators were just ahead. So was a house phone. She could call the suite number he’d given her, tell him he could send her the papers, that she’d have them witnessed and notarized and that he’d have to accept her doing it that way….
Did she want him out of her life, or did she want him bothering her for the rest of it?
Sage gave herself a little shake and marched straight to the elevators.
She was meeting Caldwell in suite 1740.
For privacy, he’d said, when she’d balked and said she’d prefer meeting in the lobby.
“I have no intention of running the risk of having this matter made fodder for the media—or were you hoping for the chance at publicity?”
The elevator car was as elaborate as the lounge, all marble and gold leaf, attended by a little man who looked as if he’d stepped out of an operetta.
“Your floor, madam,” he said politely, when the doors slid open.
Sage thanked him and stepped out onto gold-veined white marble. She could hear her heart pounding over the tap-tap-tap of her heels as she walked down the corridor.
The sooner this was over, the better.
She paused at the door to suite 1740. Raised her hand to knock. Lowered her hand. Raised it. Checked her watch.
She was six minutes early. So what? Get in, sign the papers, get out.
Okay. Time for one of the breathing exercise she’d learned in an acting class. Inhale, one—two—three. Hold, one—two—three-four. Exhale, one—two—three-four-five.
Better.
She squared her shoulders. Knocked. The door must have been ajar because it swung slowly open as soon as she touched it. It was like a scene in a bad movie, except the door didn’t squeak. It wouldn’t dare, not in this place.
