Free Mind Over Matter by Nora Roberts Page A

After mentally reviewing her appointments, A.J. decided what she needed was a touch of elegance.
    She went with a raw silk suit in pale peach. Sticking to routine, she was dressed and standing in front of the full-length mirrors of her closet in twenty minutes. As an afterthought, she picked up the little half-moon she sometimes wore on her lapel. As she was fastening it, the dream came back to her. She hadn’t looked so confident, so—was it aloof?—in the dream. She’d been softer, hadn’t she? More vulnerable.
    A.J. lifted a hand to touch it to the glass. It was cool and smooth, a reflection only. Just as it had only been a dream, she reminded herself with a shake of the head. In reality she couldn’t afford to be soft. Vulnerability was out of the question. An agent in this town would be eaten alive in five minutes if she allowed a soft spot to show. And a woman—a woman took terrifying chances if she let a man see that which was vulnerable. A. J. Fields wasn’t taking any chances.
    Tugging down the hem of her jacket, she took a last survey before grabbing her briefcase. In less than twenty minutes, she was unlocking the door to her suite of offices.
    It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for A.J. to open the offices herself. Ever since she’d rented her first one-room walk-up early in her career, she’d developed the habit of arriving ahead of her staff. In those days her staff had consisted of a part-time receptionist who’d dreamed of a modeling career. Now she had two receptionists, a secretary and an assistant, as well as a stable of agents. A.J. turned the switch so that light gleamed on brass pots and rose-colored walls. She’d never regretted calling in a decorator. There was class here, discreet, understated class with subtle hints of power. Left to herself, she knew she’d have settled for a couple of sturdy desks and gooseneck lamps.
    A glance at her watch showed her she could get in several calls to the East Coast. She left the one light burning in the reception area and closeted herself in her own office. Within a half-hour she’d verbally agreed to have her nervous brunch appointment fly east to do a pilot for a weekly series, set out pre-negotiation feelers for a contract renewal for another client who worked on a daytime drama and lit a fire under a producer by refusing his offer on a projected mini-series.
    A good morning’s work, A.J. decided, reflecting back on the producer’s assessment that she was a nearsighted, money-grubbing python. He would counteroffer. She leaned back in her chair and let her shoes drop to the floor. When he did, her client would get over-the-title billing and a cool quarter million. He’d work for it, A.J. thought with a long stretch. She’d read the script and understood that the part would be physically demanding and emotionally draining. She understood just how much blood and sweat a good actor put into a role. As far as she was concerned, they deserved every penny they could get, and it was up to her to squeeze it from the producer’s tightfisted hand.
    Satisfied, she decided to delve into paperwork before her own phone started to ring. Then she heard the footsteps.
    At first she simply glanced at her watch, wondering who was in early. Then it occurred to her that though her staff was certainly dedicated enough, she couldn’t think of anyone who’d come to work thirty minutes before they were due. A.J. rose, fully intending to see for herself, when the footsteps stopped. She should just call out, she thought, then found herself remembering every suspense movie she’d ever seen. The trusting heroine called out, then found herself trapped in a room with a maniac. Swallowing, she picked up a heavy metal paperweight.
    The footsteps started again, coming closer. Still closer. Struggling to keep her breathing even and quiet, A.J. walked across the carpet and stood beside the door. The footsteps halted directly on the other side. With the paperweight held high,