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Morris rose from his own boulder, slowly. His eyes still had not moved from the Plains. “This interview is over, Miss Breaux.”
Only now did Sarah lean back. “Over? It’s hardly started ”
Morris managed only the briefest of smiles, then departed his boulder for the trail before both of them.
“So he’s a bit shy,” Victoria Woodhall declared with a deep lean back into her leather chair, a masculine action tempered with the feminine gesture of crossing one dangling leg.
“‘Shy’ doesn’t begin to describe this guy,” Sarah declared with another lean forward, this one much smaller. “Downright hostile is more like it.”
“Have you tried our certain charms?” Sarah’s editor asked with steepled fingers.
Sarah struggled to smile at the suggestion that the borderline-elderly woman sitting before her was still in the same class as she, a series of gigoloic lovers not helping the older woman’s case. “Whoever he’s looking for, I don’t think it’s me.”
“Now is not the time for modesty,” Woodhall snapped. Now she leaned forward, her arms on the plastic portions of her chair. “Besides, it’s not necessarily him whom you can try your charms on.”