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She extended her hand. "Cheyenne Durrant. I'm a summer intern from BYU. Who are you?" She had an enthusiastic grin and a milkmaid's handshake.
"I'm B. D. Morelli."
Long pause. "Your name is Beady?" she asked.
"B period, D period," I said.
She fought back a smile. "Would you like me to call you B period or D period or Beady?"
This girl definitely had an attitude.
Ben Morelli is a brash, up-and-coming New York City ad agency executive. He's just landed a huge account, and his future looks bright. The last thing he needs is to share the spotlight with some hick from Idaho.
Bright, outspokenly moral, and unfailingly honest, Cheyenne is everything Ben thinks he dislikes in a woman. She's also a Mormon, whatever that is. It doesn't help, either, that his most important client thinks Cheyenne is terrific. And so does Ben's family.
In Cheyenne in New York, Jack Weyland introduces us to an intriguing pair of strong-willed, seemingly mismatched characters whose family backgrounds, interests, and ambitions are worlds apart.
A contemporary love story played out in the aftermath of a horrific national disaster, this latest Jack Weyland novel reaffirms in an unforgettable way the power of love, faith, and family ties.
- Published: February 2003
- Pages: 304
About the Author
Jack Weyland received a bachelor’s degree from Montana State University and a Ph.D. from BYU. He teaches physics at Brigham Young UniversityIdaho, where he is also known for his saxophone playing and wry sense of humor. He and his wife, Sheryl, have five children and live in Rexburg, Idaho.
On my commute into New York City that Friday in early June,
my cell phone started acting up. Just my luck, though, it was working when my
mom called to remind me of our annual family get-together at our cabin on Lake
Winnisquam in New Hampshire.
“Sounds great, Mom,” I said, trying to fake enthusiasm for
an event I had no intention of attending. “You suppose we’ll have the
three-legged race this year again?”
“Don’t be disrespectful, Ben. You are coming, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, sure, no problem, you can count on me.”
“You said that last year and the year before. It’s
embarrassing to explain why you don’t show up to family activities.”
“I would’ve been there last year except for that emergency
that came up at the last minute.”
“A croquet tournament is an emergency?”
“I came in third, Mom.”
“Nothing had better come up this year. Granddaddy is
threatening to cut you out of his will if you don’t show up.”
Any threat involving large amounts of money always gets my
attention. “I’ll be there, Mom. I promise.”
“Is there a girl you’re seeing? Someone you’d like to
“No, not really. I’m not seeing anybody.” That wasn’t
exactly true, but Alisha and I only saw each other maybe once a month. She is
an airline flight attendant, and it had been nearly impossible for us to
arrange our schedules.
“You need to think about getting married and settling down.”
It was a topic I had no interest in discussing. “Mom, you’re
breaking up. See you tomorrow at the lake, okay?”
Half an hour later, I arrived at the twentieth floor of the
Fuller Building on Madison Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, where I work as an
advertising executive at the agency of Crawford, Sullivan, Chafin, and Blunck.
On my way to my cubicle, a cup of coffee in one hand and The
Wall Street Journal in the other, I spotted
a new girl. She was in her early twenties and had long, reddish brown hair and
a light spattering of freckles.
She was also, quite possibly, taller than me. I’ve always
felt that girls who are taller than me show a certain lack of respect.
To make matters worse, she’d just plopped a heavy box full
of personal items on the desk of the recently vacated, coveted corner cubicle.
Ever since Baxter got fired, I’d sent emails to Ross Chafin, my supervisor,
begging him to let me have Baxter’s cubicle.
“Excuse me, what are you doing?” I asked.
She smiled. “I’m moving in.” She had a voice that could be
heard five cubicles away. And a big mouth. Oh, I know, mouths are all about the
same size, but there was something different about her mouth. Maybe it was that
she had full lips. No, that’s not it, either.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She extended her hand, so I shook it. “Cheyenne Durrant. I’m
a summer intern from BYU. Who are you?” She had an enthusiastic grin and a
“I’m B. D. Morelli.”
Long pause. “Your name is Beady?” she asked.
She has no respect for her superiors, I thought. “B period, D period.”
She fought back a smile. “Would you like me to call you B
period or D period or Beady?”
This girl definitely had an attitude. “I suppose you could
call me Benjamin.”
