“She’s been in the city for two days,” Cloe said. “And she waited.”
Mac looked at her across the lift. “She said she didn’t want to arrive before you were ready. She read the article this morning and she said.” He paused. “She said the woman in that article was ready.”
Cloe looked at the floor numbers changing above the door.
Eleanor Harlow had read a piece about her son’s involvement with a woman whose husband had secretly remarried, whose child had been threatened, whose life had been systematically dismantled by that man’s second wife, who happened to be Eleanor’s daughter. And she had decided the woman in that article was ready to be met.
“What is she like,” Cloe said.
Mac was quiet for a moment. “Direct. Warm when she trusts you. She doesn’t perform anything.” A pause. “She’s goi
