December 8
There was nothing remarkable orunusual about Rosalind's morning. It was the same cup of coffee and the same bus ride to the office. In between the phone calls from and to her authors, she continued wielding her red pen as she made her way through the David Knight manuscript. At lunchtime, she ordered a Cobb salad from a local deli and ate it while she worked.
Shortly thereafter, however, the day took a detour from the norm.
Rosalind had just ended a conversation with Lulu Page, a bestselling historical romance writer, when Alfred Rowe, the president of the company, walked into her office.
"Have you heard from Brett McCord lately?" he asked.
The question took Rosalind by surprise. To her knowledge, no one at the office knew about their affair.
"No. Why?"
"There was an awards dinner last night at the Plaza," Rowe explained. "Brett was supposed to be there to receive an award for Death in Paradise, but he didn't show up. Since you're his editor; I thought you might know if he was out of the country or something."
"I haven't heard anything from Brett McCord since the beginning of October when he finished his last novel."
Rosalind did not mention the November phone call since it had been a strictly private matter and, as such, was none of Rowe's business.
"Do you think there might be something wrong?" she asked.
"No, it's just strange that he didn't phone and tell me couldn't make it."
For the next two hours, Rosalind tried to get Brett off her mind. As usual, she wasn't successful. After reading the same page of the manuscript four times without comprehending a word she'd read, she decided to leave early.
"I'm going to go work at home," she informed her secretary. "If anyone calls, just tell them I'll get back to them tomorrow."
Rosalind's concentration didn't improve when she returned to her apartment. Memories of all those precious stolen moments with Brett continued to haunt her.
"What I need is a distraction," she declared with a sigh. "A meaningless fling with someone new to take my mind off Brett McCord."
Her eyes were drawn to the advent calendar. Perhaps the mysterious secret admirer would serve the purpose.
"Too bad I don't know who you are or how to get in touch with you."
She picked up the calendar and was surprised when drawer number eight easily opened.
It appears as though there is some sort of timer that locks a drawer in place until the specified date. But how is that possible? she wondered.
Rosalind reached inside the drawer and found a bracelet, not an inexpensive one but a twenty-four-karat gold bracelet with a heart-shaped charm.
Whoever my secret admirer is, he certainly invested a lot of time and money in this advent calendar. I wonder what he hopes to get in return, she thought with a shiver.