“You mean, as in Benjamin Franklin?”
“All right, Ben, then,” I said.
“Hey, whatever you feel comfortable with. If you really want
me to, I can call you Beady.” When she laughed, her entire body got in on the
action, which included her voice box. Coworkers stuck their heads out of their
cubicles to see if there was a party going on.
I have never cared for tall girls who talk loud. To me it
shows a double lack of respect.
She couldn’t let it go. “What if your last name was Stare?
Then you’d be Beady Stare. Or if your last name was
Eyes . . .” Again the laugh. “Beady Eyes!” This time she was joined by four
She noticed I wasn’t joining in. “Sorry.”
“Call me Ben.”
“Okay, Ben, sure, no problem.”
So here’s where we stood. Strike one: she’d made fun of my
name. Strike two: she talked too loud. A possible strike three would be if she
turned out to actually be taller than me. That’s why I had to find out our
relative heights, but she kept bobbing up and down, unloading her boxes and
setting her things out on the desk.
“I see you’re moving into this cubicle,” I said.
“Is there a problem?”
She had brown eyes. They were big, too. In fact, everything
about her was larger than life—long fingers, a strong handshake, a voice
that could be heard a block away, a grin that showed too many teeth. And now
she had the nerve to move into what clearly should’ve been my cubicle.
It was my duty to set her straight. “You’re new here so you
probably haven’t been briefed about cubicle protocol.”
“Ross told me to take the one in the corner.”
I shook my head. “You must have misunderstood. Ross would
never assign this cubicle to a summer intern.”
“Because this is a corner cubicle. It has windows on two
sides, and there’s very little traffic.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ben,” she said, touching my hand and tilting
her head like she wanted to console me. “Did you have your heart set on this
I did not appreciate her patronizing attitude. “Not at all.
I’m very happy with my cubicle status.”
When she stood erect, it looked like she could be slightly
taller than me, but I suspected it was only because she had so much hair. It is
a proven fact that many girls have tall hair, but it’s the
barefeet-to-scalp-height that counts.
I had an urge to reach over and pat her hair down to get a
better estimate of our relative scalp heights. However, I decided she might
consider my rearranging her hair a little strange. Maybe she’d take it as a New
York form of greeting. No, probably not.
“If you’ll excuse me, Beady, I need to get moved in.”
“Call me Ben.” It was more than a request. It was a
“Why are you staring at the top of my head?”
She’d caught me. “Well, uhm, I was just looking at a
spider on the wall.”
She turned around. There was no spider.
“It ran away,” I said.
I couldn’t believe what happened next. She actually started
to sing, “Eensy weensy spider went up a . . .”
That was it! I’d had it with her. “Excuse me. Here at
Crawford, Sullivan, Chafin, and Blunck, we don’t sing.”
“Well, maybe we should.” She looked at her watch. “Whoa, I’d
better get going. Excuse me. I need to get some more boxes from my pickup.” She
started down the hall.
“You know what?” I called after her, “I’m going to check and
see if Ross really meant for you to have the corner
“Sure, go ahead. See you later.”
Don’t think I didn’t know what was going on. Pretending that
she didn’t care what cubicle she got hadn’t fooled me. I was on to her little
game, and I was determined she wasn’t going to get away with it.
Ten minutes later I returned from Ross’s office. The new
intern was standing at the bookshelf, arranging some framed photographs. I
checked to see if she was wearing high heels. She wasn’t. If she had been,
then, clearly I’d have been taller than her. But since she wasn’t, I still
couldn’t be sure.
“So, Beady, what did you find out?”
“Ross wants you to have the corner cubicle,” I grumbled.
“Great, then, well, you have a nice day, okay?”
She bent over to place a book on the bottom shelf of her
bookshelf. I got beside her and bent over at the same angle, hoping to finally
find out if she was taller than me or not.
As we stood next to each other, each bending down, she
looked over at me. “What are we doing here, Ben? Playing ‘Follow, Follow Me’?”
She started singing: “Do as I’m doing; Follow, follow
me! . . .”
She had a nice voice. When she finished, she got a big round
of applause from the cretins in the other cubicles.
She looked out her window. “This is such a great view!”
“Really? I haven’t noticed. I’m much too busy to waste my
time looking out the window.”
