“Joan?”

She opened one eye. “You’re still here.”

He frowned.

She glanced down at her white, pleated blouse and linen slacks. “And I’m still here.”

He took a step toward her, one hand tentatively reaching out. “Joan?”

She inhaled his spicy aftershave, wishing this really were a dream. What a perfect time to lean up and kiss him. She’d wondered about those full lips for years.

“We have to talk,” he repeated.

“Okay.” She nodded, shelving the dream theory for now. Surely if this was a dream, her subconscious would be making it a little sexier.

He looked way too serious. “Can we sit down?”

Maybe Bayou wasn’t doing so well. Maybe he was going to drop her as a client. She’d heard the publishing business was downsizing, and authors were being let go all over the place.

“Just go ahead and tell me,” she said, steeling herself.

He drew a deep breath and rubbed his chin. “It’s like this…”

Joan waited, quickly growing impatient. “If it’s bad news, it’s bad news.”

Whatever it was, she’d retain her composure. She’d draw on years of poise and practice learned at her mother’s knee and keep her feelings bottled tight inside.

“There was a leak,” he said.

She mentally shifted gears and glanced up at the ceiling. “Here?”

His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head. “Not that kind of leak.”

“Oh.”

“An information leak.”

His point wasn’t quite computing. “Information?”

He stepped closer. “Information about you.” He paused. “Personally.”

And then she got it.

It was like being struck with a lightning bolt. “No,” she rasped, shaking her head in denial as the breath hissed out of her body.

Heather’s words screamed through her brain. “What were you thinking?”

At this moment, Joan didn’t honestly know what she’d been thinking. She’d put her faith in Anthony. She’d trusted him when he said he’d take care of her.