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not tonight. I’m just too damn tired to listen.”
    Because if she listened, she might feel compelled to return the call and then who knew what time she’d finally make it to bed. And she had to attend an eight o’clock meeting with the Japanese publisher that handled their reprints. The man wouldn’t take it very well if she fell asleep in the middle of one of her own sentences, or, worse yet, in the middle of one of his.
    â€œI’ll give you a call tomorrow, Henry, I promise.” And then she paused, remembering. “Today, later today,” she amended. “I’ll give you a call then.” Giving up all attempts at being lucid, she mumbled, “Whenever.”
    Elisha yawned and her throat began to cramp up. All that talking, she thought, quickly massaging the area. Stifling another yawn, Elisha left the living room and made her way to the master suite located at the rear of the apartment. There was another room, just as large, located at the top of the short flight of stairs. It could have just as easily served as a master suite, but she’d opted to use the room as her office and tonight, she was glad she’d made that particular choice. If she’d had to face the stairs tonight, she knew she would have wound up sleeping on the sofa.
    Making it into the suite, Elisha let her shoes slip from her fingers and shed her dress. She left it where it fell. Completely disregarding her panty hose, she crawled onto the bed.
    With her last ounce of energy, she started to wrap the comforter around herself. She was asleep before she finished.

CHAPTER 5
    â€œH i, Elisha, it’s me, Henry. Didn’t you get my message?”
    Elisha pressed her lips together as her brother’s voice on the other end of the line penetrated the wall of Monday-morning fog around her brain.
    Stalling, she looked at her business phone as a multicolored ribbon of guilt dragged through her like the tail of a kite that refused to catch an updraft and soar. She’d finally gotten around to playing her brother’s message the morning after the party, listening to it as she moved around the room, getting dressed and thinking about what needed to be done at work that day.
    She’d forgotten ever hearing the message the second she’d stepped outside her apartment and locked the door.
    That had been four days ago.
    â€œYes, I did.” She quickly followed up her admission with, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” before Henry could upbraid her.
    Not that he actually ever would. Henry was the sweetest, most easygoing human being to ever traverse the earth. She couldn’t remember a single instance when he’d even raised his voice, much less lost his temper and gotten angry. That just wasn’t Henry.
    The most he did was level a slightly reproving look in her general direction. That was it, just a look and not even an annoyed one. Even so, because it came from Henry, the closest being she’d ever known to merit sainthood, she was ready to run off and purchase seven hair shirts, to be worn simultaneously in an attempt to atone for whatever transgression she’d committed.
    But she didn’t have time to purchase any hair shirts today. The workday was only a matter of three hours old and it was already one for the books. One of those days when she couldn’t draw a deep breath, much less two in succession, quick or otherwise. Back-to-back meetings, with an errant author who was going to be a month late with his already once rescheduled book sprinkled in for good measure.
    Henry always gave her space and waited for his sister to say something more before he spoke himself. When she didn’t immediately follow up her apology with a tentative date or anything remotely close to a new date, he felt free to continue with the reason for his call.
    â€œAll right,” he allowed patiently, “it’s a little too late for you to come over for Sunday brunch, seeing how