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.”
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