The corner of her mouth quirked up. “And you’ve never worried about that here? I’m jealous.”

Through the jocularity of her tone, her words hit home. “I guess ... I guess because here I’ve always been working on someone else’s orders—working someone else’s plan—I’ve never had the sense of being completely responsible for the success or failure of an event. Not the way I would be as the person in charge of everything at a restaurant.”

Meredith didn’t say anything for a long moment. “This is probably going to sound like a patronizing question, but have you prayed about it?”

“Nonstop since I left their house.”

“What is God telling you to do?”

“I’m not sure. A verse keeps running through my head, but I’m not sure how to interpret it.”

“What verse?” She stood and crossed to her desk and sat at the computer.

“‘For to everyone who has, more shall be given, and he will have an abundance; but from the one who does not have, even what he does have shall be taken away.’ I think it’s in Matthew somewhere.” He moved around and leaned against the edge of the desk where he could see her screen. He recognized the Web site she accessed—he used it all the time when it was his turn to lead Bible study, or when he filled in for the chaplain out at Beausoleil Pointe Center.

“Matthew 25:29, to be exact. It’s in the parable of the talents—where the master gave each of three slaves some money....”

“Two went out and doubled what they received; the third hoarded his and did nothing useful with it.” Major dragged his fingers through his hair. “So is God telling me that if I don’t take this opportunity, I’m acting like that third slave who risked nothing?”

Meredith turned to face him. “In my experience, faith is a lot like the money Jesus was talking about. Unless you use it—unless you invest it in some worthy endeavor—it will never grow. It’ll never do you any good.” She looked back at the screen. “Did you read this verse—15?”

“‘To one he gave five talents, to another, two, and to another, one, each according to his own ability....’”

“‘According to his own ability.’” Meredith repeated. “Do you think maybe that’s what God is trying to tell you? He is rewarding your ability and wants you to go out and invest that reward?”

He squeezed her shoulders. “Thanks.” His phone beeped, and he angled it from his belt to see the screen. “That’s Steven wondering where I am.”

“Reports by noon?”

“I’ll send everything to your assistant.” He loaded up the remnants of their breakfast onto the cart and departed—but turned to take one last look over his shoulder from the door.

Meredith sat at her desk, face buried in her hands.

His insides twisted around all that food he’d just eaten, hating himself for having caused pain to the woman he desired to please above all else.

* * *

Meredith pounded the backspace key on the computer’s keyboard. She’d made the same spelling mistake five times while typing the memo that would go to her parents along with the spreadsheet her assistant was even now finalizing. Her brain buzzed with everything Major had told her this morning, and her emotions swung from despair at the thought of Major leaving B-G to start a restaurant to frustration and anger that her parents—Mom, most likely—had once again made a major decision that would impact one of the divisions in Meredith’s department without alerting Meredith first.

She had no delusions that her parents would seek her advice or input on something like asking Major to appear on TV weekly, adding to his already overloaded schedule. But they could have at least informed her of their decision ahead of time so she didn’t come across looking like such a complete imbecile in front of Major.

“Oh, for mercy’s sake!” She smacked the edge of her keyboard with the heels of her hands when she misspelled the seafood vendor’s name a sixth time.

“Everything okay, Meredith?” Corie, her administrative assistant, hesitated in the doorway, a thick folder in her hands.

“Just frustrated with myself.” Meredith turned away from the computer and reached for the bottle of soda that usually sat next to her phone—but she hadn’t replenished her stock yesterday. “What’s up?”

Corie crossed the office and extended the folder. “I finished the spreadsheet and e-mailed it to you. Here’s all the receipts and invoices.”

“Does that include everything from catering?” Meredith took the file and set it on her desk without looking at it. Though just seven months out of college, Corie was the most efficient and organized assistant Meredith had ever had.

“Yes. Major got everything to me this morning.”

“And the payroll report?”

“Included.”

“Really? I was expecting to have to get on the phone with HR this afternoon and pull rank to get the information from them before deadline.” Finally, something was going right today.

Corie filled her in on everything she’d done to get the report finished before the end of the day so Meredith could take it home to work on over the weekend.

