The Villa

upcoming campaign's ill-conceived and trite. It's an embarrassment."
    "Isn't it lucky, then, that you won't have to be associated with it anymore?" Sophia came around the desk now, passing close to Kris, almost hoping she'd strike out. When Sophia reached the door, she opened it. "I think we've said all we have to say to each other."
    "This department's going to sink because when I go, others will go with me. Let's see how far you and the farmer go on your own." Kris sauntered toward the door, paused for one smirk. "Tony and I had a good laugh over the two of you."
    "I'm shocked you took the time for humor or conversation."
    "He respected me," Kris shot back. "He knew who really ran this department. We had some interesting conversations about you. Bitch number three."
    Sophia's hand clamped down on Kris's arm. "So it was you. Petty vandalism, anonymous letters. You're lucky I don't have you arrested as well as fired."
    "Call a cop… then try to prove it. That'll give me one last laugh." She yanked her arm free, strolled away.
    Leaving her door open, Sophia went straight back to her desk and called security. She wanted Kris escorted from the building. Now that the first slap of temper had passed, she wasn't surprised that it had been Kris who'd defaced the heirlooms and sent the photograph.
    But it disgusted.
    Nothing she could do about it. Just as she couldn't do anything about files Kris might have already copied and taken out, but she could make certain there wasn't a last-minute foray.
    Far from satisfied, she sent for both P.J. and Trace.
    While she waited, she paced. While she paced, Tyler walked in.
    "I saw Kris steam down the hall," he commented, and dropped comfortably into a chair. "She called me a brain-dead, pussy-whipped farmer. I assume you're the pussy with the whip."
    "Shows what she knows. Your brain's alive and well, and so far you've been pretty damn resistant to the whip. God! I'm so pissed."
    "I figured it didn't go so well when I saw the tongues of fire shooting out of her ears."
    "I kept hoping she'd take a punch at me so I could flatten her. I'd feel a lot better right now if she had. She called me bitch number three. I'd like to show her what a genuine Italian bitch can do when pushed. Smearing nail polish on our angels, sending me anonymous mail."
    "Whoa, back up. What mail?"
    "Nothing." She waved a hand in the air, kept pacing.
    He snagged her hand, tugged it down. "What mail?"
    "Just a photo from a few months back—my mother, grandmother and me. She used a red pen this time, but the sentiment was the same as on the Giambelli angels."
    "Why didn't you tell me?"
    "Because the envelope was addressed to me, because it pissed me off and because I wasn't giving the person who sent it the satisfaction of discussing it."
    "You get another, I want to know about it. Clear?"
    "Fine, great, you're first in line." Too angry to stay put, she pulled away. "She said my father was going to help her land my job. I imagine he promised her that, had no qualms about promising her what was mine any more than he had qualms about taking my mother's jewelry for Rene."
    And it stung, he thought, watching her face. Even now Avano managed to prick through the shell of defense and nick her heart. "I'm sorry."
    "You're thinking they deserved each other. So am I. Gotta calm down, gotta calm down," she repeated like a mantra. "It's over and done, and stewing over it won't help. We have to go forward. I have to talk to P.J. and Trace to start, and I have to be calm. I have to be composed."
    "You want me to take off?"
    "No. This would be better as a team." She dragged her top drawer open, rooted out her aspirin. "I should have fired her weeks ago. You were right about that. I was wrong."
    "I need to write this down. Can I borrow a pencil?"
    "Shut up." Grateful that his easy calm steadied her, she heaved a breath, then twisted open a bottle of water. "Tell me straight out, Ty, what you think of the centennial campaign."
    "How many times do I have to tell you, this isn't my area."
    "As a consumer, damn it." She tossed three Extra-Strength Tylenol back and took a long pull from the water bottle. "You have a goddamn opinion on everything else in the world, don't you?"
    "That's calm and composed," he commented. "I think it's smart. What else do you want?"
    "That's enough." Drained, she sat on the corner of her desk. "She got to me. I hate knowing that." She glanced at her watch. "I need to get this dealt with, then we have a