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senator deliberately interrupted women as a way of showing his dominance, or perhaps he simply didn’t notice when they were talking, which was even more insulting.
    Sweeney tuned out, hearing the four clashing voices but not the individual words. She wasn’t interested in the McMillans’ trip to Rome, or in stock options, whatever they were. She shifted restlessly, bored, ready to dispense with the business at hand and get back to her apartment and her painting. Why was Richard hanging around, anyway? He couldn’t give two hoots in hell about the senator’s opinions on the stock market. Surely he knew Candra would feel more relaxed if he left. And so would she, Sweeney admitted. She deliberately kept her gaze away from him, afraid of triggering that weird connection again.
    â€œI’m so glad you had this chance to meet Sweeney,” Candra said. The mention of her name brought Sweeney’s attention back with a rush, and she found Candra smiling warmly at her. “I have an example of her work here if you’d like to see it, but unfortunately not any of her portrait work, as that’s done only on commission.”
    Sweeney kept her mouth shut, and the portfolio firmly under her arm. She had no intention of showing any of her work now.
    â€œIt isn’t important,” Margo said, bored. “I’m sure she’ll do, if you recommend her. What I’m really interested in is the new VanDern you mentioned. I’m sure the colors will go marvelously in the living room.”
    Sweeney refrained from rolling her eyes, but it was difficult. She couldn’t fault the woman for wanting her wall decor to complement the room, because color was vital to Sweeney’s own sense of well-being, but ... a
VanDern?
He was a hot commodity right now, but he was a sly, talentless clod who daubed huge clumps of color on a canvas and called it art.
    â€œI’m sure they will,” Candra agreed, indicating with a graceful wave of her hand the direction of the VanDern.
    Sweeney had no intention of trailing along behind them. “I have to go,” she said, gripping her portfolio. She needed the job, she really, really needed the job, and she steeled herself to say something polite and make arrangements to begin after the couple returned from Rome. She opened hermouth and heard, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do your portraits, Mrs. McMillan. I’m booked.”
    The words surprised even herself. So much for good intentions, but at least she had given a polite lie instead of saying she had despised the couple on sight and the only way she would paint them would be if she could add horns, goatees, and pitchforks. She was a little proud of herself; a Tibetan goatherd couldn’t have come up with such a good lie.
    â€œWhat?” Margo looked startled. Candra’s lovely face looked first amazed, then alarmed, as if she had begun imagining all the responses Sweeney could make to Margo’s incredulous question. Sweeney didn’t give herself time to think of any. She had to get out of there before her thin layer of tolerance for fools and jerks was worn through and she said something that would really embarrass Candra. She swung around and headed for the door, going as fast as she could without actually running.
    She switched the portfolio to her left hand and reached out with her right to grab the door handle, but a tall body was suddenly right next to her and a dark-clad arm shot out in front of her, blocking her way. Over her head a deep voice said, ‘Allow me. I was just leaving, too. Good-bye, Senator, Mrs. McMillan. Kai.”
    Startled by the novelty of having a door opened for her, Sweeney didn’t think to call her own goodbyes. To be honest, it wasn’t just Richard’s courtesy that had startled her, but his closeness. Her stomach jittered again. It was unsettling to have him right next to her when only moments before she had been mentally