Leave It to Cleavage Read Free Page B

bed.
    Without jobs, and no other sizable employer around to provide new ones, they and their families would be wiped out.
    And so would Truro.
    Oh, God
.
    Her legs were weak from lack of use, but Miranda made it to the dresser, where she pulled out underclothes and stared in dismay at her reflection in the mirror.
    The thick dark hair that normally hung down her back stuck straight out in an impressive Medusa imitation, and her face was so pale that the freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out like chocolate chips on an underdone cookie. Her green eyes looked as dull as the algae that sometimes filled the pond out back, and she had a bad feeling that she’d lost weight—not a plus when you were almost six feet tall and already skinny as a rail.
    Miranda tried a smile. Her lips quivered and made her look like a dog that had just spotted the rolled-up newspaper in its master’s hand—but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. At this point, a day without tears was way up there next to winning the swimsuit competition and making the top ten. Funny how low your expectations could drop.
    In the master bath she flicked on the small TV and confirmed that it was Monday morning, which meant she’d spent two more days feeling sorry for herself than it had taken God to create the universe.
    Careful not to confront herself in the mirror again, Miranda stripped off her pajamas and stepped under a pulsing stream of hot water. Cradled in the steamy warmth, Miranda drew air into her lungs and turned her face up to the stream of water, wishing she could stay in this warm wonderful place forever.
    For a few bracing moments she stood naked and alone in her steamy cocoon. Then she forced herself to open the glass door, reach for a towel, and step back into the real world.
    It was time to get down to the plant and hunt for clues to where Tom had gone, and find out how bad things really were at Ballantyne.

chapter 3
    M iranda drove through the front gate of Ballantyne Bras’ corporate headquarters, wincing as she always did as she passed under the archway that read BALLANTYNE BRAS . . . SUPPORTING TRURO FOR OVER A HUNDRED YEARS .
    She ignored the security guard’s surprise—he couldn’t be any more startled to see her than she was to be here at eight-thirty on a Monday morning—and parked her BMW in Tom’s spot.
    In the lobby she stopped briefly at the front desk. “Good morning, Leeta.”
    The receptionist choked on her doughnut. “Sorry, Mrs. Smith.” Leeta patted her throat while Miranda waited for her to swallow and catch her breath. “With Mr. Smith away on business, I wasn’t expecting . . .”
    Miranda’s mind leaped at the tidbit of information. They knew Tom was gone and they thought he was coming back. Evidently they hadn’t gotten their kiss-off notes yet. “It’s okay, Leeta.” Miranda pulled her gaze from the receptionist’s closely cropped fingernails to meet the middle-aged woman’s gaze, wishing she could come out and ask exactly where Leeta thought Tom was. “Tom, um, asked me to pick up a few things from his office.”
    “Do you want me to . . .”
    “No, it’s okay. I’ll show myself in.”
    Miranda sailed down the corridor and through Tom’s office door. Closing it behind her, she leaned back against the hard wood surface, surveying her husband’s domain while she stilled her heartbeat and got her breathing under control.
    She wasn’t sure what she was afraid of. She was a Ballantyne, and the current, if abandoned, wife of the president and CEO; it was unlikely anyone would demand an explanation for her presence. It was equally unlikely that Tom had circulated a memo announcing his intention to desert her. All she needed was a clue or two, something that would help her figure out where Tom had gone and why.
    The knot in her stomach loosened slightly as she sank into a chair behind the mahogany partners desk that had once belonged to her grandfather. In its glossy reflection she could still