Determinedly coming up with a smile, Lorna approached the paragon in gray, her hands ridiculously tight on her black crocheted shoulder bag. “I wonder if it would be possible for me to see Mr. Whitaker this afternoon?”

The redhead raised perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Do you have an appointment?”

Why did she bother to ask? Lorna thought dryly. We both know I don’t. “Please tell him that Mrs. Whitaker is here.”

Those perfect eyebrows vaulted upward. “I wasn’t aware… Actually, Mr. Whitaker is in court. I was expecting him back an hour ago, but there’s no way I can immediately contact him. I don’t know what to tell you…” The receptionist hesitated, clearly having no idea what to do with a woman who claimed to have the same last name as her boss.

“May I wait?” Lorna asked patiently.

“Why…yes, of course.”

Alone in the stark, tiled bathroom off the lobby, Lorna took a brush from her purse and restored order to her wind-tossed hair. Her cheeks were so red that she looked like Cherry Ames, and her lips were scarlet. Rapidly, she restored her appearance with lipstick and powder, adding a subtle hint of perfume. Her hands, to her annoyance, were trembling. The image in the mirror didn’t please her. The pale blue dress now seemed all wrong. The oval neckline showed her collarbones; the bodice clung too closely to her breasts; and the navy piping at hem and cuffs…it was just wrong, that was all. Pinstripes with a white collar would have been appropriate. Unfortunately, she’d always hated pinstripes…

So just walk out if you’re so damned scared, she told her reflection. Vulnerable gray eyes suddenly telegraphed an S.O.S. in the mirror as Lorna admitted to herself that she hadn’t really planned very well what she was going to say to Matthew. To ensure Johnny’s future she’d make her pitch from a street corner if necessary. Her nervousness wasn’t the result of stage fright. It was the thought of seeing Matthew again that made her so tense.