Can people really change? She’s about to find out!

Supermodel Nicole George is giving up her glamorous career to become an agent. And even though she’d rather stay private, she’s agreed to an exclusive magazine profile—anything to help her new business. But that was before Nicole realized that the journalist is her high school nemesis, Jordan Masters. How balanced can this story be when she and Jordan have such a murky past? But as they grow closer, Nicole can’t believe this is the same guy. This Jordan is even more handsome than she remembers, and his opinions now seem intriguing rather than arrogant. Just as she starts to believe they might have something, though, Jordan lets her in on a family secret that could change everything.

“Jordan, stop being an interviewer for five minutes and just watch the northern lights.”

He made mental notes, trying not to think of Nicole standing there in the close, intimate darkness, or the heated imprint of her body against his. A cool breeze across the park did little to dispel it.

Focus, he ordered silently. For example, he should ask why she and her partners had chosen Seattle when there was such an active fashion industry in Southern California. Hollywood was there, too. Since Moonlight Ventures was obviously interested in areas beyond modeling, they were a significant distance from some of the most lucrative markets to place their clients.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Nicole asked. “I can practically feel the tension emanating from your body, as if the questions are charging through every cell.”

Actually, it was hormones charging through his system. The questions as a journalist were the only things keeping him sane.

Dear Reader,

If you’ve read my book At Wild Rose Cottage, you may remember that the heroine had a sister, supermodel Nicole George. In the beginning I didn’t plan to tell Nicole’s story, but then she decided to take a big risk in changing her career to become a talent agent in partnership with her friends.

As the idea grew, Nicole’s story became more and more irresistible to me. Besides, I moved her to Seattle, a beautiful city in which to spend time, whether for real or in a book. In Nicole’s new home she soon runs into someone from her past, Jordan Masters, who isn’t exactly a childhood friend—more a thorn in her side. I enjoyed spending time with Nicole and Jordan in Seattle, and hope you will, too.

I love hearing from readers and can be contacted at: c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON M3B 3K9, Canada. Please also check out my Facebook page at Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author.

Best wishes,

Callie Endicott

Moonlight Over Seattle

Callie Endicott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As a kid CALLIE ENDICOTT had her nose stuck in a book so often it frequently got her in trouble. The trouble hasn’t stopped—she keeps having to buy new bookshelves. Luckily ebooks don’t take much space. Writing has been another help, since she’s usually on the computer creating stories instead of buying them. Callie loves bringing characters to life and never knows what will prompt an idea. So she still travels, hikes, explores and pursues her other passions, knowing a novel may be just around the corner.

For all the people who pursue their dreams, even when someone else calls those dreams impossible. The grandest things have happened when the impossible is turned into possible.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

NICOLE GEORGE TURNED and lifted her arms, pushing up against the beach ball hanging from the boom. She tried to project the same energy she would have if she was actually playing a game in the sand rather than modeling a swimsuit.

A sense of déjà vu came over her.

How often had she done this? How often had a photographer’s camera captured her image for a magazine or billboard? A pang hit her at the thought that this was one of her last days as a model. After all, she’d been modeling for thirty years. It was what she knew best.

Although there were a few tedious moments, inevitable in any career, she enjoyed her work. All the same, for the past six months she’d been turning down contracts and only had a few more commitments left. It was time to get started on the other things she wanted to do in her life. Besides, sooner or later, modeling jobs would become less plentiful and she liked the thought of leaving the business while she was at the top.

“Rachel, there’s a shine on her collarbone,” Logan called, and Nicole’s friend, Rachel Clarion, stepped forward with a powder puff to dab it away.

Because she put so much energy into her job, Nicole always perspired when working, even when it was cold. Logan winked and she grinned at him. Another close friend, Logan Kensington was a great fashion photographer—one of the best in the business—and had his own way of keeping things light on the set.

“So,” he said, “why did the chicken cross the road? Because she wanted to show the possum it could be done,” he answered before Nicole could open her mouth. “Why did the punk rocker cross the road? Because he was stapled to a chicken.”

Nicole groaned. “Those jokes weren’t funny the first time someone told them, at least two generations ago.”

“There you go again, suggesting I’m using dated material.”

“Suggesting? I’m saying it outright.”

Unfazed, Logan continued shooting. They hoped to finish photographing the summer clothing line that afternoon.

“It’s time for you, Adam,” Logan called finally. “I want to finish with the romantic shots.”

Adam Wilding came over, dressed in what the designer hoped would be the hottest men’s swimsuit of the coming year. With dark wavy hair, blue eyes and a firm chin, he looked like a dashing Irish buccaneer...or he would have if not for the swimsuit.

Trying to hurry, but not look as if they were hurrying, she and Adam posed together in different positions. Rain was predicted and summer wear didn’t advertise well with storm clouds in the background.

“Okay,” Logan finally called. “That ought to do it.”

A family had stopped to watch and their adolescent son was staring at Nicole with wide eyes. His sister, on the other hand, seemed entranced by Adam, though she ran over to Nicole after he’d headed for the dressing trailer on the parking lot.

“Aren’t you Nicole George?” the girl asked.

Nicole smiled and put on a terry robe. “Yes.”

“Jeez. I’ve seen your picture, like, a gazillion times. Can I have your autograph?”

“I’d be happy to sign something for you.” Nicole took the pen and postcard being held out. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Tamara.”

To Tamara, Nicole wrote on the back. Hope you have an amazing life! Nicole George.

The teenager stared at the message in delight. “Awesome. Uh, I was, uh, wondering, is it hard to become a model?”

It was a common question from kids Tamara’s age.

In the past two years, Nicole and three of her friends had grown interested in becoming talent agents. So she studied Tamara the way she would a prospective client. The girl was pretty, had nice bone structure and her face was surrounded by a cloud of shiny brown hair.

“Some of being a model happens through persistence, but I’d say quite a bit of it is luck and timing,” she said honestly.

Being an agent wasn’t going to be easy—there were plenty of pretty girls with good bone structure and high hopes. You had to have the right look, at the right time, with the right people to make it happen. The question was whether she would be the right person to aid clients in reaching their potential. Sometimes she felt nervous about it; she took influencing people’s lives seriously.

Tamara bit her lip. “How did you start?”

“I had parents in the fashion industry, which helped. I’ve been modeling since before I can remember.”

“But do I have a chance? I could diet and color my hair. I could even get my nose fixed or do anything else that’s needed.”

This was an area in which Nicole had particularly strong opinions, something she planned to act on as an agent.

“You’re healthy and attractive the way you are,” she answered firmly, but she had a feeling the kid wasn’t listening.

“I’d do anything to look like you,” Tamara breathed.

“Don’t turn into a clone of someone else. Be yourself. There’s nothing better than that.”

“But I bet guys just look at you and fall in love.”

Sure, Nicole thought to herself, they look at me and fall in love, but they just want the surface. Through bitter experience she’d learned that too many men saw only the image on the magazine cover...the fantasy. Either that, or they couldn’t handle the notoriety that came from being involved with a supermodel. She’d believed her ex-fiancé, Paulo, was different. Instead, he’d wanted perfection—the ultimate trophy wife. Paulo was a nice person and had loved her in his own way, but that hadn’t been enough for her.

Adam’s voice intruded. “Nicole, are you coming?”

“On my way,” she called back. “Bye, Tamara. I hope this helps. Sorry I have to go now, but I’m freezing. Good luck with whatever career you choose.” Turning, she swiftly walked to the dressing trailer.

She was shivering harder now, despite the terry robe, and it was a relief to put on jeans, a T-shirt and jacket.

“See you later,” she called to Rachel as she ran to her car. They were all having dinner together and she wanted a hot shower first.

The warm water felt wonderful after a cold day in skimpy swimsuits and shorts, yet a part of her mind was preoccupied with what Tamara had said, I bet guys just look at you and fall in love. Nicole hadn’t wanted to get into a discussion about the difference between love and lust with a teenager, but it was something she’d learned the hard way.

It might be different if she’d ever gotten involved with Logan or Adam—they were terrific guys—but they’d remained friends, not lovers. And after multiple broken hearts and betrayals from men more interested in hitching a ride with a well-known face than genuine love, she’d decided friendship was far more satisfying.

Nicole dressed quickly and in less than an hour, rang Rachel’s bell.

“Hey,” Rachel greeted her at the door. “Adam and Logan are already here. Hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m starved. I know you said not to bring anything, but I ordered a super-sized pizza to be delivered.”

Rachel staggered backward and clasped a hand over her heart. “Pizza? That’s treason.” She laughed.

“Just call me Benedict Pepperoni.”

“You never gain weight, anyhow. But what about the healthy glow that fruits and vegetables are supposed to provide? ‘The camera can tell you eat crap,’” she said haughtily, quoting one of the fussier photographers they’d worked with.

Nicole shook her head. “I’ve only got a few more jobs left, so I’m not worried about it.”

“Then you’re serious about quitting.”

“If I’m going to make a change, I have to actually do it.”

Rachel whistled. “The press will claim it’s a play for more money.”

“They’ll print whatever they want, no matter what I tell them.” Nicole knew she sounded cynical, but didn’t care. She’d run out of patience with reporters a long time ago. When they didn’t get the story they wanted, some of them just invented one they liked better.

“Don’t I know it,” Rachel muttered.

Nicole squeezed her arm in sympathy. Rachel had started in the modeling business in her early teens and become a star, only to have her career end after a terrible accident on a modeling set. The scars left from it weren’t disfiguring, but they were enough to put her out of demand by advertisers who generally preferred their own version of flawless. Now she handled makeup on shoots and seemed happy enough, but once in a while the so-called journalists dug the story out again, usually when there was a scandal surrounding her ex-husband.

“How do your parents feel about your plans?”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I haven’t told them. They think I’m taking a vacation to find a husband.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. I tried to soften the news by saying I wanted a normal life. But I made a mistake in talking about it at my older sister Emily’s wedding in Montana.”

“At least you enjoyed meeting Emily’s husband and his family.”

“Very much. Trent is a good guy and the whole thing was beautiful and romantic. Em positively glowed. Anyhow, Mom and Dad assumed that’s what I wanted when I talked about having a more normal life. I didn’t tell them I’d been turning down contracts before that. They feel if I must get married, it’s easier to find someone suitable while I’m working. And by ‘suitable,’ they mean a husband who won’t interfere with my career.”

“I suppose you could have chosen a better moment than the wedding to make your announcement. Especially since you’d just broken things off with Paulo.”

“That’s for sure.” With a not-so-humorous laugh, Nicole followed Rachel out to the balcony where Logan and Adam were kicking back in chaises.

“Nicole just confirmed she’s taking an extremely long vacation from modeling,” Rachel announced.

“I have only two more contracts left to fulfill.”

Logan sat forward, his eyes intent. “That makes my announcement even more interesting.” There was a pause while he waited for everyone to focus on him. “I’ve been putting out feelers and got a call yesterday—Moonlight Ventures in the Seattle area is going up for sale. Kevin McClaskey will give us first crack at buying the agency.”

Nicole caught her breath. They’d talked about finding a small talent agency to purchase and develop. All of them had benefited from people who’d helped them and they wanted to do the same for others.

And Moonlight Ventures? The agency had a great reputation. They were especially familiar with it because Kevin had once managed Rachel’s career, and Logan had worked with the McClaskeys several times while arranging photo shoots. Moonlight Ventures was small since Kevin and his late wife had wanted to keep it that way, but with four of them, they could expand.

