“Shut up.”

“It’s true. Joe was just as shocked as I was. He’d literally just gotten the news. Since Quixie was one of the agency’s biggest accounts, it’s a huge blow for them. And since the Quixie account was going to be mine, I am now, officially redundant.”

“Can Davis do that?” Pokey asked. “I mean, Farnham-Capheart has been the company’s ad agency since forever.”

“He can and he did,” Annajane said succinctly. “Although I have an idea this is a plot he probably hatched with Celia’s assistance. Joe let it slip that Davis was the one who suggested they hire me—since I was probably going to want to leave the company anyway once Celia was in the picture.”

“That conniving little slut,” Pokey said. “I’d like to rip her arms off and beat her to death with ’em.”

“And I’d help,” Annajane said. “Except, knowing her, she’d just grow a second set of appendages.”

“What are you gonna do now?” Pokey asked.

“You mean now that I’m both jobless and homeless? We close on the loft sale on Thursday, and I’ve got to be out of there by Friday at five. Of that I’m certain. As for the rest of it, who knows? I guess I’ll start polishing my résumé, for a starter. Celia made it very plain when I saw her at the plant yesterday that she plans to install Tracey, the new girl, in my old office any second. She even suggested I didn’t need to finish out this week. Of course, I lied and told her I had some very important business to finish up first. I just didn’t tell her the business I needed to finish was her.”

“Good for you,” Pokey said. “Anything you want to do, count me in. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Back to Celia. Let’s get back to destroying Celia. Did you ever ask your friend at Belk’s about her?”

“I’d forgotten,” Pokey said. “But I’ll call her right now. Or right after I get these hellions down for their naps.”

25

Mason felt his neck and shoulder muscles tighten as soon as he drove through the wrought-iron gates at Cherry Hill. The smell of freshly mown grass wafted through the open windows of his car, and small birds and large yellow butterflies hovered over the splashy ribbons of pink, white, and purple azaleas that lined the long drive, but he was too distracted to enjoy the sights of a beautiful spring day.

The message Sallie had left on his phone was brief and succinct. “Son, I need to see you this morning. I’ll be at home until noon.”

He massaged his temples with his fingertips. His mother’s agenda could have any number of unpleasant items.

Mason parked his car and trudged slowly up the front steps of the Greek Revival house. The white paint gleamed in the sunshine. He paused at the front door. Normally, he just walked inside and announced himself. After all, this was his family home. He’d lived here right up until shortly before he and Annajane married and had moved back here, briefly, after their split. But somehow, today felt different. He was poised to ring the doorbell when the door opened and his mother greeted him, her voice decidedly cool.

“Since when do you ring the doorbell here?” she demanded, offering her cheek to be kissed.

He kissed her lightly, inhaling the familiar scents, hairspray, Chanel Number Five, and yes, cigarettes with an after-note of cinnamon-flavored chewing gum. His mother had been a closet smoker for as long as he could remember. You’d walk into a room at the house, and there she’d be, guiltily fanning the smoke out opened windows or spritzing the air with room freshener.

He followed her into the high-ceilinged entry hall, and her heels clicked on the black-and-white marble-tiled floor. “You look nice,” he said, hoping to establish détente. Her hair had been freshly done and she wore a yellow silk pantsuit and a gleaming gold-link necklace and matching earrings.

“I had altar guild this morning,” she said, leading him into the study. She sat down behind the dainty walnut French provincial desk she’d installed there in the place of his father’s massive oak desk. “And I can tell you it wasn’t a very pleasant experience, walking into a room full of buzzing women, all of whom fell silent the moment I entered. And what do you suppose they were talking about?”

Mason stayed standing. “Is that why you asked me over here? Because of a bunch of gossipy old biddies?” He turned and headed for the door. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mama. I’ve got a business to run.”

“I’d like you to stay,” Sallie said. Her voice was steady. She seldom raised it, because she seldom had to. All her life, Sallie Bayless had been a force with which to reckon.

He slouched down into the pale blue damask wing chair facing the desk and instantly felt like a schoolboy called into the principal’s office.

His mother fidgeted with a pen on the desktop, rolling it back and forth beneath her fingertips.

“Is it true?” she said finally. “You … and Annajane? Really, Mason, I can’t imagine what you were thinking. Or doing? And out at the farm?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Mason said. “But I doubt much of it is true. Anyway, I don’t care to discuss my personal life with you. Or the rest of Passcoe.”

“Your personal life, and the way you conduct it, reflects on your entire family. And on Quixie,” Sallie reminded him. “So when you and your ex-wife go cavorting around out in a public place, of course it’s going to be talked about.” She shook her head.

“If Celia decides to take you back, it will be a miracle. She should be nominated for sainthood.”

Mason felt the muscle in his jaw twitch.

“And yes, I know about the baby,” she added.

He jumped to his feet. “That’s it. I’m thirty-nine years old. I’m a little too old to have my mother slap my hand.”

“And what a shame,” Sallie said. “I should have slapped your hand—and your fanny—much more frequently than I did when you were a boy. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“We aren’t having this conversation,” Mason said. “I’m leaving now.”

“Before you go rushing off, you should know that Celia didn’t volunteer the information about her pregnancy,” Sallie said. “I called her just a few minutes ago, and I could tell by the sound of her voice that she’d been crying. Still was crying, poor thing. She didn’t want to tell me what had happened, but I persuaded her she needed a friendly shoulder. Mason, Celia doesn’t have any family to speak of, except her poor old aunt. We’re her family now.”

“Lucky Celia,” Mason said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. He glanced down at his watch. “I have to go, Mama. Sophie gets out of the hospital this afternoon, and I haven’t even made it into the office yet.”

“Mason!” Sallie said, with just a hint of sharpness. “I want all this nonsense stopped. You are engaged to be married to a wonderful, intelligent woman, who will be an asset to this family and our company. You need to remember that and stay away from Annajane Hudgens. Especially now that Celia is carrying your child.”

She gave another shake of the head. “I didn’t say a word when you brought Sophie home, did I? We welcomed her into our family and treated her just the same as Pokey’s children. We all adore Sophie. But Mason, one illegitimate child is the limit! You simply cannot walk away from Celia.”

“I never intended to walk away from her,” Mason said, his voice dangerously calm. “But Celia and I are the only ones who can make the decision to get married. I won’t be pressured, Mama. Not by you or her.”

“Why on earth would you hesitate to marry Celia?” Sallie demanded. “Please explain it to me, because I just don’t understand what your problem is.”

“I’m not in love with Celia,” Mason said. “That’s the problem, in a nutshell.”

“Love? Don’t be ridiculous. As you’ve already pointed out, you’re thirty-nine years old, Mason. You tried marrying for love once. How did that work out for you?” She arched one eyebrow as a dare.