Chapter NineDamn and blast! Lydia echoed as she climbed into her own car. Too late now to revive her and Mudge’s meeting plan, since she had no way to reach him outside work.
Too bad she hadn’t seen that note. Then she’d know for sure if Alistair Pope truly did have to go battle a crisis, or if he’d just gotten cold feet.
Or didn’t want to hear any more questions about DeAnne.
What was his problem with that? The little he did tell her had sounded . . . not false, exactly, but rehearsed. Maybe he’d been asked the same things so many times that his answers were automatic. Or maybe he was miffed. Maybe he’d latched onto her as an outsider—one woman (finally!) he could dazzle with his pre-Civil War house, his filmmaking, and his sexy male self. And when she let him down, turned a note into
