“Hmm.”
“On top of that, my car is in the shop for an oil change.”
“Again?”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see me. “It’s time.”
“You sound tired, sweetheart.” There was concern in her voice. “How are you?”
“Tired.” Damn. I hadn’t wanted that to slip out.
“Did you want to cancel Sunday?”
“I’m not that tired,” I lied.
“Of course you’re not,” she agreed dryly.
I’d be better after a good night’s sleep. And here I was, uttering inane platitudes to myself. I stifled a groan.
I decided to change the subject. “Have you talked to our mutual friend about the condo?”
“Not yet. I wanted to gather as much information about it as I could. I’ll be in the Capital shortly—I have a fitting at Madame Rosa’s, that embassy ball, if you’ll recall—and I thought I’d give him a call and see if he’s free to view it today.”