"Roberts, Nora - Private Scandals" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Nora)

"That's the entertainment division's problem." "Their problem's our problem. You know that."
"Fuck."
"Well said. I only mention it because I thought if you and Angela were still ..."
"We're not." Finn frowned. "I'll see



what I can find out when I get back."
"Appreciate it. Now, let's get some lunch. We'll talk about news magazines."
"I'm not doing a news magazine." It was an old argument, one they continued with perfect amiability as they trailed
sheets into the locker room.

"Hawaii sounds perfect," Deanna said into the phone.
"I'm glad you think so. How about the second week in June?"
Pleased with the idea, Deanna poured a mug of coffee. She carried it and her portable phone to the table where
she'd set up her laptop. "I'll put in for it. I haven't taken any time since I started at the station, so I don't think it'll be a
problem."
"Why don't I stop by? We can talk about it, look at some brochures."
She closed her eyes, knowing she couldn't ignore the insistent blip on her computer screen. "I wish we could. I've
got work. I had something come in at the last minute that held me up." She didn't mention the hour she'd spent
punching up Angela's speech. "Pulling the anchor desk this weekend's really tied me up. How about brunch on
Sunday?"
"Say about ten? I could meet you at the Drake. We can look over the brochures and decide on what suits us."
"Perfect. I'll be looking forward to it." "So will I."
"I'm sorry about tonight."
"Don't be. I've got some work myself. Good night, Deanna."
"Good night."
Marshall hung up. Mozart was playing on the stereo, a quiet fire was burning in the hearth and the scent of lemon oil
and fragrant smoke hung in the air.
After polishing off his brandy, he walked up the stairs to his bedroom. There, with the sound of violins lilting through
the recessed speakers, he stripped out of his tailored suit. Beneath, he wore silk.
It was a small affectation. He liked soft, expensive things. He liked, admittedly and without shame, women. His wife
had often joked about it, he remembered, had even appreciated his



admiration for the opposite sex.
Until, of course, she'd found him intimately admiring young Annie Gilby.
He winced at the memory of his wife arriving home a full day early from a business trip. The look on her face when
she'd walked into the bedroom and discovered him making loud, boisterous love to Annie. It had been a horrible
mistake. A tragic one. His argument, perfectly justified, that his wife's preoccupation with her career and her lack of
occupation in their bedroom had made him easy game, had fallen on deaf ears.
It hadn't mattered to her that the girl had utterly and deliberately seduced him, had played on his weaknesses, his
frustrations. There had been other women, yes. But they had been momentary diversions, discreet sexual releases
when his wife was away or involved with her own decorating business. And not worth mentioning.
He would never have hurt Patricia, Marshall assured himself now as he chose dark slacks and a shirt. He had loved
her completely, and he missed her miserably.
He was a man who needed to be married, who needed a woman to talk to, to share his life and home with. A bright,
intelligent woman, like Patricia. True, he needed the stimulation of beauty. That wasn't a flaw. Patricia had been
beautiful, and ambitious; she had a sense of style and taste that was faultless.