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“Working on it.” He rolled his chair over to the sideboard. “Care to join me?”
“Sure.”
His head came around quickly, his surprise over her answer turning into a wicked grin of approval. “Sin suits you, Mrs. Matherly-Reed. You should engage in it more often.” He took a clean glass from a silver tray and began to pour from the decanter. “Say when.”
“When.”
After pouring the two drinks, he wedged both glasses between his thighs and rolled his chair back to her. “Help yourself.”
It was a blatant dare. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she reached between his legs for one of the glasses. “Take your time,” he drawled.
She pulled the glass from between his thighs and clinked it against the one remaining. “Cheers.”
He grinned again. “That might put some needed color in your cheeks, but you’re gonna have to drink more than that if you want to catch up with me.” After saluting her with his glass, he tossed his drink back like a shot.
She sipped the straight bourbon more cautiously. “Is this what you do now instead of write? You drink?”
“You must’ve been talking to Mike.”
“When you refused to take my calls.”
“He’s a tattletale.”
“Some things I can see for myself.”
“You’re a clever girl, all right.”
“Why have you stopped working on Envy, and why are you getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon?”
“What better time? Besides, all the great writers were drunks. Didn’t you know? I’ll bet Homer went to the ancient Greek’s equivalent of AA. From Edgar Allan Poe, to Fitzgerald, to—”
“Parker, why are you doing this?”
“Why’d you come back?” he snapped in return.
“I asked you first.”
“Because I don’t have any of the narcotics I used to take, and I’d have a hard time hanging myself from the chandelier.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“You’ve mentioned suicide twice. It’s offensive and tasteless. Particularly since a good friend of mind blew his brains out last week.”
The exchange ended there. Parker averted his head, and for a time neither of them spoke. Maris sipped her bourbon until she’d drunk it all, then returned the empty glass to the sideboard.
Finally Parker said, “Mike finished the mantel.”
“I noticed. It’s beautiful.” She crossed to the fireplace and ran her fingertips over the wood’s satin finish. “He did an excellent job.”
“Be sure and tell him.”
“I will.”
“Who was your friend?”
She turned back to him. “Our corporate lawyer. I’d known him all my life. He was like an uncle to me.”
