In reality she’d have liked to fling the instrument against the wall. In her outrage, her hands were trembling so badly that she had difficulty lighting her cigarette. When she finally did, she drew smoke deep into her lungs, hoping a rush of nicotine could calm her. It didn’t. Damn Adam! How could he prefer staying in that tacky beach house with Fitz rather than returning to Washington for the weekend? In just two hours she was attending a luncheon where she would be honored for her contribution to battered women and children, and her husband wouldn’t even be there. She drew more smoke into her lungs before propping her gold holder in the crystal ashtray. She pulled out the stool and sat in front of her dressing table. The room off the master bedroom was elegant, exactly as she’d designed it herself. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors hid two enormous closets that housed her growing wardrobe.
