Private Scandals

line made her wince.
    She found the outer office deserted. Puzzled, she looked at her watch again. Cassie must have had an early errand. With a shrug, she approached Angela’s door.
    She heard the music first, quiet, lovely. The fact that the door was open several inches was rare. Deanna knew that Angela was obsessive about keeping it firmly shut whether she was in or out. Shrugging, she crossed over, knocked lightly.
    She heard other sounds now, not as quiet, not as lovely as the music. She knocked again, easing the door open wider.
    “Angela?”
    The name stuck in her throat as she saw the two forms wrestling on the love seat. She would have stepped back immediately, with embarrassment flaming in her cheeks, but she recognized the man, and the heat drained away into cold shock.
    Marshall’s hands were on Angela’s breasts, his face buried in the valley between them. Even as she watched, those hands, ones she’d admired for their elegance, slid down to tug at the stylish linen skirt.
    And as he did, Angela turned her head, slowly, even while her body arched forward. Her eyes met Deanna’s.
    Even in her haze of shock, Deanna saw the quick smile, the cagey delight before the distress clicked in. “Oh my God.” Angela shoved against Marshall’s shoulder. “Deanna.” Her voice held the horror she couldn’t quite bring to her eyes.
    He turned his head. His eyes, dark and glassy, fixed on Deanna’s. All movement froze, hideously, as if a switch had freeze-framed them. Deanna broke the tableau with a strangled cry. She turned and ran, trampling the roses she’d dropped at her feet.
    Her breath was heaving by the time she reached the elevator. There was pain, a terrible pain radiating out from her chest. She stabbed the Down button again and again. Driven, she whirled away and ran for the stairs. She couldn’t stand still, couldn’t think. She stumbled down, saving herself from a fall by instinct rather than design. Knowing only that she had to get away, she plunged down, floor after floor, her sobbing breaths echoing behind her.
    At street level, she rammed blindly against the door. She battered against it, weeping, until she found the control to depress the handle. Shoving through, she ran straight into Finn.
    “Hey.” Amusement came and went in a heartbeat. The moment he saw her face, his laughter fled. She was pale as a sheet, her eyes wild and wet. “Are you hurt?” He gripped her by the shoulders, drawing her out into the sunlight. “What happened?”
    “Let me go.” She twisted, shoving against him. “Goddamn it, leave me alone.”
    “I don’t think so.” Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her. “Okay, baby. I’ll just hold on, and you can cut loose.”
    He rocked, stroking her hair while she wept against his shoulder. She didn’t hold back, but let all the shock and hurt pour out with the tears. The surging pressure in her chest eased with them, like a swelling soothed with cool water. When he sensed her calming, Finn shifted his hold. With his arm around her shoulders, he led her across the lot to a low stone wall.
    “Let’s sit.” He dragged a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it into her hands. Though he hated a woman’s tears, escaping Deanna’s would brand him as the worst sort of coward. “You can pull yourself together and tell Uncle Finn all about it.”
    “Go to hell,” she muttered, and blew her nose.
    “That’s a good start.” Gently, he brushed the hair away from her damp cheeks. “What happened, Deanna?”
    She looked away from him. There was too much concern, too much willingness to understand in his eyes. “I just found out I’m an idiot. That I have no sense of judgment, and that no one can be trusted.”
    “Sounds like a résumé for a television news anchor.” When she didn’t smile, he took her hand. “I haven’t got any whiskey on me, and I gave up smoking last year. The best I can offer you is a shoulder.”
    “I seem to have used that already.”
    “I have another one.”
    Instead of leaning on it, she sat up straighter, squeezed her eyes tight a moment. Maybe she was an idiot, but she still had pride. “I just walked in on a woman I considered a friend, and a man I was considering as a lover.”
    “That’s a big one.” And he didn’t have any clever words to smooth it over. “The psychologist?”
    “Marshall, yes.” Her lips trembled. With an effort, she firmed them. The tears she’d shed didn’t shame her, but they