“Is it in the same building?” Rachel asked.

“Yep and the building goes with the purchase. There are solid renters in the space the agency doesn’t use, so that will provide some maintenance income.”

“But increases the price.”

“Not outrageously, and I think it’s worth the investment. But there’s a wrinkle,” Logan said. “With the loss of his wife last year, Kevin has decided he wants to sell almost immediately and retire.” He looked at Nicole intently. “You’re the only one who’d be free to run it until the rest of us can join you.”

Nerves sent Nicole’s stomach roiling. It was one thing to talk of buying a talent agency and working on it together, and another to know everything would depend on her, at least temporarily. Sure, she’d researched and knew the job in theory, but there was a gap between knowledge and reality.

“What do you think?” Adam asked. “Could you grab the ball and run with it until we can get up there?”

Nicole took a deep breath and nodded. She’d always thought she loved a challenge; now she would find out if she’d been lying to herself.

Chapter One

NICOLE GLARED AT her living room wall and let out a shriek of frustration.

Toby, a young beagle recently adopted from a rescue center, yipped in concern. Since the front door stood open to let in fresh air, she’d tied his long leash to one of the few chairs in the room.

“Don’t worry, boy,” she said soothingly.

But she made a face at the wall that still glowed green through the two coats of paint. She couldn’t understand why the brilliant shade hadn’t been eradicated by now.

“Is everything all right?” a voice called. A man stood at the open door. He wore faded jeans and a sweatshirt with Harvard printed on the front. A scruffy beard and mustache covered the lower half of his face. Harvard Guy, she mentally tagged him.

“What do you mean?”

Toby trotted over to lean against her leg, straining at the leash. He’d already grown quite attached and affectionate and even let out a small growl of warning.

“I heard someone yelling,” said the man, “but maybe it was somebody else.”

Nicole winced. “It was me, releasing my frustration. I didn’t know anyone else was around.”

The concern faded from Harvard Guy’s face. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him at the moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing serious, but I’ve painted twice and can still see the original green.”

“Oh.” He gazed at the wall. “That’s strange. A primer usually takes care of color bleed-through.”

“Primer?”

His eyes widened and Nicole got the impression he thought she was dense. “Yeah. It’s a special first coat used as a sealant.”

“I’m using what the clerk at the store recommended.” She gestured to a stack of paint cans.

Harvard Guy went over and picked up one of the cans and studied it. “Some paint has primer included, but not this one.”

Nicole sighed. Maybe the clerk had assumed she already knew about primer. He had been busy, with a long line of customers.

“I didn’t know—I’ve never tried this before.” Painting was hard work and the remaining green glow meant she had to start all over again. Maybe that was why her parents had always hired someone to do painting at their house, which had left her completely ignorant about the process.

“Really?”

What looked like condescension showed on Harvard Guy’s face, and the sense of familiarity increased.

“The condo I used to own came freshly painted, so it never came up. Anyhow, it was nice of you to check that I was okay.”

“Happy to help, or at least try to.”

“Obviously I’m new here, but from what I’ve seen, that’s what this neighborhood is like,” Nicole said. “Lots of vintage architecture and friendly residents.” She’d met the elementary school teacher who lived next door, and he’d told her about a neighborhood barbecue coming up in a couple of months. A businesswoman two houses over had brought a casserole, and a nurse further down the street had delivered a bouquet of flowers from her own garden.

“You like old homes?”

She nodded. “The Arts and Crafts era is my favorite. This house only mimics the style, but it’s just as well. While I love American Craftsman architecture, I prefer modern kitchens and bathrooms.”

Harvard Guy’s eyebrows rose and the sensation that she knew him hit her again. Maybe if he wasn’t backlighted by the sun coming through the door and windows, it would be easier to say for certain. The “have we ever met before” or “you seem really familiar” comment felt like a cliché... Just as she decided to ask anyway, he spoke again.

“Some critics think Arts and Crafts architecture is passé.”

Nicole narrowed her eyes; he hadn’t insulted her tastes, but was treading close to it. “I’m not bound by the opinions of other people,” she returned calmly.

“Fair enough.” His cell phone rang. “Sorry, I’m expecting a family call.” He hurried outside.

After releasing Toby from his leash so he was free to use his dog door into the fenced yard, Nicole grabbed her purse and an empty can of paint, then headed out herself. Harvard Guy was on the front walkway, talking urgently on his phone. It looked as if it might be a long conversation.

She’d parked on the driveway and he looked at her as she walked to the car. She pointed at the paint can, figuring he’d realize she was going to the store.

“Thanks,” she mouthed. He seemed distracted, but made a gesture of acknowledgment.

When she glanced in the rearview mirror, Harvard Guy was still on his phone and the face above his beard was carved in tense, sharp lines. She realized she hadn’t even gotten his name. But if he lived in the area, she would probably run across him again.

Nostalgia had played a big part in her decision to purchase the house. The Seattle-area neighborhood reminded her of the one where she’d grown up in Southern California—friendly for the most part, with everyone looking out for each other. Not that her family had been home much, particularly after her modeling career had really taken off.

The thought led to remembering again how upset her mother and father had been that she’d quit modeling. You would have thought she was betraying them in some hideous, underhanded way. We handed you a fabulous career and you’re turning your back on it, her mother had wailed.

Jeez, why couldn’t they just want grandchildren like other people? She supposed they were counting on her older sister for that. As a matter of fact, Emily was already pregnant and expecting her first baby.

Patience, Nicole reminded herself. She didn’t have any reason to feel guilty and her parents were starting to come around, anyhow. They were even making recommendations for the agency, though mostly she’d thanked them and ignored their advice. They simply didn’t understand how she and her friends wanted to run Moonlight Ventures. Nicole just hoped she was doing it right. She had regular conference calls with her three partners, and they flew in to help out whenever possible—like Adam had the past few days—but implementation was mostly up to her. And that included working with a reporter over the next several weeks for some magazine articles.

Her phone rang; it was Ashley Vanders, one of the agency’s longtime clients.

“Hi, Ashley,” she said, pulling over to the side of the road. She could have talked while driving, but preferred to focus on what she was discussing. Still, she wasn’t concentrating as much as she would have liked, because Harvard Guy’s face kept intruding.

Was it the strange sense of familiarity, or the tingle of awareness he’d evoked?

* * *

JORDAN MASTERS RETURNED to his condo. It was an ironic twist that he lived relatively close to Nicole’s new home. In fact, he commonly used the nearby fitness trail. The area was popular with new residents in the Seattle area. An old high school pal had moved there, even before Jordan had.

If only he could have managed a more productive first encounter with Nicole. He’d driven over to make a casual contact, to get reacquainted...and lay the groundwork for the articles he was writing for PostModern magazine. He wasn’t sure how Nicole was going to react since Sydnie Winslow had arranged the interviews with Nicole before asking him to do them.

Jordan cursed mentally.

As editor in chief, Syd had turned PostModern into one of the trendiest publications on the market. They were old friends and she’d begged him to do the articles, saying it was ideal since he also lived in Seattle. She’d figured he would have an “in” with Nicole because they’d grown up on the same block in Southern California. Syd was wrong, but after everything they’d been through together in the early days of his career, he hadn’t tried too hard to get out of it.

But that didn’t stop him from wishing he could forget the whole thing and head down to his boat. A sail on Lake Washington would be wonderful. Having the boat was a luxury, but his columns were syndicated in over twelve hundred publications around the world, so he could afford it. Other than traveling and his condo in Hawaii, it was his only serious indulgence.

His notebook was full of subjects he wanted to write about. He commented on everything from food to politics, religion, relationships and animals. Nothing was out-of-bounds. He’d worked his way up through various newspapers and magazines to become a columnist, but he still felt fortunate to have reached the level where he had the freedom to write about what interested him.

Jordan stared at his computer as if it was the source of his problems. He didn’t care if a supermodel dropped out of the fashion scene for a while. Nicole had done it before, whether as a ploy for more money or a publicity stunt, he didn’t know. Either way, he hadn’t paid attention—in fact, he wouldn’t have been aware of her absence or reappearance at all if his mother hadn’t gone on and on about how you couldn’t expect anything better from Paula George’s daughter.

His mouth tightened.

Too bad Mom hadn’t decided she disliked the George family when he was a small kid, instead of later. Then he wouldn’t have gotten hog-tied into doing stuff for “precious” Nicole so often. Lord, everyone had been expected to pamper the little princess as if she was made of spun glass. When she was home, that is. Luckily she’d been gone half the time on modeling assignments.

Still, the past was the past.

Restless, Jordan dropped to the floor and did a dozen pushups, unable to stop thinking about Nicole now that his past was colliding with his present.

After a lazy month in Fiji he was sporting a beard, and they hadn’t seen each other since they were teens, so it wasn’t any wonder she hadn’t recognized him. Syd had suggested he refrain from shaving and see how Nicole responded to a stranger in a casual encounter—would she be pleasant or off-putting? He’d been curious as well, which had kept him from introducing himself immediately, though he hadn’t planned to take it very far.

His cell phone rang again and he pulled it out, hoping it was from his sister, Chelsea. She’d been in her boyfriend’s car when it got broadsided. Her injuries weren’t severe, but he was still concerned.

The number on the display belonged to his editor. He answered, figuring he’d get off quickly if another call came in.

“Hey, Syd,” he said in a dry tone. “What a surprise, you’re checking on my progress.”

“Don’t be a paranoid drama queen.”

Jordan chuckled. Syd was a beautiful woman who’d stormed her way to the top of the magazine publishing world. She was tough as nails and more than one man had mentioned being hot for her in one breath and wishing he “had her balls” with the next.

“All right, but don’t try to micromanage me. It won’t work,” he advised. “What do you want?”

“Have you seen Nicole George yet?”

“Yes, briefly. She was screaming, so I rushed in to see if there was an emergency.”

And practically got knocked on my ass by how gorgeous she is, he added silently. It didn’t make sense that he’d reacted to Nicole that way. She’d been a thorn in his side when they were kids, and he had rarely thought about her since, even when seeing her photo on various advertisements.

“Screaming?” Syd repeated.

Jordan shook himself. “At her living room wall. She didn’t know that primer is necessary to keep paint colors from coming through. What kind of person doesn’t know about using a primer?”

“The kind you’re talking to right now,” Syd returned crisply. “Apparently my husband doesn’t know, either, which must be why we can’t get rid of the spectral purple in our bedroom. He’s on a DIY kick that’s driving me crazy. Listen, you promised to do this with an open mind, Jordan.”

Clearly his diplomatic skills were rusty. “Of course I’ll be open-minded.”

She snorted. “Maybe I should have listened when you told me you might not be the best choice, but having you in the area was too great an opportunity. Did Nicole recognize you?”

“Uh, no. But even without the beard, it’s been almost fourteen years since the last time we met,” he said. “Until I shave, my own sisters could probably pass me on the street without realizing I’m their brother, and Nicole sure didn’t expect to see me at her front door.”

“Okay. What did Ms. George say when you explained who you are beneath the Grizzly Adams impersonation?”

“I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself,” Jordan admitted. “I got a phone call and she hurried out, presumably to get more paint. I’ll shave before my appointment with her on Monday. It was great to let it go in Fiji, but not here.”

“Actually, I think it’s an improvement. Sexy, in a beach bum sort of way. Be sure to have fun with your childhood pal.”

