Swearing under her breath, in frustration Emily tightened the sash of her plum floor length Egyptian cotton bathrobe about her waist, absently patting the pockets of the exquisitely comfortable garment.
Just as she expected, they were empty.
As she now gave voice to her frustration, she forced herself to take a slow, deep breath. Her mind already clouded with anxiety, she forced herself to retrace her actions from earlier that evening. In the mere 40 seconds it took her to do so she realized the object she sought could not have been misplaced.
Other than the earlier outing with the women of the Conclave and their guests - which took place there at the Quartermaine mansion - there was only one place she had spent the day.
Correction, she noted ruefully, the evening. And her purse sure as hell was not among the things that had been open during all that occurred between she and Sonny at his Penthouse.
Her attempt to ward off the panic threatening to overtake her gave way to a startled cry as a soft but insistent knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.