He snapped the paper from Anthony’s hands. “Don’t think I don’t see the admins panting after you.”

“Nobody’s panting after anybody.” Well, except for Clarista. And Anthony didn’t get the impression Clarista was particularly selective.

“Fix this,” said Stephen, an edge coming into his voice. “Charm her. Flirt with her. Sleep with her, for all I care.” His dark eyes turned to flints, and Anthony was instantly reminded that he was talking to the senior partner, and that Stephen hadn’t got there by accident.

“This is one of those moments, Verdun.” Stephen’s voice was gruff with warning. “You can prove your worth to this firm, or you can make us a laughingstock.”

Anthony swallowed. He got the message. He was going to Indigo, where he was to move heaven and earth to keep Joan in the fold.

AFTER TEN YEARS in Indigo, Louisiana, Joan Bateman was still considered a newcomer. Most days, that was a minor inconvenience. Today it was an out-and-out problem.

Back in Boston, she knew how to wield influence. She knew who was who and how to get to them. The Bateman family could call up a senator, sway a congressman or suggest when and where a newspaper editor should send a reporter.

But Indigo was different. She had no family here, no political connections. Cultivating influence, and doing it quickly, was her only hope of saving her beloved town.

Sitting at the dining room table in her neat little stilted Creole cottage, she puzzled over the guest list for Sunday’s tea. The mayor, certainly, and perhaps the matriarch, Yvonne Valois.

Officially, everyone in town had expressed support for the plans to increase tourism. But Joan knew that couldn’t possibly be true. Like her, others must be opposed to ruining the quiet serenity of Indigo. Her strategy was to quietly get to those who were opposed and give them the courage to speak up.