She was standing straight, looking down Madison Avenue. Now
was my chance to find out how tall she was. I put my hand on top of my head.
Now all I had to do was move my hand to her head. That way I’d know who was
taller. I was halfway there when she turned to face me. She looked at my hand
just inches from her head. “What are you doing?”
“Uh . . . I’m saluting you.” I gave her a military salute.
“Saluting me? What for?”
“For . . . many things . . . really . . .”
“Ben, do you have any actual work you do here?”
“Yes, of course. I’m very important here at Crawford,
Sullivan, Chafin, and Blunck.”
I returned to my cubicle and wrote a memo.
From: B. D.
Reasons I hate the new summer intern
1. She might be taller than me.
2. She’s gotten the corner
3. She talks too loud and sings
4. She thinks I’m a complete idiot.
But that wasn’t the worst. A few minutes later, Ross sent me
an email about the new intern. I swore under my breath when I read it. Of
course, if I’d been her and sworn, the entire world would have heard it.
After gaining some self-control, I went to her cubicle.
“Ross just sent me an email. He wants me to work with you and help you get your
feet on the ground, so to speak. He asked me to have you follow me around for a
few days, just to get the hang of what we do here.”
“Great. Sounds good.”
I entered her cubicle. “Is it okay if I look out your
window? I mean, you’re not going to charge me for it, are you?”
“Oh, gosh, Ben, you are
upset I got the corner cubicle, aren’t you? Look, it doesn’t matter to me one
way or the other where I work. Let’s just switch cubicles right now, okay?”
I turned to face her. “That isn’t important to me.”
“Well, that’s a relief. For a minute there I was thinking,
‘Boy, this guy must be really shallow and insecure if he’s freaked out over
something as trivial as who’s in which cubicle.’”
“He is hopelessly shallow and insecure!” It was Burroughs,
one of my esteemed coworkers, butting in.
She started laughing, and, of course, she had to go and meet
Burroughs, my main competitor. As he answered her questions, I found out more
about him than I’d learned in the two years I’d worked there. He said he had a
wife and two kids and that his wife has a cousin who lives in Boise. Like I
I returned to my slum-dwelling cubicle and pouted. I’m not
sure why she got under my skin. It wasn’t just because she was tall and had the
corner cubicle. It was more than that. Two years before, I’d been the summer
intern, full of promise, which was as yet mainly unrealized. She was cutting
into my territory. I was supposed to be the brilliant new guy. Not her.
Well, so what? I had more important things to worry about.
Like my meeting with Harold Saddlemier, the CEO of Great American Cereals, the
best-selling breakfast cereal in America today. I’d been given the account
after Baxter had dropped the ball. Great American’s market share had dropped in
the past three months. And that was the end of Baxter.
With Baxter gone, Saddlemier demanded a whole new
advertising approach. What approach? He didn’t know. It just had to be new. I’d
spent the past two weeks working day and night on it. In a preliminary meeting,
Saddlemier told me he liked my ideas. I had hopes of getting him to sign the
contract that night during dinner.
If it had been up to me, I’d have ignored the new girl, but
Ross sent me another email, directing me to take her to the meeting with
To help prepare for the meeting, I went out during lunch and
bought a pair of shoes with a lift in them to make me taller than the new girl.
And some thick, industrial strength mousse to put on my hair to make it stick
up more. Two can play the tall-hair game.
I felt much more confident as I approached her cubicle. I
was obviously taller than her now.
She stared in disbelief at my hair, which stuck a couple of
inches vertically upward from my head.
“What?” I asked.
She was trying very hard to be respectful. “You’ve done
something to your hair, haven’t you?”
“Yes, it’s a new style. It’s very popular here.”
“I see. Well, if you’re happy with it, that’s all that
matters.” And then she did the unthinkable. She snickered.
At least she didn’t make fun of my new shoes. She did seem
concerned, however, when I stumbled stepping into the elevator.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I see. They’re nice. They make you look taller.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
We went out to hail a cab. She, being the tourist that she
was, gawked up at all the tall buildings. “I can’t believe I’m here in the Big
“You realize, don’t you, that there’s not an actual big
apple in this town?”
“I knew that.”
“I’m not a girl, Ben. I’m a woman.”
I scowled. “Yeah, whatever.”
Just after our cab pulled away from the curb and into
traffic, I said, “Look, this is a very important meeting, so I’d appreciate it
if you’d smile, be pleasant, but not say anything.”