“Hardly a pal,” Jordan growled. “And, by the way, don’t keep calling me. It messes with my tempo.” “You don’t have a tempo. Sometimes I’m not even sure you have a pulse. But don’t worry, I’ve got better things to do than yank your chain.”

Typically, Syd hung up without a goodbye.

Jordan picked up his laptop and tried to focus on his writing. But his mind kept returning to the rush of attraction he’d felt when seeing Nicole that afternoon... something he was determined to ignore.

* * *

NICOLE’S CONVERSATION WITH Ashley Vanders finally ended. Ashley always wanted to talk longer, but Nicole was trying to wean the young woman from needing to be coddled by the agency. That had been how Kevin McClaskey had treated his clients when he’d owned Moonlight Ventures.

Rachel had warned them about Kevin’s management style before they bought the agency. She’d loved him and his wife dearly, but had wondered if their constant handholding kept her from being as independent as she should have been.

With a sigh, Nicole started her car again and drove on, reminding herself that every job had its drawbacks. And while Ashley was a challenge, she’d just gotten a contract as the “face” of a huge car dealership chain. It was a three-year deal and maybe she wouldn’t want as much attention once she settled down and started seeing herself on TV.

For her first two months in Seattle Nicole had worked closely with Kevin McClaskey, and he still came around a lot. It was okay. His old clients missed him and he had volumes of knowledge about the talent business. She sometimes wondered if he regretted selling, but suspected his visits to the agency and other tenants in the building were primarily because he needed company with his wife gone.

Nicole turned into the hardware store parking lot. There was a woman at the paint counter with “Jo Beth” on her name tag. “Can I help you?” she asked, gazing at Nicole attentively.

“I’m told primer is an excellent idea when you’re covering bold colors,” Nicole said. “I suppose I didn’t ask the right questions when I was here before.” She held up the paint can. “I also need more of this to go over the primer.”

The clerk efficiently put together what was needed, gave her a discount and loaded everything into Nicole’s trunk.

“Ask for me whenever you come in.” Jo Beth handed her a business card.

Nicole drove home and trotted the cans of paint and primer into the living room. She looked at Toby who’d dashed in to see her. “Okay,” she announced, “we’re trying this again.”

The beagle seemed to whine a protest.

She reached down and petted the dog. “I know, buddy, you’re bored watching me paint. Maybe we could work in the garden for a while instead.”

Toby loved the backyard, but preferred having her out there with him. Perhaps it was from being a rescue dog—the trauma of having been abandoned on the Seattle docks must linger.

Grabbing a shovel, she went out to where a fence divided the yard. Before moving in she’d had the deck installed and the front section landscaped, leaving space for fruit trees and a vegetable plot in the undeveloped area at the end of the double lot. She’d discovered that digging was therapeutic.

Her original plan had been to buy a loft in downtown Seattle. In the interim she’d sold her condo down south, furniture included, and rented a studio while she searched for something permanent. But after deciding to adopt a dog she’d known having a yard would be best, and the whole thing had escalated. As soon as she’d walked into this place, it had felt like home.

Toby lay nearby, drowsing in the sunshine. Nicole figured he liked the outdoors so much because of having been cooped up for months waiting for adoption. He was a sweet animal, barely out of the puppy stage, and loved being able to go in and out through the doggy door whenever he wanted to sniff around the huge fenced yard, or needed to do his business.

The purchase of the talent agency had gone as smoothly as her house purchase. With four of them sharing the investment, no one would be in trouble, financially at least, if Moonlight Ventures fell apart. But they were anxious to make it a success for other reasons, which was why she’d agreed to work with a reporter from PostModern magazine. They all respected the publication, and the editor had told her the articles would be an unbiased look at how a supermodel was transitioning into a serious businesswoman.

Nicole sighed. She didn’t want to be the story, and she was no crazier about reporters now than she’d ever been, but the publicity would be good for the agency.

* * *

AFTER AN HOUR of yard work, Nicole went back inside, Toby at her heels, and contemplated the living room.

She wasn’t ready to start painting again.

“Want to go for a run?” she asked Toby encouragingly.

He’d promptly curled up on the floor for another nap. At the sound of her voice he opened his eyes briefly, then closed them again. So far running wasn’t his thing; he needed time to build his stamina after living in a kennel. A brisk walk was okay—brisk for his short legs, that is—but right now she needed to stretch her muscles in a way that working in the yard hadn’t accomplished.

After rubbing Toby’s soft ears she donned her running clothes and headed for the park. Then she saw Harvard Guy again. She instantly turned onto a side path.

Strange how familiar he seemed. There was something about his eyes that reminded her of...

Holy Cow.

Nicole stumbled and righted herself before she went down. Harvard Guy was Jordie Masters.

Jordan, she reminded herself. As a bratty neighborhood kid he’d been known as Jordie, then in high school he’d insisted on being called Jordan. Now he was a popular newspaper columnist. He’d changed a lot. She’d had no idea he lived in the Seattle area and knew there wasn’t any way he could have been at her house by accident. Nicole got a sinking feeling that he was the reporter doing the articles for PostModern.

Though she’d avoided Jordan whenever possible as a kid, she had a few vivid memories, such as when she was seven and wanted to learn how to skate. She’d put on her sister’s roller blades and started down the block, doing pretty well until Jordie had run into her. Nicole had always suspected it was deliberate. At the very least, he’d thought it was hilarious.

The resulting black eye had caused panic because she was supposed to model fancy dresses at a fashion show that weekend. They’d switched her to active wear and everyone had thought the black eye was makeup. The buyers had loved it. But after that, she wasn’t allowed to skate or bike or do anything active besides working out. Her parents had only agreed to let her take up running because it was good for her figure.

Fuming, Nicole continued her run. A black eye twenty-three years ago was unimportant, as were the other clashes they’d had as kids.

What concerned her were the articles.

Once friends, their mothers now hated each other, and except for one evening when they were in high school, Jordan had always acted as if he despised her. Obviously that was a long time ago and he might have put her out of his mind the way she’d done with him. But his columns were based on his observations and opinions and loaded with his dry wit, so the question was whether he’d changed enough to be impartial.

She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. At the moment she needed to release her tension, and she wasn’t going to let his presence in the park keep her from doing so.

Drat. There he was again, heading toward her. Determined not to let him put her on the defensive, she stepped onto a wide part of the path to let him pass. He stopped as well.

“Hi, Jordan,” she said coolly. “Cute trick, but the beard only fooled me for a while.”

“I wasn’t trying to trick you.”

“If you say so.”

He shrugged. “I’d come over to say hello since I’m doing the articles for PostModern.”

“I figured you were the one when I recognized you, but I thought you were a newspaper columnist, not a magazine writer.”

“The editor is a friend. She knows we grew up together and since I live up here, too, she asked me to do it.”

Nicole tried to remember if she’d ever heard where Jordan was living. She’d periodically read his columns and recalled that one of them had raved about tropical climes. If there had been any other indication about his home base, the information hadn’t stuck.

“Why didn’t you introduce yourself earlier, when it was obvious that I didn’t recognize you right off?” she asked.

“I planned to, but I got that phone call and you left for the hardware store.”

“Hmm.” Nicole narrowed her eyes.

It was possible it had been a simple slip-up in communication. She’d been distracted by the paint and hadn’t wanted to delay getting what she needed. Since Adam was in town helping with the agency for only a few days, she’d have less free time to work on the house after he was gone.

“Okay,” she said, deciding not to get into an argument...at the moment.

Nicole cocked her head and studied Jordan. It was hard to say how much he looked like the boy she remembered. In high school he’d had a military-style haircut, but now his dark brown hair was longish. The beard he wore was scruffy, rather than neat and trimmed. His Harvard sweatshirt was gone, and except for high-quality athletic shoes, his running clothes were on the worn side. For the most part he’d fit in with the guys who stood on a street corner with a sign, asking for money.

Or maybe not.

His muscled physique nicely filled out the faded black T-shirt he wore, reminding her of a night in high school she’d rather forget.

“Why the starving artist imitation?” she asked, brushing her own cheek instead of pointing to his beard. “You look like Leonardo DiCaprio in that movie, The Revenant.”

“I just got back from a month in Fiji.”

“What was the story down there?”

“None. I can write my column from anywhere in the world. For the last month, it was Fiji.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” she quipped. Jordan’s eyes were the same brooding brown they’d always been. Darn it.

“I’ve been lucky, same as you.”

“Well, I didn’t get to choose which countries I visited. I mostly worked hard once I got there, before moving on to the next location.”

His wry, almost patronizing smile revealed his true feelings. Okay, maybe she was overreading, but he probably agreed with the people who thought modeling was a breeze and life for a model was one long air-brushed idyll. The general belief seemed to be that someone with her level of modeling success couldn’t have any problems; therefore, they should just keep quiet, forgo their privacy, live the way the world thought they should live, and remember they were the lucky ones.

She was lucky, but life wasn’t always that simple. Someone smiling from an airbrushed photograph could be concealing a broken heart or other problems. Money and fame weren’t guarantees of happiness.

Curiously, she was disappointed to discover Jordan was the same as so many other people with gross misconceptions about her “ideal” life. But then, his childhood had been turbulent—the epic battles between his parents had been legendary in the neighborhood. Maybe he needed to believe there was a world where everything was as perfect as the way it looked on a magazine cover.

“How about dinner tonight?” Jordan suggested.

“Sorry, but I need to get on with my painting project.” Nicole kept her tone polite and impersonal, the way she always tried to sound with the press.

Still, she needed to remember that Jordan wasn’t one of the paparazzi-enemies of earlier years, the ones who’d invented a wild, party-girl history for her. Nor was he a friend. For the time being, he was simply a man writing about her and Moonlight Ventures. That it probably wouldn’t be the open-minded piece she and her partners had been promised was a concern, but there was no need to start out with knee-jerk reactions.

“How about tomorrow night?” he asked.

“I’ve got plans.”

“In that case I’ll try another time,” he told her smoothly and started up the path.

Refusing to watch him leave, Nicole continued her run. She hadn’t seen Jordan since high school and had thought little about him through the years. But if anyone had asked, she would have said he must have improved—after all, being a jackass wasn’t an incurable condition, was it? It appeared the jury was still out on that question.

One thing was for sure, he was as good-looking as ever, even with the beard. It was embarrassing to recall her brief crush on him when she was sixteen. The whole thing had started at a party when he’d kissed her on a moonlit patio. At first she’d been curious—as a senior he’d had quite a reputation with girls and she wanted to understand what all the fuss was about—then she’d realized how great his lips felt. Snuggling closer, she’d kissed him back wholeheartedly.

No one inside the house had known, probably because most of the kids had been drinking. Her folks had shown up soon after, terrified she was going to spoil the “clean teen” image that had helped make her so popular. Besides, her mother had declared angrily, alcohol was fattening.

For the next several weeks, while on location in Hawaii for a modeling gig, Nicole had lived that kiss over and over again in her imagination. The days had crawled by as she’d anxiously waited to see Jordan again. But when she got home, he’d treated her with the same scorn as always.

Her crush had abruptly ended with the realization that he’d probably been too drunk to know which girl he had kissed. Nicole hadn’t blamed him; she’d been the idiot with no better sense than to let a single kiss make her forget the way he had always behaved toward her.

Still, that was the past. The question was...what was he like as a reporter today?

