by Tawna Fenske
Five times?
Ten?
I’m ashamed to admit it’s probably more.
My intuition is busted, at least when it comes to men.
As Marilyn Judson hustles in with a stack of paperwork, I’m eternally glad that is not the tidbit I chose to share in a job interview. I’m fine with them knowing I’ve sworn off dating. I’d prefer they not know the precise ways I’ve made enough poor choices to give up men altogether.
“Here we go.” Dean’s sister sits down in the chair beside me and sticks out her hand. “Marilyn Judson. You can call me Mari.”
“Vanessa,” I say, trying not to stare at the assortment of writing implements sticking out of her floppy bun. Two pens and a pencil by my count.
But Mari’s a psychologist. A famous one if her “Shrink to the Stars” label is an indication. She misses nothing. “It’s an easy place to store them,” she says, plucking a pen from her hair and handing it to me. “Moving out of Hollywood means we’re no longer required to conform to those standards of style and beauty.”
“Amen to that.” I take the pen from her before realizing I have no idea what I’m about to sign. I glance down, expecting a contract, but see it’s just a confidentiality form. “I think I already signed one of these.”
“This one’s different from the preliminary form.” Mari pushes her glasses up her nose. “This form is only for prospective community members who receive offers. We ask that you maintain confidentiality about financial information and details of our compensation package.”
Dean nods, watching me closely. “We don’t want competing networks knowing too much about what we do.”
“Ah.” I don’t have many Hollywood connections, but even I’ve heard rumblings that the Voltan Network doesn’t love the surging competition from the Judsons. I skim the form before inking my name at the bottom. “If it’s okay, I’d like a little more time to review the contracts themselves.”
“Of course.” Mari smiles, revealing an adorable dimple and a hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “Have your lawyer look over them if necessary. We want you to feel comfortable about everything that’s in here.”
Dean’s phone—which is still sitting on the table between us—gives a jarring buzz. He frowns down at the screen, and though I try not to stare, I can’t help noticing the name that pops up.
Investigator Brixton.
He hits the button to force it to voicemail, then makes eye contact with his sister. Something passes between them before Mari gives a quick nod.
Dean clears his throat. “In the interest of full disclosure, there’s something you should know.”
“Oh?” I try to keep my voice curious instead of fearful. “What’s that?”
Mari squares her shoulders. “We’re working with authorities to ensure members of the Juniper Ridge community remain safe and protected at all times.”
I stare at her, absorbing the words. “And is there a reason to think they wouldn’t be?”
“No.” Dean clears his throat. “Local police are in the loop, and the private investigator we’ve hired is verifying whether the threats are credible. So far, he’s seen no reason to be alarmed.”
“Threats?” I’m not sure how we got from tricycles and balloons to job offers and menacing figures. “What kind of threats?”
Again with the exchange of sibling looks, something I can’t quite read. But I have a twin, so I know what it means to communicate without words.
Dean takes a deep breath. “Someone does not want Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge to happen.”
Chapter 3
CONFESSIONAL 87
Judson, Dean (CEO: Juniper Ridge)
Yeah, I guess I’ve always been a little too direct. That’s one reason I knew I belonged behind the scenes in showbiz instead of in front of the camera. Or behind it. You can’t just blurt shit out when you’re directing some snot-nosed actor who’s convinced his shit doesn’t stink. Huh? Who says I can’t say shit on camera? Twice. Three times.
Goddammit.
It dawns on me too late that the moment my top candidate for CFO is ready to sign on the dotted line is not the time to mention her safety may be in jeopardy.
Then again, when is the right time? Before the interview or after she scrawls her signature on this big-ass pile of paperwork?
Vanessa’s gripping Mari’s favorite myrtlewood pen and looking at me with those big, brown eyes. I owe her an explanation.
With a sigh, I dive right in. “It started with some threatening emails,” I tell her. “Stupid sh—stuff.”
“Like what?” She doesn’t sound alarmed, but she’s obviously curious. She sets down the pen and folds her hands on the table.
“It seemed like your run-of-the-mill hate mail at first.” I stop myself there, conscious of the fact that non-Hollywood types probably don’t get hate mail on a daily basis. “Things like, ‘with a show concept that stupid, I hope you fail before the first episode airs.’ Or there were a few that made reference to our location—something about asshole Californians swooping in and buying up all the land in Oregon.”
At that, Mari rolls her eyes. “Because an abandoned cult compound is such a hot piece of real estate.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, we didn’t think much about the emails. But then Lana got this flower delivery.”
“Lana’s the youngest.” Vanessa’s eyes hold mine, and it’s clear she’s thinking about the story I told. The one about stabbing myself in the forehead to make my baby sister feel better.
“Yeah. Lana’s in public relations. The kind where it’s her job to make celebrities look less like assholes, so she’s had a lot of admirers.”
“And the opposite of admirers,” Mari adds, deftly avoiding the word enemies. “So it wasn’t completely out of left field that the flowers turned out to be sunflowers.”
“Which she’s allergic to,” I add for Vanessa’s benefit. “It’s one of those quirky personal details they mention sometimes in articles, so anyone could have known that.”
