Resolve trickled through her as she reminded herself that whatever else he appeared to be, Adam Duke was the reason her world had fallen to pieces. And Trish wasn’t the only one who’d been affected. There were others depending on her to keep her word to bring Adam down. If she ever wanted to face her old friends and neighbors again, she needed to be strong and follow through on her plan.

Maybe someday, when Adam Duke and his machinations had been dealt with and were a thing of the past, she might think about settling down. But not yet. Not until she could look herself in the mirror and feel some amount of pride at having fulfilled the promise she’d made to Grandma Anna on her deathbed.

Content that little Gavin was settled and happy in his infant seat, Deb sat back down. “I know this plan of yours is something you’ve thought about for a long time, but if you’ve had a change of heart, it’s okay. You’re free to change your mind anytime you want.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Trish said.

“There’s no shame in it,” Deb insisted. “You’ve got an accounting degree and an MBA. You could get a job anywhere.”

“I know, and I will,” she said, gazing at her friend with renewed resolve. “But first things first. My personal feelings about Adam Duke don’t matter. He deserves to be taken down and I won’t give up until I’ve done just that.”


Trish spent most of Saturday morning running errands. She stopped at the dry cleaners, the grocery store, the bank and finally the library where she returned two books, then strolled over to browse the new arrivals shelf.

“My goodness, is that you, Trish?”

She turned, then smiled and gave the chic, older woman a hug. “Mrs. Collins, how are you?”

“I’m as well as can be expected for an old gal.” Selma Collins was a neighbor from Victorian Village. She’d owned the stylish clothing shop that had provided Trish with dresses for all the significant events of her life, from her first communion to her senior prom.

Today Mrs. Collins wore one of her vintage Chanel suits. It was almost as old as she was, but it was elegant and timeless, just as she was. Her subtle scent of Chanel No. 5 filled Trish’s sense memory and, just for a moment, transported her back to a happier time.

“Oh, Mrs. Collins,” Trish said with a grin, “you look as fresh and young as the day I met you.”

The woman slapped Trish’s arm. “My dear, you were a toddler when I first met you, so stop pulling this old gal’s leg.”

They both chuckled, then Trish wasn’t sure what to say. Most of the neighbors knew her plan to infiltrate Duke Development and they’d applauded her for taking action. But if she came up with nothing, she didn’t know how she would face them. And that outcome was looking more and more inevitable with every day she spent with Adam Duke.

“You probably heard that Claude and Madeleine had to declare bankruptcy,” Mrs. Collins whispered.

The news hit Trish like a physical blow to the chest. Claude and Madeleine Maubert had operated the Village Patisserie for over twenty years. Their chocolate croissants were the stuff of dreams. Trish had loved hearing Mrs. Maubert’s stories of her life in Paris before she met her husband and they ventured “across the pond,” as she always said. “Oh, no. Are they going to be all right?”

Mrs. Collins shook her head. “They went through most of their savings trying to set up another patisserie like the one they’d had at the Village, but they just couldn’t make it work. I don’t think their hearts were in it.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Oh, dear girl, you’re doing everything you can.” Mrs. Collins squeezed her arm. “We have such great hopes for you.”

Trish smiled thinly but said nothing. She wished now that she hadn’t raised the expectations of her neighbors by telling them of her plan to find some dirt on Adam Duke. Even if she did discover something they could use against their nemesis, it wouldn’t bring back their shops or their homes.

But eight months ago, after Grandma Anna died, Trish had been so angry and hurt that she’d stormed into City Hall and demanded to know why the city hadn’t approved the historical designation for Victorian Village. They’d told her that renters couldn’t apply for the designation; it had to come from the owners.

She remembered the overwhelming desire to throw something at the clerk. It shouldn’t have mattered who applied for the designation. It was an objective fact that the block-long building was a town landmark, well over one hundred years old and lovingly preserved in the classic Queen Anne Victorian style. How dare the city allow it to be bulldozed into oblivion and replaced by a concrete slab?

After receiving no satisfaction at City Hall, she’d marched into the large Duke Development construction trailer that was camped on the site of her razed home and made silly threats. The head guy, a wormy little man who made her skin crawl, had warned her to get out or he would call security, so she left of her own accord, but not before foolishly ranting her intention to “take down Duke Development” if it was the last thing she did.