Chapter Two

JORDAN RETURNED TO his condo and showered, scrubbing off the sweat from his run. He’d gone several extra miles, trying to tire himself so that he could sleep on West Coast time, instead of Fiji’s clock. Changing time zones could be a challenge, especially for a chronic insomniac.

His encounters with Nicole wouldn’t make sleep easier, especially if he couldn’t erase the image of her on the fitness trail from his mind. Her heightened breathing had drawn attention to the spectacular figure beneath her close-fitting T-shirt. He’d been glad that his sweatpants were fairly loose, and annoyed that it had become an issue for him.

It wasn’t as if he’d been starved for feminine companionship. Most recently he’d enjoyed the company of an attractive and intelligent woman in Fiji, who had simply wanted a vacation fling.

Stepping out, he wiped the fog from the mirror and scrutinized his beard. In Fiji, he hadn’t paid attention to his appearance. It was a great place to practice just being alive, and he had been tempted to stay another month. But it was just as well that he was home again. If he’d continued drifting in tropical-beach mode, his writing might have suffered. His readers didn’t mind the occasional column about food or interesting parts of the world, but most of the time they expected a sharp edge to his writing.

Amazing how much hair could grow in a few weeks. It took a while to shave, then he showered again to wash away the last prickly bits.

After dressing he felt more like himself and sat down with his computer. Syd had sent him a ton of material. He didn’t mind research, he just wasn’t interested in the notes about Nicole. Still, he’d agreed to do the articles and would make good on his promise.

One of Nicole’s last jobs had been modeling swimsuits and other sportswear, and she’d also done a top designer’s wedding collection. Her absence from the modeling scene hadn’t been immediately noticed because the fashion world tended to work ahead of itself, so after Nicole had dropped out a few months ago, magazine covers and ads with her image had continued to appear for a while. They still were, for that matter.

According to the research material, the Moonlight Ventures talent agency had been purchased around the time of Nicole’s last job, and the buyers had been Nicole, Adam Wilding, Rachel Clarion and Logan Kensington. All were connected to the fashion world and were supposedly close friends. Though Nicole was the only one on the Seattle scene full time, there were reports that the others would eventually join her.

Jordan immediately started wondering if egos might get in the way of running the agency. It seemed possible.

There was an interesting entry from the researcher that Nicole’s decision to “retire” had apparently come shortly after attending her sister’s wedding to a Montana building contractor. Jordan had liked Emily George, who’d been in a number of his classes. She’d been nice, funny and smart. Even as a kid it hadn’t seemed right to him the way her parents focused their energy and attention on Nicole, leaving Emily on the periphery.

In the notebook he kept for possible ideas to explore in his newspaper columns, he wrote a suggestion—parental favoritism, long-term effects?

After reading for an hour, he closed the computer, got up and stretched. His muscles were tense despite the run. It wasn’t the articles ramping up the stress; he was worried about his sister. While Chelsea hadn’t been seriously injured in the car accident, the whole thing was mixed up with her skunk of a boyfriend. The other driver had been at fault, but it had complicated her breakup with Ron.

His other sister, Terri, was trying to convince Chelsea to fly up to Seattle from Los Angeles for a visit. Jordan had already gotten her a ticket, hoping she’d decide to come.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. Jumping to his feet, he grinned. Maybe Nicole could use some help painting the interior of her house.

* * *

WHEN THE DOORBELL rang Nicole thought it was her pizza being delivered. And it was, except a clean-shaven Jordan was holding the box as the delivery guy walked back to his car.

He’d looked good with the beard, but without it he was strikingly handsome.

“Hello,” she said, taking the box. “You probably cost that pizza joint any future business from me. A delivery person shouldn’t just hand a pizza to a stranger on the street.”

“Aren’t you being harsh?” Jordan protested.

“No. You aren’t a woman who needs to feel secure about food being delivered to her door. And the person making the delivery. Ask your sisters how they’d feel in the same situation.”

He frowned. “I never thought of it that way. I offered the guy a good tip, but for all he knew, I was a stalker or something.”

“Exactly.”

“I apologize. Look, I didn’t know you’d ordered a pizza, so I got takeout on the way over. How about a potluck dinner?”

“I told you I was painting.”

“But you’re obviously stopping to eat, and I came set to help.” He held up a new paint roller with one hand and a large bag with the other.

Nicole eyed him. Even as a kid, Jordan could always find an angle to work. The high school science teacher had thought he’d make an innovative researcher because of it. The soccer coach had proclaimed him the next star because he was so clever and agile. Everyone had liked Jordan, saying he’d be great, whatever he decided to do.

They hadn’t said the same thing about her. The assumption had been that she would use her appearance to make money until she married rich or something. Perhaps she’d been too sensitive about it, but that was the impression everyone had given.

Lord. What was that line from the Jane Austen Book Club movie...about high school never being over? Nicole didn’t believe it had to be that way, but it was a challenge not to remember adolescent growing pains when one of the ghosts of high school past was writing about her current life.

“How about it?” Jordan coaxed.

“For serious labor, okay,” she agreed, deciding it was time to exorcise this particular ghost, once and for all.

“I’m here until it’s done,” he promised.

“Or until I throw you out,” she corrected him.

“Okay.”

Nicole led the way to her breakfast bar and Jordan glanced around. “You weren’t kidding about liking modern kitchens. This one is top-notch. Are you interested in cooking?”

“I’ve never had much time for it, but I’ll do more once my schedule isn’t as crazy. You know kitchens?” she asked.

He put the take-out bag on the counter next to the pizza. “I enjoy cooking, especially the dishes I’ve encountered on my travels.”

“That’s right, I saw your column about the subtleties of Thai and Indian curry.”

“You read my work?”

“Occasionally. I don’t look for it, but I don’t avoid it, either,” she said truthfully. From what she’d read, she had concluded Jordan’s columns were often cynical, yet could also be sharp observations on society and the world, and occasionally funny. At least his humor was no longer cruel.

“Hey.” Jordan waved a hand in front of her. “Where did you go?”

“To the land of mean jokes.”

“I didn’t tell one.”

“You used to, especially your senior year.” She knew because she’d been one of his targets.

“I was a teenaged boy. That isn’t an excuse, but...” Jordan stopped and a shadow seemed to crowd his eyes. “I was angry because of my parents’ divorce and taking it out on every person available. I’m not proud of the memory. Now I dislike gags that laugh at people instead of with them.”

He seemed sincere and Nicole decided to take him at his word. Lots of kids were rotten during high school, and, hopefully, most of them got over it.

She pulled out paper plates and found plastic silverware. “My apologies for the inelegant dinnerware. My kitchen stuff is still in boxes. I only moved in a few weeks ago.”

The food he’d brought was from the local Chinese restaurant and Nicole ate quickly, enjoying the Szechuan dishes alongside the vegetarian pizza she’d ordered.

“I’ll leave you to finish eating,” she said. “I want to get going with the painting.”

Jordan joined her in the living room a few minutes later and crouched briefly in front of Toby, ruffling his ears. “Hey, girl. How are you doing?”

“He’s fine,” Nicole corrected. “His name is Toby.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to offend you, Toby.”

With both of them working, the primer went on quickly, and it dried while they did the dining room. But once the top coat was on all the walls, Nicole stared in disgust. It was streaky and she wondered how the professionals got it to look good.

“I thought it would be better than this,” she muttered, “but at least it isn’t green any longer.”

“It should be okay once it’s dried overnight. What made you decide to do your own painting?” Jordan asked.

“Is there something wrong with wanting to handle it myself?”

“No, but it seems unusual. For you, that is.”

“Why me?”

He snorted. “Come on, Nicole, don’t pretend you don’t understand what I mean.”

“I’m not a model any longer. Can’t I do normal things the same as any other person?”

His lips twisted. “Oh, that’s right, poor Nicole couldn’t live a real life because of her supermodel status. I’ve seen the pictures and I’m sure the whole world feels bad for you, going to all those parties and enjoying the international first-class travel.”

* * *

THE MINUTE THE words left his mouth, Jordan knew he’d crossed the line.

Nicole straightened and sent him an icy stare. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he told her hastily. “It was inappropriate.”

She planted her hands on her hips and he couldn’t help noticing how the movement drew attention to her slim waist.

“But you opened your big mouth, anyway,” she retorted. “So, you think it’s ridiculous for me to want a regular life. Maybe you think I don’t even have a right to normalcy. But, for your information, those parties were invented by the paparazzi, along with various photos that made it look as if I was in the middle of an orgy. I sued and it was proven that those pictures were faked.”

There was a smudge of paint on her cheek and a few strands of her gold-spun hair were stiff with primer. She must have brushed against the wall at some point because the tight T-shirt she wore had a smear of paint over her right breast. Regardless, no one would mistake her as “normal.” She looked like a supermodel in a paint company’s commercial.

Jordan tried to keep his body from reacting. “I’d forgotten about the lawsuit. But you talk about wanting normalcy as if you’ve been deprived,” he said carefully. “Yet you have fame, fortune and beauty.”

“Are you suggesting I feel sorry for myself?” she returned sharply. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Frankly, it sounds as if you’ve already decided what you’re going to write and how you’re going to characterize me. If that’s the case, just go home and write your articles. Save me the effort of dealing with you, because I’m too busy for pointless pursuits.”

Jordan winced. It was true that he had preconceptions about Nicole. The irony was inescapable. When Syd had asked him to do the articles, she had suggested it would be good for him because he’d be forced out of his “reflective reverie.” He’d found her words annoying.

“I was out of order,” he said quickly. “I genuinely want to listen to what you have to say. I can’t promise not to have other biases, but I’ll do my best not to let them influence what I write or my approach to the interviews.”

For a long moment Nicole regarded him suspiciously, then she nodded. “Very well. I have my own prejudices about reporters.”

“I’m not a reporter.”

“Right,” she drawled with patent disbelief.

“Okay, for the moment I’m sort of a reporter. I’ve been one in the past and might be again, on a limited basis.”

“Acknowledging your problem is the first step on the road to recovery.”

Jordan glared. “Very funny.”

“I thought so, but I’m just the total idiot who didn’t even know to use a primer when painting over bright colors, right?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, your tone said it all. Not to mention the expression on your face.”

He wanted to deny it, but he had been surprised she didn’t know something that seemed basic to him. Yet even Syd—who was a very sharp lady—hadn’t known about primer, nor her husband, who was a brilliant neurosurgeon. All at once Jordan was reminded of an editor he’d known when starting in the business. Fred had been fond of saying “intelligence and information are different beasts.”

“In case it’s too basic for you to understand, everybody has to start somewhere,” Nicole continued. “The clerk was frantically busy at the hardware store when I bought the paint and somehow he didn’t tell me about primer.”

“Did you get better advice when you went in this time?” Jordan asked, wondering if the clerk had been distracted by Nicole’s physical attributes. His own brain had short-circuited earlier that afternoon for the same reason, though he didn’t think he’d been obvious about it.

“I hope so. This time a woman helped me. She was very professional. Tell me, is it possible for a woman to be as smart as a man about painting?” Nicole’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Oh, Lord. Jordan felt a chasm opening at his feet. Not only had he opened himself to claims of journalistic bias, now she was challenging him about male chauvinism.

“Absolutely,” he said. But a measure of self-honesty made him wonder if he still possessed caveman attitudes on some level. His sisters teased him about it now and then, but he’d figured it was just sisters being sisters. After all, if he was a total caveman he would have run Chelsea’s latest boyfriend off with a bat and told him to stay away from her.

