That surprised him. “Be my guest.”

She didn’t reach for a cell phone, so he was pretty sure it was a bluff.

“Joan?” she called into the cottage.

Anthony tried to push the door shut, but the woman thrust her hip inside, and he didn’t have it in him to hurt her. He blocked the path with his body instead.

“Joan?” the woman called again. “You all right?”

Joan’s quick footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Heather?”

“It’s me,” the woman called, shifting forward. “Who is this imbecile?”

“Anthony?” Joan rushed toward them. “What are you doing?”

“You know her?” he asked Joan.

“Of course I know her. She’s my sister.”

Anthony pulled back. “Your sister?”

The woman glared at him as if he was a blob of sidewalk gum. “Yes. I’m her sister.”

Perfect. He supposed when a day took a downhill slide, it just kept right on going.

Heather brushed the front of her suit and straightened her sleeves, as if he’d somehow tainted her.

“This is Anthony Verdun,” said Joan.

“You have a boyfriend?” Heather gave him another once-over, apparently coming to much the same conclusion as last time about his worth as a human being.

“He’s my agent,” said Joan.

“Like a lawyer?”

Anthony closed the door behind Heather, checking through the window to make sure nobody else was lurking in the hydrangeas.

“He is a lawyer. But he’s a literary agent. He sells my books.”

Heather looked him up and down. “So he’s the one.”

“Heather.”

“I knew it’d be someone shady.”

Anthony scoffed.

The woman kept her attention on Joan and waved her hand in the air. “How did he co-opt you into this nonsense?”

Joan’s lips quirked into a half smile. “It’s like a cult. He fed me bonbons and made me chant.”

Anthony gave Joan points for her spunk, but Heather was starting to annoy him. “Did you forget the part where you say, ‘Congratulations, Joan’?”