Now, she could only laugh ruefully at the memory but back then, she’d been carrying around a grudge that weighed her down like a stone. Soon after the embarrassing scene at the Duke construction trailer, Trish had attended a barbecue with her old neighbors. She’d shared her plan with them, boldly promising that she would find something-anything-that could be used to hurt the Dukes in some way. It had been rash of her, but her friends had hailed her as their heroine and bolstered her confidence, so she knew she had to give it her best shot.

And so she had. But so far, she’d found nothing remotely damaging to the corporation or to Adam Duke himself. On the contrary, the man appeared to be a saint.

Mrs. Collins hugged her again and told her to “keep the fight alive.” Trish promised to arrange a get-together soon, then watched the older woman walk away. Trish knew she had no choice but to renew her pledge to continue her search. She just prayed that Adam never found out her true intentions because, if he did, she had no doubt that he would make it impossible for her to ever find work in this town again.


“Who wants hot dogs?” Sally Duke cried as she slid the patio door open while balancing two full platters of hot dogs and buns.

“Let me help you with that, Mom,” Adam said, jogging over to grab something from her capable hands. He set the trays on the patio table.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Sally said. “Could you make the hamburger patties? You’re so good at that.”

“I’ll take care of them. You relax.”

“Oh, and I think we’ll need more sangria.”

“You got it.” Adam signaled to Brandon, who stood behind the tiki bar on the other side of the wide terrace, beyond the pool. “Mom needs more sangria.”

“Coming right up,” Brandon called.

Adam entered the big, sunny kitchen where Cameron stood at the stove, putting the finishing touches on the latest batch of his world-famous chili.

Adam snatched a pickle from the relish tray in the refrigerator and chomped it down before heading over to taste-test the chili.

“Needs salt,” he said after the first spoonful.

“I know,” Cameron said.

Adam pulled the hamburger meat from the refrigerator, grabbed a large glass bowl from the cupboard and cleared a spot on the kitchen island to work.

“I need to talk to you and Brandon some time today,” Cameron said as he stirred the pot. “The environmental report came in on the Monarch Beach property and I want to take action on Monday.”

“Sounds good,” Adam said. “I’ve got an ADA issue going on at Fantasy Mountain, too.”

“Speaking of fantasies,” Brandon said as he walked into the room carrying the empty sangria pitcher. “How’s that sweet new assistant of yours doing?”

Cameron turned. “You’ve got a new assistant?”

“Mind your own damn business,” Adam said gruffly to Brandon.

“Ouch,” Brandon said, grinning as he ladled more sangria from the punch bowl into the pitcher. “I seem to have touched a nerve.”

He left the kitchen to deliver the sangria but was back in less than a minute. “What did I miss?”

“I believe we were about to discuss Adam’s new assistant,” Cameron said drily.

Dammit, this subject wasn’t going to go away. Might as well discuss it with people he trusted. Adam walked to the sink and pulled the kitchen curtain back in order to scan the patio. “Where’s Mom?”

“Marjorie and Bea just arrived,” Brandon said. “They’re all out at the bar, drinking sangria and wolfing down chips and salsa.”

“Good,” Adam said, suddenly feeling almost as paranoid as Brandon had earlier in the week. “Let’s make sure they stay out there.”

“What’s going on?” Cameron asked. “You don’t want Mom to know about this ADA issue?”

Brandon snickered as he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. “I’m betting he’s not really worried about the ADA issue right now.”

“Shut up,” Adam grumbled as he kneaded garlic powder into the meat.

“He hates when I’m right,” Brandon said, smirking.

“Luckily, that rarely happens,” Adam said drily.

“Good one,” Brandon said, too amused to counter the jibe. “So go ahead, just spill it.”

It wasn’t that easy, Adam thought, staring at his brothers. They’d always shared their problems with each other. Despite Brandon’s easygoing nature, he had instincts as sharply drawn as Adam’s and Cameron’s. Besides being his brothers, these two men were his business partners and the two people he most trusted with his life. So he took a breath and spilled his guts.

“It’s this thing Brandon’s been harping on,” he said, glancing from Cameron to Brandon. “You know, about Mom’s latest campaign.”

Cameron looked puzzled for a second, then said, “The matchmaking thing?”