“I’d forgotten you were a runner,” he said, pushing the thought aside. He wasn’t crazy about doing emotional inventories at the best of times.

Nicole flashed a smile. “What’s wrong, didn’t the research department include my being a runner in their file on me?”

“What makes you think I have a file?”

“Jordan, no matter what some people assume about models, we have brains. A file comes with the territory. The PostModern research department must have worked overtime to get you all the available details.”

“Does it bother you to think I have a file?”

“Being a reporter makes you bothersome, the rest just goes with the territory. I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind checking it for accuracy. Reporters have gotten things wrong so often it’s laughable.”

“I don’t understand how you can complain about reporters when you’ve benefited from them making you even more famous. PostModern is also publishing these articles because of your fame, and your agency will profit by it.”

“Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she returned. “I haven’t sought out publicity and have always tried to have a private life, which the press seems to resent. Sure, I’ve modeled clothing, represented various products and said lines in television commercials—that’s my job—but I’ve never been on reality TV and haven’t cared if my name was known to anyone except photographers, agents and people wanting to hire me.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite. They wanted you in those ads because everyone knows who you are.”

“Not everyone. My face is known in some circles, but my name wouldn’t be familiar if it wasn’t for the paparazzi following me around and trying to dig up saucy little fictions to titillate their readers. Which, by the way, the legitimate press has often repeated without an ounce of proof. I hope PostModern won’t follow suit.”

Jordan closed his eyes, partly to collect his thoughts, and partly to shut out the impact of Nicole’s well-formed figure. For years—in the rare times he thought about her—he’d seen her as a face in a photograph. A face that reminded him of old annoyances. In person, she exuded a vibrant energy that sent his senses reeling.

“I’m doing a genuine interview,” he said, looking at her again. “PostModern doesn’t want sensationalistic stories. The editor demands in-depth material about real people. Right now she’s interested in individuals who make radical changes in their lives, what their challenges are and how they find fulfillment.”

Nicole’s chin rose. “If that’s really the story you’re planning, then I’m in, but don’t expect me to put up with any garbage. I’ll give as good as I get.”

Somehow, Jordan didn’t doubt that for a second. She stood there, devoid of makeup or glamorous trappings, angry and full of life...and he was struck by her beauty in a way he’d never felt before today.

It annoyed him all over again.

Of course she was beautiful; she’d been the classic golden-haired tot and had grown into a sexy, gorgeous woman whose image was used to sell products around the world. He’d seen her on magazine covers and in television ads for most of his life. But he had never been personally attracted to her when looking at photos or watching ads, and hadn’t expected to be on this assignment.

But his hormones had jumped to attention, the lousy traitors. He left as quickly as possible to go home and take another shower.

A cold one this time.

* * *

NICOLE RESISTED SLAMMING the door as Jordan left. She’d been foolish to let him into her house to either eat or paint. It would have been best to keep things formal, meeting at the office and doing standard interviews.

But at least he’d revealed his biases ahead of the game. And as she’d admitted, she had her own biases when it came to reporters, particularly the ones she classed as paparazzi. She shuddered, remembering the woman who’d gotten a job as a hotel maid and then gone through her letters, even sneaking a photo of her coming out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. That member of the “press” had worked for one of the sleaziest rags going.

But Jordan wasn’t sleazy. However sardonic he sounded in his columns, they were also intelligent. Initially she’d expected to make fun of his writing and ideas; instead, he had mostly impressed her, tending to look at subjects from a different point of view and make his readers think about the ways things worked in the world. Maybe his articles weren’t always as deep as they could be—with a breezy, entertaining tone—but how much depth was possible in such a short format?

He was also quite clear about where he was coming from. If he wrote about kids, he reiterated that he wasn’t a parent himself and never expected to be. The same with marriage, saying he was happily single and intended remaining that way. Maybe he’d do something similar with the articles he planned to write for PostModern, being frank about their dislike for each other as kids and how that could affect what he was writing.

It might even be better this way. Another reporter would probably have preconceptions as well, but it would have been harder to get at them. With Jordan everything was out in the open from the get-go.

Still, Nicole wished he wasn’t involved. It was an added stress she didn’t need, especially while she was hunting for another office manager. Kevin McClaskey’s wife had previously handled the job and he hadn’t been able to face replacing Allison after her sudden death, just bringing in temps. It wasn’t the best way to run the agency, so one of Nicole’s first tasks after taking over had been to hire someone permanent.

It hadn’t gone well.

Moonlight Ventures had now run through three different office managers and was back to using temps. It turned out that each of her hires had wanted to use the job as a backdoor to becoming a modeling client. One had even shown up at a photo shoot for a commercial, claiming the agency had sent her.

Nicole gritted her teeth. It had taken hours to resolve the mess. But she hadn’t expected everything to be easy and would just have to fix each problem as it came, one way or another. With that thought, she went upstairs to shower and climb into bed. Fortunately the second floor of the house hadn’t required as much work as the first. Mostly she’d just needed to buy a new bedroom set. No paint was needed, although most of the rooms remained unfurnished.

She closed her eyes, ready to drift off, but Jordan’s annoyingly handsome face filled her mind. Nicole punched her pillow. She only had to put up with him for a while. Just because they lived in the same city again, that didn’t mean they’d cross paths constantly.

Well, apparently he used the same fitness trail, but she’d only seen him there once... Sure, he’d been in Fiji for part of the time, but she’d been using the trail for months before moving to the house and hadn’t seen him.

Hitting her pillow again, she tried to forget his lean, powerful body in running clothes. Disappointment in romance hadn’t turned off her response to the opposite sex, but that didn’t mean she had to pay attention to it.

* * *

THE FOLLOWING DAY Nicole was busy at her desk when she heard a tentative knock. A young woman stood in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” Nicole asked, thinking she’d seen her visitor before.

“I’m Chelsea Masters, one of Jordan’s sisters.”

The years peeled away and Nicole remembered the girl who’d always seemed unhappy and wistful. She didn’t look much happier now. She was also wearing a heavy foundation that didn’t entirely conceal dark bruises on her cheek and jaw.

“Chelsea, of course. How nice to see you again.”

Nicole wondered how many of the Masters family would be coming to Seattle. Chelsea had been nice enough, but her siblings and their parents? Nicole shuddered. No wonder Chelsea had seemed unhappy while growing up.

Chelsea smiled uncertainly. “I thought Jordan might be here since he’s doing those articles about you and the agency.”

Standing, Nicole walked around the desk and gestured to a chair; Chelsea sank into it, her face pale. Nicole sat next to her. “I’m afraid he isn’t here,” she explained, “and I don’t have his address.”

“I do. I checked there first, but he wasn’t around. He...he got me a ticket so I could, um, come and visit. I’m afraid I just jumped on a plane and came, so he didn’t know when to expect me.”

“Have you tried calling him?”

“I, uh, don’t have a cell phone right now. It’s lost, and I should have replaced it before leaving, but I didn’t.” Chelsea’s lip trembled and she wiped a hand across her face, only to stare at the heavy smear of makeup on her palm. The bruise was now quite visible. It looked fresh.

“How did you get hurt?” Nicole asked, deciding it was best to mention it openly.

“Oh. I... I was in a traffic accident a couple days ago. It wasn’t too bad.”

Nicole wasn’t sure she was telling the complete truth. Something difficult was going on in Chelsea’s life.

“I’m glad it wasn’t serious. Was anyone else involved?”

“There was the other driver and my boyfriend. That is, not anymore... I mean, we’d just broken up. It was his car. They say it wasn’t his fault, but...you know.”

The phone rang and Nicole sighed. “Sorry, I need to answer that. We don’t have an office manager right now and the temp agency didn’t have anyone to send today.”

It turned out to be a photographer who’d seen their website and wanted a go-see with three of the agency’s models. Nicole took down the details and swiftly texted the clients.

While she’d been on the phone, Chelsea had wandered away. When Nicole went looking, she found her visitor standing in the reception area, straightening files on the desk.

Chelsea turned and looked at Nicole. “I don’t suppose you’d consider hiring me as your office manager.”

“You’re looking for a job?”

“I worked out my notice on my last position and haven’t started looking, but I’m getting my résumé together.”

“You don’t live here.”

“On the flight up I was thinking it might be a good idea to move away from Los Angeles. I’ve really liked Seattle whenever I visited Jordan.” Her face fell. “But...but I guess you wouldn’t want to hire me. I mean because he’s writing the articles and the way our moms... I mean, I’d never say anything to Jordan about anything here at the agency, but it wasn’t fair to ask.”

Nicole couldn’t deny that privacy was a concern. On the other hand, she had nothing to hide. She wouldn’t hire Jordan’s little sister just to prove that, but it would be a side benefit should Chelsea prove to be suitable.

“What sort of work experience do you have?” she asked, playing for time to think.

“At the company where I used to work I started out as an office manager, though I’ve been in HR for the last three years.”

Chelsea had experience a talent agency could use, yet the last thing they needed was a scared rabbit in the office. Nicole hesitated, but Moonlight Ventures was supposed to be about encouraging people to become their best. Why couldn’t that apply to an office manager, as well as other clients?

She took an application from a file drawer. “Fill this out if you’re really interested.”

Chelsea’s expression brightened. “I’ll do it right now.”

“One of my business partners should do the official interview. He’s just here until the end of the week, so he’ll probably want to see you this afternoon.”

“So soon? I don’t, that is, I...” Chelsea looked alarmed and gestured nervously toward her face.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. We’ve all been there in one way or another.”

Still looking apprehensive, Chelsea sat down to work on the application. The fact that she didn’t cut and run seemed a point in her favor.

Nicole walked down the hallway and, with a brief knock, slipped into Adam’s office. He was intently watching a video. Prospective clients had begun inundating them with portfolios and DVDs of amateur performances. Reviewing them was at least half of how he’d spent his time since arriving.

He glanced at her. “This one is painfully awful. It’s from the stage mama of all stage mamas. She’s in the video more than her child.”

Nicole had already known that parents who pushed their kids unbearably would be one of the less palatable aspects of working as an agent. Over the years she’d come to the conclusion that parents were often trying to fulfill their own dreams through their children.

“I have someone interested in the office manager’s position. She’s filling out the application right now and I wondered if you had time to interview her.”

“That’s fine,” Adam said. “Beats watching this and we have to get somebody hired. You can’t do everything alone and I won’t be here full-time for another two months, give or take. Not that you haven’t been doing a terrific job. Agency revenues are already higher than when Kevin owned Moonlight Ventures.”

Nicole was glad she didn’t need to explain the circumstances, just let Chelsea make her own impression. Hopefully, letting her interview was the right thing to do.

Chapter Three

JORDAN STARED AT his sister in stunned surprise. “You did what?”

“I got a job. When I went looking for you at Nicole’s agency, it turned out they needed an office manager. So I applied and interviewed with Adam Wilding, who’s even more delicious in person than in his pictures. I start tomorrow.”

Her words were fast and nervous, her hands twisting together. Jordan hated seeing her that way. For a while she’d come out of the shell she’d forged to protect herself from the constant tension in the house between their battling parents, then a string of cheating boyfriends had damaged her newfound confidence. The latest, Ron, hadn’t been physically abusive, but he’d done his best to convince her that she was lucky to have him, and any issues between them were all her imagination.

Jordan sighed. His sister’s new job would complicate doing the articles for PostModern. He’d need to have a discussion with Nicole about her motives in hiring a relative of the journalist writing about her and the agency.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Shall we look for an apartment over the weekend, or would you rather stay at my condo while you get the lay of the land first?”

