Derek regarded her gently. “Which was?”
She appreciated his understanding, even as she forced herself to take another step away from him. “I’ll never again make the mistake of thinking the intimacy that develops during a home search will continue once a residence is found.” She splayed a hand across her chest again. “I’m a Realtor. You’re my client.” She paused to let her words sink in. “And that is all.”
She tensed as the first notes of the country ballad “Need You Now” emanated from her cell phone: Loughlin Realty’s emergency ring. “Excuse me.” Eve plucked her phone out of her bag and stalked off. “I’ve got to get this.”
Sasha, the office manager, was on the other end.
Eve listened, hardly able to believe what was being said about her mother. “She what?” Her heart sank. “No! My God, no!” Then she commanded quickly, “Don’t do that. Tell her I’ll be right there! Yes, I’m five minutes away, max. Just hold her off, Sasha. Please.”
Almost as distraught as she’d been the day of her mother’s heart attack, Eve ended the call and grabbed her carryall.
“Everything okay?” Derek followed her, obviously concerned.
Aware she’d already been way too intimate with him, she kept him at arm’s length. “I’ve got an emergency back at the office,” she told him calmly. “You can stay as long as you like. Just lock up before you go, and return the key to the office.”
“You’re sure everything is okay?”
It wasn’t, but what could she say besides the obvious? “I’m sorry, Derek, I’ve got to go.”
Giving him no further chance to question her, Eve rushed out the door.
* * *
THE HOUSE WAS oddly silent and gloomy after Eve’s abrupt departure. Not certain what had happened, but accepting her implication that it was none of his business, Derek walked around, switching off lights and making sure all the doors were locked. He had almost finished the task when he saw Eve’s red-leather-bound iPad sitting on the counter next to the various contractor estimates. She’d left it behind in her haste to get out the door.
He glanced at his watch and saw it was five-thirty. More than likely someone would still be at the office. And he had to return the key in any case.
He finished locking up, got in his car and drove over there. There were two cars in the lot, one of them Eve’s white Mercedes sedan. A taxi was just pulling away. Inside the building, Sasha, the office manager, was in the reception area. The mid-thirtyish woman was as eclectically dressed as always, in a vivid handkerchief hem dress and lace-up high-heeled boots. Face pale, tight platinum curls standing on end, she was pacing and wringing her hands.
In Marjorie Loughlin’s private office, voices rose.
“Mom, you can’t do this!” Eve was insisting emotionally. “You know what the doctor said.”
The well-coiffed woman beside her retorted, “I have a client I’ve been wooing for months coming in later this week.”
“I know that, Mom,” Eve replied in a soul-weary voice Derek had never heard her use before.
Eve’s mother bulldozed on, pacing the office in much the same way Derek had seen Eve do. “And someone has to talk some sense into Flash Lefleur and get his condo adequately staged. Otherwise, who knows if and when his place will ever sell? And with only two weeks left on the listing contract!” Marjorie threw up her bejeweled hands. “I really don’t want to let that one go, Eve.”
“I told you I would take care of that, too,” her daughter said plaintively.
“I want to believe you, honey. But...with all we have at stake here. Especially after what happened with the other sale...” The older woman’s voice trailed off when she saw Derek standing in the doorway.
It was hard to figure out who looked worse, Derek thought. Marjorie Loughlin was pale to the point of being gray, and a little physically shaky to boot. Eve looked anxious and distressed.
“May I help you?” the older woman asked, suddenly all genteel Southern charm.
Eve jumped in to make introductions. “Mom, this is Derek McCabe. Derek, my mother, Marjorie Loughlin. I don’t think the two of you met when you came in the other day.”
They hadn’t, Derek realized.
Marjorie came forward to shake his hand. “Mr. McCabe, what a pleasure to meet you! Eve tells me you went to contract on a house.”
Not really surprised by the zero-to-sixty change in attitude and demeanor—salespeople were legendary for their ability to morph into what was required—he nodded and returned her energetic smile. “I did. Your daughter was amazing, by the way.”
“That’s always good to hear,” Marjorie replied, a bead of perspiration appearing on her elegant brow.
After a tense look at her mother, Eve stepped forward in turn. “What can we help you with?” she asked in a pleasant but businesslike tone.
He lifted the iPad in its red leather case, glad his presence had stopped the familial quarreling, at least momentarily. “You left this at the house.”
Eve slanted a glance at her mother, who seemed to be swaying slightly. “Thank you for bringing it.”
Before her daughter could get to her, Marjorie eased into the chair behind her impressive glass-and-chrome desk.
Noticing the way she was trembling, Eve turned paler, too. And it was easy to see why she was worried, Derek thought. Marjorie seemed near physical collapse, though she was trying her best to hide it. “Mrs. Loughlin, are you feeling all right?” he asked with concern.
“I don’t see how Marjorie could be, since she just got out of the hospital,” Sasha cried, obviously near tears.
“And she’s supposed to be in the cardiac rehabilitation unit as we speak,” Eve added pointedly.
Although she was ghostly white, and shaking visibly, Marjorie glared at her daughter and the stressed-out office manager. “I don’t need it.”
Eve glowered back, seeming to forget for a moment they had an audience. “That’s not what I heard, Mom. I just spoke to your cardiologist, and Dr. Jackson said you checked yourself out against medical advice!”
Another dot of perspiration appeared on Marjorie’s forehead, but she wiped it away. “I told the cardiac rehab staff I’d go when my schedule clears up. Right now—” she squared her shoulders and turned to the stack of messages on her desk “—there is work to be done here.”
Eve paced, looking ready to explode. “Work the four other employees of the agency can handle.”
Once again, Derek stepped in as peacemaker. “How long were you supposed to be at the rehab center?” he asked.
Marjorie shrugged and didn’t answer.
“Four weeks,” Eve said. “Then she’s to continue her physical therapy on an outpatient basis and recuperate at home, until Dr. Jackson gives her the all-clear to return to work, which will probably be not until well after the Christmas holidays.”
Derek had been through something similar with his own mother, when pneumonia precluded Josie’s return to work. He poured Marjorie a glass of sparkling water and took it to her. Knowing it was sometimes easier to listen to a neutral third party than a family member, he said gently, “That’s not too much to ask, is it? To follow medical advice, if for no other