She laughed and then, seeing I wasn’t laughing, asked, “Are
“I am very serious. I’ve put way too much work into this
presentation to have it ruined by some careless comment from you. So, just for
tonight, if you could think of yourself
as some mindless, silent, but sexy bimbo, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
Her mouth dropped open.
I wondered if maybe I’d been a tiny bit unfair. Appearance-wise,
I’d seen mummies in a museum that were less covered up than she was. “You know
what? The sexy part is optional. I mean, I wouldn’t want to take you out of
She shook her head. “That tells me a great deal about you,
Ben, but none of it is very good.”
“Look, I don’t care if you like me or not. And you don’t
have to be quiet the whole night. Right now, if you want, you can stick your
head out the window and belt out songs to Broadway musicals at the top of your
lungs, but once we get in the restaurant and Saddlemier shows up, you need to
sit back, relax, keep your mouth shut, and watch a master at work.”
I noticed her freckles became more prominent when she was
angry, as she obviously was. Again, the least of my worries.
We arrived at the upscale restaurant across from Central
Park half an hour early. That was by design. I wanted everything to be perfect for
Saddlemier. I needed to relax, though, so I called the waiter over and ordered
some wine for us.
“Not for me, thank you. I don’t drink,” she told the waiter.
“Look, just a little advice,” I said. “If you want to fit in
“The reason I was hired is because I’m not like everyone
else. I’m a new face. Just ask Ross. He’ll tell you. He is hoping I’ll give the
company a new image.”
“You’re a summer intern, right? Four months from now nobody
will even remember your name.”
“Well, one thing for sure, Ben, I’ll remember your name for
a very long time,” she said coolly. “I didn’t come here to fit in. I didn’t
come here to be respectfully quiet. I came here to learn and to be productive.”
“Let me tell you something. There’s a lot more to this
business than you can possibly know. It takes years to learn. But, hey, if you
think you can change this company in one
summer, then be my guest, go ahead and try.”
“Sorry, but trying isn’t good enough. It’s like my dad says,
‘A steer can try.’”
I couldn’t believe she said that. “Look, if I wanted Western
folk wisdom, I’d have bought a cowboy calendar, okay?”
I drank my wine and ignored her. She didn’t seem to mind.
She ordered a fresh vegetable tray and happily munched on carrots, celery, and
cucumbers. I wasn’t impressed. People who like fresh vegetables depress me.
She asked the waiter about his family. I told her to be
quiet. She ignored me.
The waiter even showed her a picture of his kids. She said
they were adorable. She actually used the word adorable.
Saddlemier arrived right on time. Sometimes I think the only
reason he made CEO is because he has a thick head of silver hair and a deep
voice. Talking to him is a little like talking to Moses.
When he showed up, I did everything short of licking his
shoes. I told him how fit he looked and what an honor it was to be in his
presence. The only thing I didn’t do was introduce the new girl.
“And who’s this?” he asked after the maitre d’ had left.
I had a brain cramp. I’d forgotten her name. “This is . . .
uhh . . . Laramie.”
She smiled. “Actually, it’s Cheyenne.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, right. I knew it was some town in
Cheyenne stood up and gave Saddlemier one of her crushing
handshakes. He winced. She told him her first and last name, like she was an
equal or something. She was at least three inches taller than him. Poor slob.
“Cheyenne? What an unusual name. Are you from Wyoming?” he
“No, I’m from Idaho.”
He broke out into a huge grin. “Idaho? I used to live in
Oh, no! I thought. She’s
going to ruin everything.
She used the flat of her hand to playfully slug the shoulder
of the CEO of Great American Cereals, a man whose personal worth exceeded
twenty-seven point two million dollars.
“Oh, my heck!,” she squealed. “Where did you live?”
“You ever hear of Mountain Home?” he asked.
“Mountain Home? Are you serious? I grew up on a ranch just
an hour north of there!”
“Go on!” Saddlemier said, gently tapping her shoulder. “What
are you doing so far away from home?”
“I’m a summer intern for Crawdad, Sullivan, Chapped, and
“It’s not Crawdad,” I muttered. “It’s Crawford. It’s not
Chapped, it’s Chafin. It’s not Blunt, it’s Blunck. You did get Sullivan right,
so that’s one out of four.”