“I don’t need to do either, at least not right away. Nicole has a guesthouse over her garage, and she says I can rent it while I get used to the Seattle area and figure out where I want to live permanently. Your place only has one bedroom, so this is much better than sleeping on the couch and crowding you. I know Terri usually stays on your boat when she’s here, but this, uh...is best for me, I think.”

Jordan wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or grateful. For months he and Terri had been encouraging their baby sister to break things off with Ron. Chelsea had struggled with the idea—hardly a surprise with the less-than-blissful example of domestic life in which they’d been raised. She probably believed that was how relationships worked. Now, after one visit to Nicole George’s talent agency, she had a job that was twelve hundred miles from Ron Swanson.

Jordan decided it was something to celebrate, no matter how it had come about, or how many complications might ensue.

“Could we, um...go over to Nicole’s right now?” Chelsea asked. “That way you could see the guesthouse with me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

In his small two-seater sports car, he noticed Chelsea gulping and turning pale.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Does being in a car make you nervous because of the accident?”

“Not exactly.” She frowned at the dashboard. “I feel guilty, I guess. I’d just told Ron I wanted to split up. He got angry, and the next thing I knew we were broadsided.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “I don’t remember getting hit, just Ron swearing a blue streak afterward about the damage to his SUV.”

“The police told Terri that the other vehicle ran a stoplight. It had nothing to do with you or Ron’s driving.”

“I know, it’s just hard not to keep thinking about it.”

Jordan winked at her, the way he’d done when they were kids. “Come on, Cheesy, you aren’t to blame. The accident had nothing to do with you.”

She grinned at the old nickname. “I guess not. Anyway, getting the job up here feels right.”

It was harder for him to be certain of the same thing, but at least she was making decisions about her life.

* * *

CHELSEA HOPED SHE didn’t look too anxious. She’d never lived anywhere except the Los Angeles area and the thought of moving to a different city in another state was scary, though her brother lived there, too. But this was the time to do it, while she was between jobs. She was even excited to think Seattle could be a whole new start.

She had quietly given notice for her old position two weeks earlier, asking her boss to keep it confidential. Since Ron worked for the same company, she’d figured it was best to cut all ties. The day before yesterday, she had finished working out her notice so it had seemed the right moment to break up with him. As soon as she’d told him they were over, she had felt a huge conviction that she’d done the right thing, but then the accident had happened and uncertainty had flooded her again.

In retrospect, telling him while they were driving might not have been the best choice. But she’d been afraid he’d yell or make a scene and had figured no one would hear if they were in his SUV.

It might take a while before she felt as if the world wasn’t going to fall apart around her at any moment.

Jordan parked on a quiet residential street and she looked at the house, which wasn’t what she’d expected. It was built in a homey style and there were hanging baskets of flowers on the front porch. She wasn’t sure where she’d thought a supermodel would live, but it wasn’t something so...so cheery and normal.

The door opened as they came up the walk and Nicole stepped out. “Hi, Jordan. Hi, Chelsea. Let’s see if the guesthouse suits your needs.”

Following Nicole toward the garage, Chelsea sighed with relief. The way things had happened seemed almost too good to be true; deep down it had been difficult not to wonder if Nicole would change her mind about both the job and the apartment.

Exterior stairs climbed up the far side of the three-car garage into an apartment that was even nicer than Chelsea had hoped.

“It’s furnished, but the house isn’t?” Jordan asked, glancing around.

“The guest apartment came this way. The previous owners used it for their in-laws, but they didn’t need the furniture in their new place. Everything was nice and in good condition, so I agreed to buy it as part of the house purchase.”

Chelsea listened as she explored the pretty apartment. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat on the dresser in the bedroom, and she thought it was awfully nice of Nicole to have done that. And there was a small balcony in the back, looking onto the neighbor’s stand of evergreen trees.

“It’s perfect,” she declared, turning around. “Thank you so much. I’ll take really good care of everything.”

“I’m sure you will.” Nicole handed a key to her. “Move in whenever you like. Right now, I need to get somewhere.”

Chelsea’s fingers closed around the key as if it was a lifeline. In a way it was—a lifeline that would help her stay away from the dark memories lurking around every corner in Los Angeles.

“Look around some more,” Jordan said when they were alone. “I need to check on something.”

He hurried out the door.

Curious, Chelsea went to a front window and saw him catch up with Nicole on the front walk. He seemed to be talking very fast and she bobbed her head before hurrying toward the house. A few minutes later a sleek silver-gray car appeared, practically below Chelsea’s feet, backing down the driveway.

Jordan was still standing at the side of the drive and the vehicle stopped. He put a hand on the sedan’s roof and spoke again. Even from her vantage point Chelsea thought he looked tense and she wondered if something was wrong.

Letting the curtain drop in place, she tried to stop trembling. How could she be twenty-seven and still feel like a scared child all the time? Over the past year Terri had been saying that Ron was gaslighting her, making her believe that everything was her fault. She’d finally realized her sister was right, but it wasn’t easy to stop feeling as if she was the one who’d done something wrong.

“You okay?” Jordan asked when he returned.

“Fine.” Chelsea loved her brother, but he’d always seemed so confident and bigger than life. He and Terri had reacted differently to the tension between their parents—they’d gotten angry and fought back. She was a mouse, which was something a lion like Jordan probably couldn’t understand.

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing to the sheet of paper she was examining.

“The bus schedule. Nicole must have printed it out for me. She offered to give me rides when her schedule isn’t too crazy, but I want to use mass transit until I get my car up here.”

“I’ll give you rides,” Jordan said firmly, but Chelsea shook her head.

“Taking the bus will give me a better feel for the city.”

“All right. This place seems move-in ready. Let’s have dinner, then pick up whatever you need to get settled.”

She followed, locking the door carefully behind them. Maybe she was just fooling herself, but moving to Seattle really did seem to be a good decision.

So far.

Tears threatened at that mental caveat. She desperately wanted to feel like a normal person again...someone who wasn’t always expecting something horrible to happen.

* * *

NICOLE DROVE TO the agency where she and Adam were having a conference call with Rachel and Logan. She hadn’t felt like dealing with Jordan’s questions about Chelsea’s employment beforehand, so she’d agreed to talk before her run the next morning. Right now he was meeting all her low expectations of reporters.

“Even bad press is still advertising,” Logan quipped when she finished explaining the situation. He was in Venice for a wedding shoot. Weddings weren’t his thing, but he’d known the groom forever and was doing it as a gift to the couple.

“Besides, we don’t want to toady to reporters,” Rachel added. “Kevin McClaskey never did.” Rachel was at her home in Southern California.

“And his agency never grew,” Nicole felt obliged to point out, troubled that her friends could be harmed by the way she dealt with Jordan. The only consolation was that they were the ones who’d urged her to do the interviews with PostModern. “I don’t want to mess this up for you guys.”

“You aren’t going to mess anything up,” Logan assured her. “Kevin wanted Moonlight Ventures to stay a mom-and-pop type of business. That’s why it didn’t grow. We can’t worry about every biased reporter out there.”

“We knew it was a risk to agree to the articles, no matter what they promised us,” Adam said. “The editor wasn’t playing straight to send someone who wasn’t impartial, but it is what is. Besides, if we object, it’ll just make us look defensive. We trust you, Nicole. Handle Masters the way your instincts say you should. Blow him off, argue, whatever feels right.”

“I agree,” Rachel added firmly. “Just be yourself.”

“Except I’ve never been ‘myself’ with reporters,” Nicole reminded them. “I’ve always put on a polite, distant act. That isn’t going to be easy to do around Jordan.” She didn’t add that by the time she’d left modeling, she’d viewed reporters as conscienceless vampires who didn’t care if they destroyed lives as long as they got their story. It wasn’t fair, and she believed in a free press, but she just wished they’d stay away from her.

“Don’t try to put on a polite show,” Logan advised. “The magazine editor said Masters might want to talk with all of us. I think we should be upfront with him.”

“There’s also the issue of hiring his sister.” Nicole pointed out. “Maybe I screwed up by letting Chelsea apply.”

“I don’t think so,” Adam said. “I got great reports from her former employer and have a good feeling about her. Besides, it might be some form of discrimination if we hadn’t given her a chance.”

Nicole had wondered about that as well. It didn’t seem likely, but there were a number of laws regarding employers and she was still learning.

“I don’t think she’ll operate like a spy,” Adam continued, “though Masters may think we have ulterior motives for employing his sister.”

Nicole made a face. “I already know he has questions about us giving her a job, but I doubt he trusts me regardless, so it probably doesn’t make a difference.”

“How about doing our own article?” Adam suggested.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“We’re launching our Beneath the Surface blog before long. Why don’t you write about Jordan and the process of being interviewed? You’ve always had good suggestions for fixing advertising material, so I’m sure you could do it.”

Nicole frowned thoughtfully. Kevin McClaskey had published a quarterly trade newsletter and it had a respectable mailing list. They hoped to turn it into a magazine for the general public, but were still exploring the risks and possibilities. In the meantime, a blog seemed like a cost-effective way to gain an audience and it was something the others could work on, whether or not they were in Seattle.

It would be interesting to put the shoe on the other foot, so to speak, and turn the spotlight on a reporter. Jordan wouldn’t have to be referenced by name, though it might be pointless not to do so. Once the PostModern articles began appearing, everyone would know he was the one who’d been interviewing her.

“I’ll consider it,” she said.

* * *

AT 6:30 A.M. the next day, Nicole started for the park and found Jordan at the head of the fitness trail where they’d agreed to meet. He wore running shorts and a T-shirt that showed off his physique. Plainly he’d done more than swing in a hammock and sip piña coladas while in Fiji.

“Good morning,” she greeted him.

“Hi. As I said last night, I want to talk to you about Chelsea.”

“Is there a problem?” She began a series of stretching exercises in an attempt to appear relaxed and casual.

“It seems unusual to offer a job to someone you know nothing about.”

“Are you suggesting we’ll regret hiring her?” Nicole looked up, keeping her expression innocent.

“Not in the least. Chelsea was excellent at her last job and only left because someone she, er, needed to avoid was employed there, too.”

It fit what Nicole had suspected, that something particularly intense was going on in her new office manager’s life. Jordan obviously didn’t want to elaborate.

She nodded briskly. “Chelsea heard we needed someone and asked if she could apply. One of my partners is in town, so he interviewed her, then phoned for a reference and got a positive report. He was quite happy about hiring Chelsea, and we urgently need someone.”

Nicole didn’t think it was appropriate to offer more since Chelsea was now an employee of the agency. Adam’s only concern had been that Chelsea was overqualified and might not stay long for that reason. On the positive side, she might advance into being an agent for Moonlight Ventures; with her experience in human resources, she likely had the necessary skills. Adam had wondered if she would be able to deal with pushy or manipulative clients, but had still felt she should be given a chance.

Jordan didn’t answer immediately; he seemed to be formulating his answer. “This is an unusual situation. I’m doing a series of magazine articles about you and the agency. Those articles will give Moonlight Ventures a lot of publicity, and now my sister is working there.”

“Are you worried about your objectivity, or whether I’m trying to influence what you write?”

“Maybe both.”

“We already know you aren’t objective, so that’s your concern. And since I don’t think you trust me in any case, anything I say or do won’t make a difference.”

