When she saw it was Gladys Harbison, a little hum of disappointment traveled through her.As hard as it was to admit, she’d hoped it might be J.J. She couldn’t go much longer without talking to him about what the hell had really happened with Tanyalee and why—God, why—he had blamed Cherise for their divorce. It was driving her crazy. But J.J. had managed to avoid her all morning, almost as if he knew Cherise was on to him.It made perfect sense, of course. Jackasses rarely enjoyed being called on their jackassish-ness.“Where do you want me to put these?” Gladys asked, bent over by the weight of the documents, which did wonders for the view of crinkly flesh down the front of her peasant blouse. Cherise averted her eyes. She jumped from her desk chair, relieved Gladys of the stack, and placed it in the far corner of the room. With all the accumulating paperwork, the office was already in a state of disorganization, but with the addition of the painting supplies, ladders, and drop cloths, it had advanced to chaos.“You sure you want this room painted gray?”