They paid no attention to me. “I’ll be a senior this fall at
BYU,” she said.
“One of my buddies from when I was in the Air Force teaches
“What’s his name?” Cheyenne asked.
“Dr. McDermott? I can’t believe it! He’s my adviser!” She playfully
hit him again, and he shoved her back.
“Could we all sit down and quit punching each other?” I
We all sat down.
“Would you like a glass of wine to start us off?” I asked
Saddlemier, hoping to apply one of the first rules of pitching an idea, which
is, a tipsy CEO is a pliable CEO.
Saddlemier looked over at Cheyenne’s empty wine glass and
asked, “You’re not drinking?”
“No, I don’t drink. Water’s plenty good for me. But you go
“No, no, I’ll have water, too,” he said.
Great. Saddlemier was going to be stone-cold sober for my
They spent the next few minutes talking about the best glass
of water they’d ever had. “I remember one time I went hiking with some friends
from school,” Cheyenne said. “We climbed up to Hidden Falls in the Tetons. By
the time we were coming back, we were all so hot and tired, we took off our
shoes and soaked our feet in the crick.”
“Crick? What’s a crick?” I asked.
“It’s like a little river,” Cheyenne said.
“Oh, you mean creek.”
“No, actually, I mean crick.”
“It’s spelled c—r—e—e—k.”
“I know how it’s spelled, Beady. But it’s pronounced crick.
Everyone in Idaho says crick.”
“Then everyone in Idaho is a complete idiot.”
“I’m from Idaho,” Saddlemier said.
“With all due respect, sir, you’re not from Idaho. You lived
in Idaho for a short time, and then you had the good sense to leave.”
“If Cheyenne says it’s crick, then it’s crick.”
“Oh, that is so sweet!” she said. “Thank you, Mr.
I swear she actually said sweet.
While we ate, Cheyenne and Saddlemier chatted about Idaho
cricks and mountains, while I sulked.
After dessert I tried to close the deal by giving a laptop
“So that’s it,” I said, finishing up ten minutes later. “I
have the agreement here if you’d like to sign.”
Saddlemier turned to Cheyenne. “What do you think about what
Ben has shown us here tonight?”
She responded much too quickly. “Boy, it was really good!”
“What did you like the most about it?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Well, gosh, that’s hard to say. It was all .
. . so . . . so . . .” She seemed to be struggling for the right word. “ . . .
good . . . I guess you could say. I thought it was a nice touch to have it all
seem so . . . well . . . cheesy.”
“Cheesy?” Saddlemier asked.
Cheyenne hunched her shoulders and gave me a guilty look.
“Of course, I mean cheesy in the best possible way.”
“How would you change it?” he asked.
I leaned over, put my hand on her wrist and glared at her.
“Yes, Cheyenne, what tiny insignificant change would you make?”
“Oh, gosh, I wouldn’t change a word.”
“Not a single word?” Saddlemier asked.
I gave a sigh of relief and began to relax. Maybe things
would work out all right after all.
“How about the visuals?” he asked.
“The visuals?” She cleared her throat. “Well . . . to be
honest, I might make a few changes on the visuals.”
Saddlemier fastened his steel-gray, CEO eyes on her. “Like
what?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “Well, actually, you know what? I’m
not sure having a dozen chorus girls in sexy tank tops and short-shorts dancing
on a giant cereal box is going to have that much of a positive impact on a
young mother trying to decide what brand of cereal to buy.”
“They’re dancing wheat grains,” I said.
“Oh! They’re dancing wheat grains! Well, then, that’s
completely different!” She turned to me and privately whispered, “Dancing wheat
“Cheyenne, how would you pitch Great American Cereal?”
“Well, I guess I’d try to pitch it from a mother’s point of
view. I come from a big family. I have one older sister and two married
brothers. They all have kids. It’s the moms in those families who do all of the
grocery shopping. They’re interested in good nutrition and having something
their kids like that is also affordable.”
Saddlemier thought about it, took a deep drink of water, and
then nodded. “Ben, I think Cheyenne has a point. I’d like the both of you to
work together and flesh out some new ideas, based on what Cheyenne has said,
and get back with me on Tuesday. Let’s get together in my office about eleven
o’clock, and then we’ll do lunch.”
