Free The Perfect Neighbor by Nora Roberts

him laugh again, to hear that sardonic edge to his voice when he made some pithy comment, to see that grin flash when she said or did something that got through his cynical shield.
    And if they lit a few sexual sparks between them while she was at it, what was wrong with that?
    She was on her way downstairs, and singing again, when the buzzer from the entrance door sounded on her intercom.
    “Yes?”
    “I’m looking for McQuinn. 3A?”
    “No, he’s 3B.”
    “Well, damn it. Why doesn’t he answer?”
    “Oh, he probably doesn’t hear you. He’s practicing.”
    “Buzz me in, will you, sweetie? I’m his agent and I’m running way behind.”
    “His agent.” Cybil perked up. If he had an agent, Cybil wanted to meet her. She’d already thought of half a dozen names to pass on for possible jobs. “Sure. Come on up.”
    She released the door, then opened her own and waited.
    The woman who stepped out of the little-used elevator looked very professional, very successful, Cybil noted with some surprise, in her snazzy power suit of drop-dead red. She was thin and wiry, with a sharp-featured face, dark-blue eyes that were snapping with annoyance and an incredibly fabulous mane of streaked blond hair.
    She moved with the precision of a bullet and carried a leather briefcase that Cybil estimated cost the equivalent of a month’s rent on a good uptown apartment.
    So, she mused, why was her client scrambling for work if his agent could afford designer duds and pricey accessories?
    “3A?”
    “Yes, I’m Cybil.”
    “Amanda Dresher. Thanks, Cybil. Our boy here isn’t answering his phone, and apparently forgot we had a one o’clock at the Four Seasons.”
    “The Four Seasons?” Baffled, Cybil stared. “On Park?”
    “Is there another?” With a laugh, Mandy pressed the buzzer on 3B and—knowing her prey—held it down. “Our Preston’s loaded with talent, but he’s my biggest pain in the butt.”
    “Preston.” It only took a minute for the confusion to form, settle, then clear away. “Preston McQuinn.” She let out a shaky breath that was equal parts betrayal and mortification. “
A Tangle of Souls.
”
    “That’s our boy,” Mandy said cheerfully. “Come on, come on, McQuinn, answer the damn door. I thought when he decided to stay in the city for a couple months I’d be able to keep better track of him. But it’s still an obstacle course. Ah, here we go.”
    They both heard the bad-tempered snick of locks being turned. Then he yanked open the door. “What the hell do you … Mandy?”
    “You missed lunch,” she snapped. “You’re not answering the phone.”
    “I forgot lunch. The phone didn’t ring.”
    “Did you charge the battery?”
    “Probably not.” He stood where he was, staring across the hall to where Cybil watched him with wounded eyes in a pale face. “Come on in. Just give me a minute.”
    “I’ve already given you an hour.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder as she walked inside. “Thanks for buzzing me up, sweetie.”
    “No problem. No problem at all.” Then Cybil looked Preston dead in the eye. “You bastard,” she said quietly, and closed her door.
    “Don’t you have any place to sit in here?” Mandy complained behind him.
    “No. Yes. Upstairs. Damn it,” he muttered, despising the slide of guilt. Doing his best to shrug it off, he closed his door. “I don’t use the space down here much.”
    “No kidding. So who’s the kid across the hall?” she asked as she set her briefcase on the kitchen counter.
    “Nobody. Campbell, Cybil Campbell.”
    “I thought she looked familiar. ‘Friends and Neighbors.’ I know her agent. He’s crazy about her. Claims she’s the only ego-proof, neurosis-free client he’s ever had. Never whines, doesn’t miss deadlines, never demands coddling, and is currently making him a fat pile of money on the sales of her trade books and calendars, plus the merchandising tie-ins.”
    She sent Preston a baleful look. “I wonder what