“Good job. I owe you lunch big-time.” Meredith glanced at the clock. “It’s four o’clock. All I have left is to finish the memo, so if you don’t have anything else you need to do today, why don’t you go ahead and knock off early.”

“Thanks, boss!” Corie bounced out of the office.

Once more, Meredith reached for the soda bottle, only to find empty air. “Good grief.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a handful of coins.

“Did I miss something?” Corie asked when Meredith came out of the office.

“Nope. I just need a Coke.”

“I can go get it for you.” The assistant put her tote down on her desk.

“That’s sweet. But you go on home. I’m perfectly capable of going down to the shop and getting a drink.” No way was Meredith going to become one of those spoiled executives whose assistant did nothing but get her coffee, pick up her dry cleaning, and answer her phone—like her mother’s executive assistant.

“I’ll walk down with you.”

On the five-flight trek down the stairs, at Meredith’s inquiry, Corie talked about her plans for the weekend, which included a trip to Baton Rouge for a concert of some band Meredith had never heard of. Once they reached the first floor, Meredith bade the girl farewell and crossed the large, atrium-style lobby to the coffee shop– newsstand–convenience store.

“Afternoon, Miss Guidry.”

She greeted the cashier and made a beeline for the refrigerated cases at the back of the small shop. She vacillated between ginger ale and root beer and finally chose Cherry Coke instead, figuring the caffeine would help with the dull headache she’d been trying to ignore all day. Plus, she wasn’t sure how late she’d be out tonight, so the boost might be helpful.

She paid and headed back toward the bank of elevators—but was diverted when she saw one of her building maintenance managers and a couple of his guys at the security desk. When she joined them, the manager explained that several complaints had been made about trip-and-fall accidents on the twelfth floor near where new tenants were remodeling their office space.

Meredith tucked the information away to ask about in the facilities staff meeting on Monday if the manager forgot to mention it.

Back in her office, fortified with caffeine and sugar, Meredith returned to the report, recapping everything that happened from planning through execution of the New Year’s Eve gala. Finally, at a quarter of five, she e-mailed the memo and spreadsheet to herself at home, then stuffed the folder of receipts and invoices into her bag.

She switched over to her e-mail program ... and groaned. More than a hundred unread e-mails just since lunchtime. She scanned the subject lines. Nothing vitally important that couldn’t wait until Monday. She shut down the computer and reached for the phone.

As she took a long swig of soda while listening to her twelve new voicemail messages, her eye caught on the garment bag hanging from the coat hook on the back of the door. Her stomach gave a little flip. In half an hour, Ward Breaux would arrive to take her on a date. A date.

She wrote down the messages on the page for Monday in her planner. Finished with those, she scanned the sticky notes scattered around her desk and stuck to the sides of her computer monitor. Half of them referenced completed projects, so she threw them away. The rest she stuck to the appropriate pages in her planner to deal with next week.

The phone rang, and she picked it up without looking at the caller ID window. “Events and Facilities Management. This is Meredith Guidry.”

“Well, hello there, Meredith Guidry.” Ward Breaux’s voice sent goosebumps racing down Meredith’s arms. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up that I left my job site earlier than I thought, so I’m probably going to be there about ten or fifteen minutes early. I hope that doesn’t mess up your schedule.”

She glanced at her watch. “No, I was just wrapping things up, as a matter of fact.”

“Great. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.”

As soon as she hung up, Meredith jumped up from her desk and closed her door so she could change clothes. The dress was something Anne had talked her into buying a couple of years ago, and it had hung in Meredith’s closet ever since. The chocolate brown matte-silk sheath topped with a three-quarter sleeve bolero had a very 1940s vibe to it, which was the only reason she’d been cajoled into buying it. Her round-toed brown pumps had a similar retro feel to them. She hoped she didn’t look like she was wearing a costume.

Hanging the gray tweed suit in the garment bag, Meredith slipped into the marble and cherry powder room that connected her office with her mother’s. She added a little makeup—but didn’t go for the full war paint that she wore for formal events—and let her hair down from the clip she’d pulled it back with at the height of her frustration this afternoon.