“I thought you might be writing,” her agent said as she picked up. His name was Walter Drucker, and he went by Walt.

“I was,” she said, hopping onto a high stool near the phone. The kitchen was the nerve center of the house, and she used it as an office. Her computer was set up in the corner, next to two file cabinets bulging with her work. “What's up? I'm working on a new short story. I think it may turn out to be part of a trilogy when it grows up.” He admired her, and the fact that she was unfailingly professional and conscientious about everything she did. He knew how important her children were to her, but she still stayed on track with everything she wrote. She was very serious about her work, and everything she touched. It was a pleasure to deal with her. He never had to apologize for her missing a deadline, forgetting a story, going into rehab, or blowing a script. She was a writer to her core, and a good one. Tanya was a true professional. She had talent, energy, and drive. He liked her work, although usually he wasn't a short-story fan, but hers were good. They always had an interesting twist, a surprise. There was something very quirky and unusual about her work. Just when the reader expected it least, she came up with a stunning twist, turn, or ending. And he liked her funny stuff best. Sometimes she made him laugh till he cried.

“I've got work,” he said, sounding vague and somewhat cryptic. She was still thinking about her story, and not entirely focused on what he'd said.

“Hmm … can't be a soap. They're on hiatus till next month, thank God. I haven't had a decent idea all month, till yesterday. I've been too busy with the kids, and we leave for Tahoe next week, where I am head chef, chauffeur, social secretary, and maid.” Somehow she always ended up doing all the domestic work when they went to Tahoe, while everyone else swam, water-skied, and played. She had finally just accepted that it worked that way. The kids all brought friends, and no matter how much she begged, pleaded, or threatened them, no one ever helped. She was used to it by now. The older they got, the fewer chores they did. Peter wasn't much better. When he went to Tahoe, he liked to take it easy and relax, not do dishes, laundry, or make beds. She accepted it as one of the few downsides of her life. And she knew that if that was as bad as it got, she was lucky. Very, very lucky. And she took pride in taking care of them herself, and not hiring help. She was a perfectionist to her core, and taking care of her family, in every aspect, was a source of great pride to her. “What kind of work?” she asked, focusing finally on what he'd said.

“A script. Based on a book. It was a best-seller last year by Jane Barney. You know the one. Mantra. It was number one for about nine million weeks. Douglas Wayne just bought the book. They need a script.”

Published by Bantam Dell

A Division of Random House, Inc.

New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2006 by Danielle Steel

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2005045491

Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-307-56638-6

www.bantamdell.com

v3.0

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010



Table of Contents

Proverbs 31

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

About the Author

BUNGALOW 2 on sale June 26, 2007