CHAPTER ONE

      “BUT I have to see Harrison Rothwell. Now’s a good time for me. It’ll just take a minute.”

      The insistent female voice vibrating through the closed door to Harrison’s office sounded vaguely familiar, but not familiar enough for him to break off his telephone call.

      Renewing his concentration, he closed his eyes and swiveled his office chair so that he faced the windows overlooking the flat vista of Houston, Texas.

      “Now, Harrison, if we do take your Rules of Time Management back for a fifth printing, we’d like to tell marketing that a sequel is in the works.”

      “Felicia, I said all I have to say about corporate time management in that book. I already tweaked the chapter on fax machines and cellular phones and until we get widespread video phones, there’s nothing further to add.”

      “Then how about something different?”

      “What have you got in mind?”

      His publisher drew a breath and Harrison visualized her gearing up for her sales pitch.

      “Three words—domestic time management.” Felicia waited, obviously expecting a reaction.

      Yes. Harrison had already toyed with the idea of expanding into the domestic market. Even now, clones of his time-management programs were cutting into his company’s seminar and training business, however, it strengthened his negotiating position if Felicia thought he was reluctant. He waited, letting the silence work for him.

      “I can’t make an appointment for later. I’ll be sleeping later,” sounded clearly outside his door. “Our schedules aren’t meshing, here.”

      So much for working the silence. Harrison winced and covered the telephone mouthpiece hoping that Felicia hadn’t heard.

      What was that woman still doing out in his reception area? He was surprised that his assistant hadn’t been able to evict the unwanted visitor. Sharon was usually very efficient in guarding Harrison’s time from salespeople and the like. This person didn’t have an appointment, Harrison knew, because he’d allocated ten more minutes to his current phone call, fifteen minutes to return more calls, then ten minutes to review notes before the Friday staff meeting. No appointments until after lunch.

      “Don’t you have anything to say?” Felicia prompted.

      “Domestic time management?” he repeated, trying to ignore the arguing going on outside his door.

      “Yes,” she insisted. “You’ve helped corporations desperate to increase efficiency with fewer personnel. How about some help on the home front? People are horribly overscheduled. Stress is king. Everyone is doing more and enjoying it less. They need downtime, Harrison. And you’re the man to help them get it.”

      “It’s a very tempting idea,” he said slowly, as if he needed more persuasion. “Let me draw up some notes and—”

      He was interrupted by a. pounding on his door. “Harrison, tell your secretary to let me in!”

      “Harrison? Is everything all right?” his publisher asked.

      “Ah, let me get back to you, Felicia.”

      Disconnecting the call, he strode toward the door and flung it open. A woman with dark curls backed against him. He inhaled an unfamiliar perfume mingled with traces of cigarette smoke before setting her on her feet.

      She whirled around, her hair flying. “Hey, Harry, how’s it going?”

      Harrison found himself staring into the defiant brown eyes of Carrie Brent, the nemesis of the White Oak Bayou Condominium Residents’ Board—the same board of which he was a member. “What’s this all about, Carrie?”