Private Indiscretions. Susan Crosby

we’ll talk about it.”

      “I’ll do that.” A promise was a promise. “How was your trip?”

      “Quick.”

      She wished he would elaborate. “Candi left a message tonight that Mr. G. died.”

      A beat of silence, then, “I heard.”

      That surprised her. “The services are on Saturday. Are you going?”

      “I’m not sure.”

      “Oh.” She’d thought they could go together. She wrapped the phone cord around her finger, wishing he would tell her why he wanted to see her, but he said nothing. “So, what was your message about? Why do you want to meet with me?”

      “I have something to give you. If tomorrow after work suits you, I can stop by.”

      “Sure. Should I call you when I’m leaving my office? It’ll be after six, I imagine, and before eight.”

      “That’ll work.”

      “Sam?” she said in a hurry, afraid he would hang up. “Why did you come to the reunion?”

      “To see you.”

      Her heart lurched. To see me? Just to see me? “How did you know I would be there?”

      “Have you missed a reunion yet?”

      His tone of voice indicated it was a rhetorical question, but she answered anyway. “No.”

      “Okay.” Static almost covered his words. “I’m pulling in to the hotel.”

      She heard the line go dead. Lost reception or had he hung up? “Good night,” she said, in case he could hear her.

      She returned the phone to her nightstand and reached for the budget report again, forcing herself to concentrate. But when she turned out the light an hour later, she was free to think of Sam. She tried to imagine what he planned to give her but—

      No. It better not be.

      Before she could let a contrary voice dictate her actions, she phoned him.