“Or not known it.” Mari rests the tips of her fingers on the table and regards Vanessa with her HR look. “It’s difficult to determine motivation or intent from the card that came with the flowers.”
Vanessa glances from my sister to me. “What did the card say?”
I clear my throat again. “‘Get back to LA soon, Love.’”
“I see.” Vanessa’s wheels are turning as she digests the information. “And was that the end of the threats?”
I take a deep breath. “We’re not sure.”
She glances from me to Mari and back again. “What do you mean you’re not sure?”
My sister is telepathically urging me to play it cool. I can see the frustration in her eyes, in the way she just picked up the pen Vanessa dropped and speared it back through her bun with impressive force. “Last night, there was an attempt to hack the company email.”
“More than an attempt,” I say as gently as possible. “Someone managed to fire off about a dozen messages that appeared—for all intents and purposes—to come from members of the Juniper Ridge team.”
Vanessa cocks her head to one side, curiosity piqued again. “Do you know what the messages said?”
Mari grits her teeth. “One of them originated from my email address and appeared to inform our top candidate for medical director that in order to be considered for the position, he’d need to email me ten photos of his bare feet.”
“Yikes.” Vanessa cringes, then lifts an eyebrow. “Wait. Did you find out before or after he sent the images?”
A flush races up my sister’s throat. “Before, fortunately. He replied seeking clarification about whether they needed to be prints or digital images. Thank God I was able to clear it up.”
“Huh.” Vanessa looks at me. “What else?”
Naturally, she’s guessed that’s only the beginning. I sigh and wish I hadn’t opened this can of worms. “There’s the one sent from Lauren’s email to a l
ocal cable station, offering exclusive footage from her private collection of personal sex videos.”
“A collection that does not exist,” Mari adds quickly. “Neither does the offer from Cooper to star in a miniseries about competitive mooing.”
“Competitive mooing?” Vanessa blinks. “That’s a thing?”
Mari presses her lips together. “Apparently it’s quite popular. They hold an annual Moo-la-Palooza in Wisconsin.”
Vanessa looks at me. “I guess the guy gets points for creativity.”
And for knowing way too much about my family, though that’s not a theory I’m ready to share just yet. “Most of the emails were pretty harmless,” I tell her. “But the one from me to our top investor inviting him to a nude tomato fight could have been a disaster if the investor wasn’t a good friend.”
A friend who knows I can’t stand tomatoes, both eating them or being hit in the junk with one.
“Well.” Vanessa presses her palms to the table. “That’s—inconvenient.”
Before I can reply, the café door swings open, and Colleen Carver marches through, a laptop gripped in her hands. Spotting us at our corner table, she moves toward us with a purpose.
“You guys have to see this.” Setting the computer on the table, she flips it open and glances at Mari. “Sorry, are you in the middle of something?”
“A job offer.” I nod at Vanessa. “We’ve already brought Ms. Vincent up to speed on the situation.”
Mari gestures from Colleen to Vanessa, making the introduction I’m too much of a dumbass to remember. “Ms. Vincent is our choice to be the company’s Chief Financial Officer,” she explains.
“Vanessa, please.” She sticks out her hand and gives Colleen’s a pleasant shake. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Same. I’m Colleen, by the way.”
“Colleen and her wife, Patti, are wildlife biologists,” Mari explains. “They were stationed here when Gabe and Dean first visited.”
Colleen laughs, and it’s a warm, booming sound I’ve come to love in the short time I’ve lived here. “We’ve been running the coffee shop, and in my spare time, I play around with computers.”
“She’s one of the top hackers in the country,” I clarify, seeing no point in beating around the bush. “And we’re very grateful she and Patti agreed to stay on as part of the team.”
“Very,” Mari agrees.
In the months we’ve known Colleen and Patti, their homemade muffins and gentle advice have filled a parental need Mari and I have never totally acknowledged. But given our upbringing, it’s not surprising we’d cling to their gentle brand of mothering.
“Right back atcha.” Colleen boots up her laptop and toggles to something on the screen. “Take a look at this.”
She angles the computer so we can see the string of gobbledygook numbers and symbols on the screen. It’s all Greek to me.
Vanessa gives me a questioning look. “I’m sorry, do you want me to go?”
I shake my head and glance at Mari. “You may as well be part of this. Not like any of us can understand what the hell that is.”
“Right, well, I actually do.” Vanessa glances at Mari. “Sorry about messing up your online questionnaire.”
That’s right, she altered the forms. I’m suddenly reminded of her answers to the questions about marriage.
And as she moves closer to make room for Colleen, I’m reminded of other things. That women smell nice and have hair that tickles pleasantly against the back of my hand. Not that I’m noticing that stuff. Or that her skin is soft where her forearm brushes mine.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Tight squeeze.”
“No problem.” My voice sounds strained, and Mari gives me a look.
Meanwhile, Colleen points to her laptop. “You see this string of code right here? Take a closer look at this part.”
I know I should be looking at the screen, but I catch myself watching Vanessa’s face instead. She slips on her glasses, and the graceful intelligence in her face makes my heart squeeze.