Surprise flashed through his eyes. “You don’t seem offended by that.”

“Why should I be? It’s far from the worst thing a reporter has suggested. Besides, as kids you always made it clear you disliked me, so you’re probably starting the interviews with a bad opinion of me, regardless.”

Now Jordan seemed completely nonplussed and she wondered if he was going to deny it. “You don’t believe I could have decided I was wrong about you?” he asked instead.

Nicole made a noncommittal gesture. “I haven’t seen any evidence to think so. You didn’t really know me when we were kids, but still disliked me. And from what I’ve picked up from my folks, our mothers still don’t get along. I never knew what happened that broke up their friendship, but it must have been bad. I doubt your mother has ever said anything positive about me or my family since then. Years ago she even conducted a brief, but vicious, social media campaign against us.”

Jordan looked appalled. “Mom?”

“Oh, yes. Apparently a few of her comments were rather libelous. She deleted everything after my dad’s lawyer mentioned a lawsuit might be in the offing.”

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

Nicole smiled wryly. “I was frantically busy with my college classes and work, so I mostly heard about it secondhand. It helped that social media was pretty new then. That aside, I don’t expect everyone to think I’m perfect, especially since I’m not. Everyone has different tastes, and personalities sometimes clash. That’s life. So, do you genuinely think I’m trying to manipulate you by giving Chelsea a job?”

“I’m still not clear about why you hired her.”

“One of my colleagues made the hiring decision. All I did was give Chelsea the application and take her back to his office. What was I supposed to do, tell her she couldn’t apply because she was your sister? That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Agreed, but you also offered the use of your guesthouse.”

“True, and I’d let her stay for free, but she insists on paying rent. I did it because we knew each other as kids and...” Nicole stopped. Perhaps she shouldn’t offer an opinion about Chelsea as an unhappy kid and the impression that she could use some support now.

“And?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe it does.”

“Let’s just say it looks as if she’s had a rough time lately and I wanted to help out. But remember that I’m not obligated to tell you everything I think, even during the interviews for PostModern.”

“I don’t expect you to. By the way, can we start them today, instead of waiting until Monday?”

Nicole’s nerves instinctively tightened. Since the interviews hadn’t “officially” begun, anything she’d said to date should be off the record. But that was a technicality. He might not respect boundaries, so she may as well agree. And the sooner the interviews were over, the better.

She really would have to think about writing something for the blog the agency was starting. Jordan probably wouldn’t like it, but since he thought it was hypocritical for her to want privacy, she could argue the same about him. After all, he was a prominent newspaper columnist, making his living on being in the public eye.

Except...what she wrote shouldn’t be about turning the tables on Jordan. She’d have to think it over.

“How about it?” he prompted.

“Okay, we can begin the process right away, but at the moment I’m going to start my run.”

He fell in at her side as she set off down the trail. Though she would have preferred running alone, she didn’t object. They ran for an hour and he insisted on running the half mile from the park to her house. She noted that his breathing was strong, not heavy, despite their swift pace.

“What are you doing today?” Jordan asked. “Chelsea told me she’s starting at the agency this morning. Will you be showing her the ropes?”

“For a few hours, but I think it’s best if you aren’t there. It would be easier on her. This afternoon I’m attending a high school play and I’ll go again tonight to see their performance for the general public.”

“Why both?”

“To double-check my impressions.” Nicole took off the sweatband she’d put around her forehead. Taking a key from her pocket, she unlocked the door. “The audience also makes a difference, influencing the actors’ energy. The earlier performance is for their peers.”

“Then you’re going to recruit clients.”

“I want to be proactive. Stacks of inquiries come into the agency, but sometimes the most talented folks may not know it. Besides, most of the portfolios we’ve received are for models, and we’re also looking for performers.”

“Is it okay for me to attend with you?”

Nicole hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll clear it with the school. Just don’t tell anyone why I’m there. The principal knows, but I don’t want the kids getting hyper because an agent is present, and I’d rather not give them false hope.”

“That’s reasonable. What time?”

“Meet me here at twelve thirty. Also, please don’t mention the name of the school or any of the students in your article.”

“I understand.” He started walking toward the park.

As a kid Jordan had been athletic, and despite his military haircut and gangly physique, quite appealing to teenage girls. His features were still clean and defined, but no longer angular. And his body? She let out a breath, annoyed that she kept getting distracted by Jordan’s physical attributes. After all, she’d worked with equally handsome guys since they’d moved her from a child category into shoots for teen products.

As Nicole went upstairs and showered, she mused that she’d basically worked her entire life, yet Jordan seemed to think she didn’t have any right to a normal existence.

It was true that she’d entered adulthood with sizeable investments, which had only increased through the years. She was skilled at handling her funds, which meant she was quite comfortable. But money didn’t solve all problems. Being in the public eye all the time was tougher than people thought.

Her so-called fame had been the problem when she and Vince had started dating. He’d been her first serious love and was the only guy she’d gone out with who hadn’t expected her to be a polished supermodel all the time. But after a while he hadn’t been able to take the notoriety and had broken off the relationship. Her heartbreak had become fodder for the media, including months of speculation that she was pregnant...even long after it would have been obvious that she was not.

Nicole stepped out of the shower and went into her bedroom. It was nicely furnished, her money allowing her to decorate exactly the way she wanted. Yet she had no one to share it with, something she seriously doubted would change anytime soon.

She stared at a painting on the wall and wondered how many people would trade her modeling success for love. Her stellar career was partly luck...luck to be born with what the world called beauty, and luck in having parents who’d known exactly how to market her appearance. She’d also had talent, worked hard and tried to act professionally, but she knew luck was always a factor. That was true of Moonlight Ventures as well, but it still needed her hard work and judgment.

Was that something she could explain to Jordan for the articles, or would he just see it as trite and clichéd?

What if it actually was trite and clichéd?

* * *

BY THE TIME Jordan got back to the park, where he’d left his car, he was still thinking about his sister working for Moonlight Ventures. His instincts told him Nicole wasn’t out to hurt Chelsea, despite the past problems between their families, but he couldn’t help being concerned.

It was impressive how rational Nicole seemed to be about criticism and the probability that some people disliked her.

He winced, recalling what she’d said about his mother’s social media campaign against the Georges. How could Mom have behaved that way, when she was the one who’d thrown herself at Nicole’s father? Wounded pride at being rejected? Or maybe it was just the insanity of spending so many years in a destructive marriage and resenting one that wasn’t.

He’d been an unwilling, unknown witness to his mother’s folly and had never told anyone what he’d seen. What he hadn’t known was whether Nicole had learned about the incident from her parents.

Apparently not.

Jordan stuck his head under a spigot at the park picnic area and washed the sweat from his face. The water was cold and helped clear his mind.

After getting home the night before he’d called Terri and told her about the latest development. She’d decided to immediately leave for Seattle in Chelsea’s car with a load of her things—they both wanted to ensure their sister’s ties with Ron were well and truly cut. Terri might be tough and negative a lot of the time, but deep down she was fierce about the people she loved.

Back at his condo, he phoned Syd and explained the newest wrinkle in the situation. She felt it would give an added human interest twist, provided he was transparent about the circumstances.

“Our readers know life is messy. They’ll be interested to see how you handle it,” she told him.

“These articles aren’t about me,” he objected.

“Maybe they will be, partly at least. It’s an intriguing angle.”

Jordan hung up, ready to pound the wall. Was it possible that Syd was trying to maneuver him into writing a regular piece for her magazine? Before she’d become the editor, PostModern had asked him to do a monthly column, but he was happy with the way things were. While he might write a book someday, in the meantime he had the footloose and fancy-free life he’d always wanted.

* * *

AT TWELVE THIRTY SHARP, Jordan knocked on Nicole’s door. “Shall we drive together?” he asked.

“Sure. That way we’ll look like parents showing up to cheer on their kids. It should elevate the anonymity level.”

“You don’t want anyone recognizing you?”

“That’s why I plan to slip in as the play starts. It cuts down on the potential. Plus, I have these.”

She pulled out a pair of studious glasses and put them on. They changed the look of her face, especially since he’d never seen her wear anything other than sunglasses.

“Do you actually need your vision corrected?” he asked.

“No, but I’ve had these for years. They’re good for misdirection.”

Without makeup and in an oversized shirt, it was possible she wouldn’t be recognized, though no one would mistake her for anything except an extremely beautiful woman.

“Will I pass?” she asked.

“I suppose. You really think we’ll look like parents?”

“They can’t see how we really feel about marriage and each other.”

“I’ve been upfront about my disinterest in becoming a husband. So you feel the same way?”

She grinned. “I definitely don’t want to become anyone’s husband.”

He groaned. “Come on. Do you always misdirect?”

“Is this for the article?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s a possibility. Plenty of speculation has gone on about your decision to leave modeling. A husband and kids were large question marks.”

“Well, I’m not interested in getting married,” she answered in what seemed to be a deliberately light tone. “The advantage of having a dog instead of a husband is that they don’t think something is wrong if you aren’t wearing makeup.”

Jordan was sure there was something deeper being hinted at, but doubted she’d say more at the moment.

“Your editor mentioned wanting pictures for the articles,” she continued. “But I hope it isn’t necessary to include one of me dressed this way. Going incognita is the best way to give these kids a fair shot.”

“I understand.”

Nicole walked to her car, parked in the driveway, and Jordan knew it made sense for her to drive since she’d probably visited the school already. They arrived a few minutes before 1:00 p.m. and she led the way to the auditorium, arriving as the curtain on the stage was going up.

Throughout the performance, she watched attentively, occasionally checking the program, though without making any notes. Presumably she wasn’t seeing anyone she felt was promising. Jordan had to give her credit for appearing conscientious. His own attention kept wandering, unfortunately drawn by the scent Nicole wore, the line of her cheek, and the way her slight movements made him aware of the curves that had so often been displayed in a bikini or lingerie.

Perhaps that was the problem. Pictures were just pictures. But now she was here in the flesh and even though those curves were completely covered by a casual shirt, he’d seen enough photos of her in scanty clothes to know what lay beneath.

Shifting in his seat, he told himself the whole thing was basic human chemistry and could be overcome by rational thought.

Toward the end of the last scene, she stood and gestured for him to follow. They slipped out of the auditorium and walked briskly to the car. With the way they’d arrived and departed, he thought it was unlikely anyone would have noticed Nicole, even if she hadn’t been in disguise.

“At least you don’t have to attend tonight,” he commented as she drove from the parking lot.

“Excuse me?” She cast a surprised glance in his direction.

“There wasn’t much for a talent agent to explore.”

“Did we see the same performance?” she asked incredulously.

“What are you talking about?”

“For one, the kid who sang a song in the third act. Her role was too small to see if she has any acting ability, but her singing was excellent.”

Jordan frowned, remembering the short girl with stringy hair who had sung a few lines before getting interrupted by other onstage action.

“That kid isn’t exactly a star in the making.”

“Is that based on your prejudice against girls who aren’t your idea of sex goddesses, or because you think the agency can’t be interested in people who don’t fit the world’s limited concept of beauty?”

Whatever else Nicole might be, she was sharp enough to analyze his response and require him to define his intent.

He shifted in his seat. “If anything, I figured Moonlight Ventures would only be interested in clients they can develop as supermodels or into major acting stars.”

“Actors and models don’t have to fit a particular idea of good looks and I’m not interested in stereotypes.”