Half an hour later, we left the restaurant. I walked as fast
as I could, hoping she’d get lost. People get mugged in NYC. So why not her?
She seemed to have no trouble keeping up with me. It was
probably because of my new shoes.
“You seem kind of quiet,” she said after we’d jogged two
I turned to glare at her and fought to catch my breath. “You
want to know why I’m quiet?” I yelled. “Is that it? Well, let me tell you! I’m
quiet because I can’t put in words how angry I am at you for making a mess of
everything! That’s why I’m quiet!”
“You don’t need to yell. If it’s any consolation, I am
I stopped walking and turned to face her. “You think
saying you’re sorry is going to fix everything? Well, I don’t think so, Missy.
You want to know something? I would consider myself very lucky if I never saw
you again. But that’s not going to happen, is it?”
We started walking again. “Oh, no, that would be too easy!
Saddlemier insists we work together, and whatever Saddlemier wants, Saddlemier
gets! Well, fine, then, that’s just great! Oh, by the way, I hope you don’t
have anything planned for this weekend because, the fact is, you’re coming with
me to New Hampshire for a family get-together.”
“Great! I like family reunions.”
“Well, maybe you do,
but I don’t. In fact, I hate
family reunions. The only reason I’m going is because if I don’t, I’ll be cut
out of my grandfather’s will. This is the way it’s going to work. We’ll show up
long enough for my grandfather to see I’m there, but other than that, every
second will be spent working up a new advertising campaign. We’ll return Sunday
afternoon, go to the office, and work all night, if we have to, in order to
finish up what we’ll be presenting on Tuesday
to Saddlemier. And then, and only then, will we part com-pany and go home and
get some sleep. Do you have any
“Were the dancing wheat grains really your idea?”
“It came to me in a dream.”
She shook her head. “Weird dream.”
“You know what? I’m sure we’ll get along much better if you
I dragged her into a coffee shop and used my cell phone to
try to reserve two tickets to Laconia, New Hampshire, but they were booked
solid. She ordered hot chocolate and started making artistic animal sculptures
from the napkins. The manager, originally from Vietnam, loved her work.
A few minutes later, the owner and a few customers were
making requests for her to make animals for them. With each one, they
applauded. When she turned out a napkin giraffe, they gave her a standing
“Thank you! You’re all too kind. I’d like to sing you a song
now. It’s about how people say happy birthday in various
She stood up and began singing. People from outside came in
to listen. When she finished, they applauded.
“Would you people quiet down?” I yelled. “I’m on my cell
“What with him?” the manager asked.
She was even starting to speak like him. “Him having hard
day. Tomorrow . . . things better. Things always better . . . morning. As song
goes . . .” I swear, she sang a few bars of “Tomorrow.”
“He lucky man to have you.”
“Thank you very much, but we not married. We just work
together. We work at Sullivan, Blinken . . . oh, never mind. We work at an
advertising agency.” She turned to me and said, “Beady, if it’d help, I can
drive us up. I’ve got my dad’s pickup for the summer.”
“You think I don’t have a car? Is that what you think? I
have a car, a perfectly good car. In fact, it’s a BMW. So if anyone is going to
drive us up, I will be that person.”
“Okay. So, are we going to drive up in your car?”
After a long pause, I muttered, “No, we’re not.”
“Because it’s getting fixed in the garage. No, actually,
that isn’t accurate. It’s waiting for parts to be sent from Europe. By boat . .
. once they make them . . . in the factory . . .”
“So you’re without a car? That’s tough, Beady.”
“I’ve told you before, call me Ben, okay? Ben is my name.
And, furthermore, with all due respect, I don’t need your help.”
She turned her attention to the manager, who asked, “You do
elephant for nephew?”
“Of course. I happy to do elephant. But need more napkins.”
By the time she’d made five elephants for the customers, I
was out of options. “Cheyenne?” I asked politely.
“I guess maybe I’ll let you drive us up.”
“Sure, no problem.”
She didn’t rub it in.
I would have.
Fantastic Weyland book!
by Tricia - reviewed on October 28, 2008
I laughed so hard! Love the humor in this book. Love the romance. Love the serious issues that are faced. This is a classic Weyland book and a great addition to any library.
by nayumi - reviewed on December 26, 2009
I absolutely loved this book! i couldn't put it down!