“Wow,” she says. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide his location. Looks like it’s set up to appear as though it’s coming from a web portal in Kansas.”
“I figure that’s the location of the portal’s data center, but check this out.” Colleen points to another spot. “He slipped up. From what I can tell, this appears to be coming from an IP address right here in Oregon.”
Vanessa peers closer and nods. “Great catch. And right below that—what’s this about?”
“I noticed that, too.” Colleen glances at me and gives a quick nod. “Nice eye.”
The two of them banter some more about encryption and firewalls and a bunch of other stuff I don’t understand. Colleen keeps glancing at me, and I’m starting to suspect she can read my mind. That despite my best intent to keep my thoughts about Vanessa professional, Colleen’s picked up on my attraction to her.
I clear my throat. “We should probably let you get back on the road.” I touch the contract in front of Vanessa, aware that my hand is inches from her arm. “It’s going to take you a while to get through that.”
Mari gives me an odd look before turning her attention to Vanessa. “You’re more than welcome to stay in one of the vacant cabins,” she says. “It’s a long drive back to Bend, and spending a night on site would give you a better feel for the place.”
“Right, yes.” I swallow hard, the thought of Vanessa sleeping close by filling my head with all kinds of thoughts I shouldn’t have. “It might help you to make your decision.”
“Thanks, but I should get back to Bend.” She grabs the stack of paperwork and stands up, tapping it once on the table. “My cousin’s hosting some fancy dinner at the resort. I promised I’d be there.”
“Of course.” Relief and disappointment wash through me in equal parts. “Let me walk you to your car.”
Dumb. What a dumb offer. It’s a job interview, not a date.
But Vanessa just smiles. “Thanks.” She extends a hand to Colleen first. “Very nice to meet you.”
Colleen gives her hand a firm shake. “I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”
“Same.” Vanessa turns to Mari. “It was a pleasure meeting you as well.”
“Likewise.” Mari stands and slips a business card out of the pocket on her briefcase. “If you have any questions about the benefits package or the details of the offer, please call me anytime.”
“I will, thanks.” Vanessa slips the card into her purse and turns to me. “I’m parked out in front of the lodge.”
“I’m walking back there anyway.” I let her go first, then worry she’ll think I’m checking out her ass. Goddammit, I should have paid more attention in that HR workshop Mari gave.
But soon we’re walking side by side across the parking lot, the early summer sun bathing us in warm, syrupy light. On the western horizon, the red-gold dirt of the Cascade foothills seems to glow. There’s a grassy field to the west where an irrigation system gives a steady tsk-tsk-tsk, scolding me for thinking impure thoughts about Vanessa.
“Is all of this part of the Juniper Ridge property?” she asks.
“Yeah, we’ve got a little over 50,000 acres. Members of BONK planned to expand and eventually build a sports stadium over there by the waterpark.”
“That’s right, I read about the waterpark.” She grins and flutters the papers of the contract. “Definitely a job perk I’ll take into consideration.”
“There’s a world-class climbing area just north of here.” I point toward the ridge where the basalt cliffs cling to shreds of late sunlight. “In case that’s a selling point.”
“Noted,” she says. “I do love rock climbing. And I read somewhere that there’s a lake for paddling?”
“You haven’t seen it yet?”
She shakes her head. “I meant to ask for a tour, but we got busy.”
“Damn, I should have offered you one.” This is why I shouldn’t be in charge of hiring.
“It’s okay. I really do need to get back, but maybe I could come out again soon for the tour?”
“We’ll make it happen.” The eagerness in my voice makes me want to hurl tomatoes at my own junk. Luckily, we’ve reached the edge of the parking lot, where an older-looking Lexus SUV sits next to Gabe’s vintage Mustang.
Vanessa hits the key fob to unlock her car and smiles. “I recognized Gabe’s car, so I figured this was an okay spot to park.”
“You’ll have your own designated parking spot.” That’s assuming she accepts the job. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. “One of the perks of an administrative position.”
Opening the rear door, she sets her bag on the floor of the backseat. “What about lodging? I know the ad said that’s provided, but would I have to sleep with someone else?”
Her word choice seems to register in her brain at the same time it does mine, and her cheeks flush crimson. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, that’s okay. You’d have your own private cabin.”
“Great. Perfect.” She bites her lip. “This might be an awkward question, but—”
“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” Fuck, that was dumb. I have no idea what she’s going to ask, but experience tells me it’s something personal like my breakup with Andrea Knight or the Dave Wienerman scandal. “I mean, you can ask anything.”
She gives me an odd look. “Okay, um—I was wondering about pets.”
I blink. “Pets?”
“Dogs, specifically.” Her cheeks flush just a little. “I’ve always wanted one, and this seemed like a good chance to adopt a dog.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” I’m such an idiot. “You can definitely have pets in your cabin. As many as you like, dogs or cats or zebras or pterodactyls.”
She laughs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just a dog will do. Thanks.”
God, she’s beautiful with that color in her cheeks and the sun glinting in her hair.
Which is why I take a step back. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms.…Vanessa.”