He shook his head, bemused by Nicole’s relentless logic. “Okay,” he said, deciding not to pursue the subject further, “the girl has a good voice. Is that all you got out of it?”

“The play itself was authored by one of the seniors.”

“It was?” Jordan had thought the show was well-written, despite the often excruciating performances.

“Yes. According to the principal he’s been a rebellious screw-up and had to write the play to get enough credit to graduate. I thought it was good and we may be interested in writers. Adam is exploring development of a literary division in the agency. I don’t know if that will work, but other agencies have done it and he’s been making editorial contacts. If anyone can pull it off, he can. At the very least we could refer the play’s author to one of our connections.”

“Isn’t it unusual for a talent agency to divide its focus?”

Nicole waved her hand. “Right now, maybe, since I’m still the only one working full-time. But once all of us are on board, it might make sense to diversify. We have varied interests and know there’s a wealth of talent in the Seattle area. Eventually we’ll hire other agents as well. The kid who wrote that play may have the ability to go all the way. Talent often emerges young. Walter Farley wrote his first Black Stallion book in junior high school, and there are a number of other authors who also began early. Adam is bugged by the idea that there could be a great author out there who might never realize their own potential.”

“Why is that Wilding’s special area of interest?”

“His mother is a writer, though she’s never tried to get published.”

Jordan hadn’t thought that much about Nicole’s partners. The focus of the articles was supposed to be on her as a supermodel changing her life. If he could schedule conversations with Nicole’s partners, it would mostly be for getting information that was related to her.

“So the agency might get a writing client for a potential literary division, and perhaps a singer. But do you need to go back again just to listen to amateurs reciting good lines?”

“I like to give them a second chance. It’s hard to perform at your best in front of fellow students. But if it’s too tedious for you, feel free not to attend this evening. After all, you’ve seen what I’m doing there and it isn’t world-shattering.”

“I’m going,” Jordan asserted, stung by her “tedious” remark.

One thing was clear, the assignment was turning out to be very different from what he’d anticipated.

Chapter Four

NICOLE COULDN’T INTERPRET the expression on Jordan’s face and decided not to try.

She pulled up in front of her house. It was after three thirty and she’d be heading back to the school in four hours. The schedule seemed rigorous for the kids, but the principal had explained the afternoon’s performance was mostly intended as a dress rehearsal.

Considering how the agency had been inundated with people wanting to become clients, it might be silly to go out searching. But this was more dynamic—not to mention more fun—than sitting in her office looking at pictures or videos.

“What now?” Jordan asked.

“I’m going to sit on my new deck and breathe fresh air while I make notes about the performance.”

“May I join you?”

“I suppose,” Nicole said reluctantly.

It was ironic. If PostModern had sent a different reporter, she probably wouldn’t be letting him or her into the house. So in a sense, being “herself” might actually be easier with Jordan. Well...easier on some levels, harder on others.

She went through the kitchen on the way out to the deck and took a bottle of mineral water from the beverage chiller.

“Help yourself,” she offered. “Sorry, there isn’t any beer.”

He glanced into the compartment and selected ice tea. “I also see there’s no wine. Worried about the calories?”

“I don’t care that much for alcohol. The last time I had a drink was when we toasted the purchase of Moonlight Ventures.”

Nicole spent a few minutes playing with Toby, tossing a toy while he fetched it and returned. The dog wriggled with pleasure each time she praised him. According to Toby’s records, he’d been found as a hungry puppy near the Bainbridge Island ferry. It broke her heart to think of any animal being abandoned, but at least she could ensure this particular dog had a good life.

Finally he collapsed on the grass, panting and looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Some people thought cocker spaniels or corgis had the corner on adorability, but Nicole’s money was on beagles. When he’d whimpered and looked at her from his kennel at the rescue center she’d practically melted. Until then she’d been considering a German Shepherd adolescent with enormous paws and a goofball personality.

She went back to her chair under the covered section of the deck and started making notes in her electronic notebook, periodically referring to the program from the play. The kids had seemed eager and sincere, though most of them weren’t polished actors and actresses.

“I didn’t know you liked dogs,” Jordan said after a while.

Nicole reached down and patted Toby, who’d come over to sit next to her chair. “I couldn’t get one before because of my travel schedule—it wouldn’t have been right to kennel it constantly.”

“That’s why I’ve never adopted a pet or thought about family. I like being able to drop everything and head to another part of the world.”

“Being free to travel is nice and I suppose a pet or a family would tie you down.”

Though Nicole was glad she no longer had to be on the go constantly, she also missed it. But a business couldn’t be run on an occasional basis.

Jordan’s head cocked. “You have an odd expression.”

“I was thinking about choices. This is probably the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid. It seems strange in a way.”

His gaze sharpened. “Then that’s one of the costs of your decision to change careers?”

Nicole didn’t want to discuss what she thought or felt, but she had agreed to the interviews and intended to follow through.

“Yes,” she said, “if you want to call it a cost. I’m responsible for taking care of the agency until there are more of us here to fulfill our commitments. Being more mobile the way I used to be might be nice, though I rarely had time to simply appreciate the locations where I worked. Still, I got to see a lot, even if it was on the fly.”

Jordan had pulled out a notepad and written a bit before looking up once more. For a minute she was afraid he was going to imply again that she felt sorry for herself, which would tempt her to send his pad into the yard for Toby to use as a chew toy.

“Do you think you’ll be able to resist the freedom of travel?” he asked instead.

“I don’t intend to stay in Seattle three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Once the four of us are here, there will be some leeway. In the meantime, I made a choice about what I wanted to do with my life. It means I can’t do some things, but can do others, such as have a dog.”

Jordan looked at Toby. “He’s a pretty nice choice.”

“Yeah. Originally I wanted a large dog, but this guy charmed me into taking him instead. Maybe I’ll get a cat to keep him company when I’m out.”

“Two animals? I can imagine the look on Helen’s face if she had to clean up after them.”

“Helen?”

“She comes in once a week to clean my condo. She jokes that I’m Felix Unger, the neat freak from The Odd Couple.”

“But didn’t Felix hope to get back together with his wife?”

“So I’m like him in some ways, not in others. Besides, I’m not exactly a neat freak, I just like to have everything in its place.”

Jordan fell silent again and Nicole made a few more notes, trying to ignore his very male presence on her deck. It wasn’t easy. Tension emanated from him, as if just sitting while she worked was taxing his patience beyond its limit. Though he’d claimed otherwise, she sometimes wondered if he’d already written the articles and if interviewing her was just a pretense.

Nicole mentally slapped herself. It was hypocritical to condemn the guy before giving him a chance to prove himself. If the PostModern articles turned out to be pure opinion, the same as his columns, then she’d know the truth.

She glanced at him from beneath her eye lashes. He was good-looking enough to be a model himself, though there was no telling how his looks would translate into photographs.

Saving her work after another half hour, Nicole looked at Jordan. “It’s nice that you didn’t just sit there watching me.”

“No problem.”

He exuded virile energy and she decided it was best that he was a reporter. She had never dated one, considering it far too much of a risk.

She was always frustrated when lingering pangs of longing for love and happily-ever-after threatened her peace of mind. It wasn’t that she wanted something like that with Jordan, but sitting on the deck with him was a reminder of the old dream.

Surely her disquiet was related to the radical changes she’d made in her life. She was no longer doing the work that she had enjoyed and her friends couldn’t join her yet in the enterprise they’d planned together. Naturally she was unsettled.

“Something on your mind?” Jordan asked. “You have another odd expression.”

“Nothing important.”

* * *

“I’D LIKE TO SAY—even though we’re understandably wary toward each other—” Jordan stopped and grinned at Nicole’s wry glance. “I am worried about Chelsea. You’re right that she’s had a tough time and I appreciate your consideration toward her.”

“I’m not being considerate, at least not in a sentimental way. One of our goals at Moonlight Ventures is to help people be at their best. The way I see things, that applies to our employees, too, not just our clients.”

“So Moonlight Ventures is trying to develop talent, not just sell it?” he asked.

“Some people may need help to make their potential visible. Advertisers don’t have time to look beneath the surface. They want someone who’s already professional and able to project their best.”

“Then basically being an agent is teaching salesmanship, like washing a car and doing a tune-up for a used car lot.”

“That sounds cynical...which doesn’t surprise me. What I’ve read of your columns suggests you have a jaded view of human nature.”

His lips twisted. “The critics say I’m cynical, too, though I’ve noticed it hasn’t hurt my readership.”

“So you went from angry teenager to cynical columnist. Was it due to one grand event, or a process of continuing attrition?”

“A combination,” he admitted, not wanting to discuss his parents and their inability to stay faithful to each other. But he also hadn’t found life beyond his family’s home to be much of a counterbalance to his attitudes.

All the same, he didn’t think he was cynical—he was more of a skeptic, or perhaps a realist.

“In other words, you don’t like talking about it,” Nicole guessed. “That’s understandable. Disillusionments are also about our vulnerabilities and most of us keep our most tender spots hidden.”

“True. Do you plan on revealing any of your vulnerable spots?” he asked. He’d interviewed people who were experts at shifting the focus onto the interviewer and Nicole might be one of them.

She ran the tip of her tongue over her lip and he found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Every move she made seemed to have a seductive edge to it, though he didn’t believe she was doing it deliberately. Trying to bemuse or seduce a reporter didn’t seem to be her style.

“No soft spots on display for a while,” she said and he had to think a moment to recall the question he’d asked about revealing her vulnerabilities. “You have to really trust someone to uncover that part of yourself.”

A flash of annoyance struck at the inference that she didn’t trust him, but Jordan reined in his feelings. After all, she had no reason to find him trustworthy and he’d already revealed he had biases. A rational person wouldn’t trust him.

“Is there anything I can do to gain your trust?” he asked.

Reaching her hands high in the air, she stretched and yawned. “Who knows?”

Jordan’s muscles tensed. Her motions were alluring, but he still didn’t think she was being consciously seductive.

One thing was for sure—Nicole hadn’t dropped out of the fashion scene because her looks were fading, which was what a few disgruntled journalists had suggested when they couldn’t get an interview. In fact, she looked better than ever, with naturally gold hair and the same vibrant blue eyes he remembered—no enhancement from colored contact lenses needed. She also exuded sexy vitality, so he didn’t believe illness had led to her hiatus.

Another possibility was a personal issue, such as a love affair or a relationship that had gone bad. He’d tested those waters already and would return to it when the timing was right.

Settling against the high-backed chair, Nicole closed her eyes. “Don’t you love a spring afternoon?” she asked. “It’s still so fresh, the earth waking after winter. I didn’t know it could be like that. Of course, everyone tells me this is a warm spring for Washington, so maybe it isn’t typical, especially the hot spell that’s been predicted.”

“You act as if this is the first time you’ve ever seen springtime.”

Her eyes opened. “It is in a way.”

“Another thing you missed because of being an international model?”

“Stop barking up that tree,” she said coolly. “This has nothing to do with me being a model. It’s about having lived in Southern California my entire life. The weather down there is pleasant, as you know, but let’s face it, the seasons aren’t that definitive. They just sort of meander from one place to another. The seasons really make an impact up here. I’m loving the spring after winter.”

Jordan nodded. He’d moved away from Los Angeles after college, wanting to leave the past behind and had lived in various places around the country. He liked the Northwest.

“Even in Seattle, seasonal changes aren’t as definitive as they are back east,” he said. “Spring also seems to come slower there.”

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