“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.”
“I suppose that’s true. My friend Logan lived all over the world when he was a kid. He says it isn’t until you’ve gone through a winter where trees and bushes mostly look dead, that you truly understand why poets rave about the coming of spring.”
“Logan Kensington is the photographer in your partnership,” Jordan commented, recalling the information he’d been given about Moonlight Ventures. “It’s hard to believe he’s giving up the artistry involved with photography to be an agent.”
“It’s nice to know you respect photographers.”
He’d have to think about her inference that he didn’t respect models.
“Are you and Logan involved?” he asked.
Nicole laughed and Jordan couldn’t deny it was the kind of sound that could make a man lose his head, though he was determined not to be one of them.
“Logan and I are friends,” she said. “We’ve been friends for years and intend to stay friends for the rest of our lives.
The same with Adam. Rachel isn’t involved with them, either. It’s amazing to me how many people struggle with the idea of men and women just liking each other without romance or sex being a part of it.”
“Then there’s no ‘friends with benefits’ going on?”
“Never.” She let out a small laugh. “And I’ve been authorized to tell you that, despite your status as a journalist.”
The humor made her face glow and Jordan had to remind himself that he was a journalist, not a randy teenager. The mystery was why he hadn’t panted after Nicole all those years ago. Except maybe he had; now that he looked back, he had to admit it wasn’t only irritation he’d experienced—beneath it had been a whole lot of old-fashioned lust.
The important thing to remember now was that he was capable of restraining himself.
* * *
“I’LL TAKE YOUR name and your son’s portfolio, but I can’t make an appointment,” Chelsea told the determined woman in front of her. “If the agency is interested, someone will call.”
Inside she was quaking, but was glad her voice sounded steady.
“I know they’ll want to represent my son.”
The woman grabbed the kid up hard next to her and Chelsea saw how unhappy he looked. She winked at the boy, just slightly, and saw his shy smile.
“Thank you for bringing his photograph by for consideration,” she said, deliberately putting the folder into a wire basket. “That’s all I can do for you today.”
“I... I’ll find a way to report you to the owners for being obstructive.”
Chelsea eyed the woman and realized she was one of the bullying stage mothers Nicole and Adam had warned her about. Well, she was tired of being pushed around.
“That’s fine,” she answered evenly. “Feel free to make any report you like. As I said, I’ll pass the portfolio to one of the agents.”
Snorting, the woman stomped out of the reception area with her child in tow. The boy turned his head and gave Chelsea a wave his mother couldn’t see. Chelsea waved back; he was truly adorable. What a shame his mom was a nightmare.
As the front door shut behind her, Adam emerged from the back area. Chelsea couldn’t stop the grab in her stomach, wondering if he was unhappy about the way she’d handled the situation.
“Good job,” he told her instead. “Stage parents can be a royal pain. I’ve encountered them numerous times in my career and Nicole already has her own collection of horror stories to tell from here in Seattle.”
“I guess I might have handled it better,” Chelsea answered.
Adam looked reflective. “There’s no way to know—each person is different. I only heard the last part as I came down the hall, but you did exactly what we told you to do. It’s too bad you had to face a Gorgon on your first day.”
“Uh, inside I’m just...melting gelatin salad right now.”
“That’s okay. A lot of us only pretend to be tough. But I like the image of melting gelatin salad.”
Chelsea didn’t know if he was just being nice because Nicole had known her before, but maybe it didn’t matter. Nice was nice.
“It’s past five, so let’s lock the doors and go home,” Adam was saying. “Can I give you a lift to Nicole’s house?”
“That’s awful considerate of you, but I want to practice with the buses. Luckily I’ll have my car on Monday.”
“Nothing like having your own transportation.”
Later, as Chelsea approached the apartment stairs, an SUV pulled into the neighbor’s driveway. A tall, studious-looking man got out and grinned at her. He had an armload of books and papers that started sliding, so she dashed to help catch everything.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m a teacher and my students wouldn’t appreciate it if their work got lost or damaged.”
“I imagine not. What grade?”
“Fifth. They still have a hint of innocence at that age. I get fewer wisecracks than when I taught older students.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It is. By the way, I’m Barton Smith.”
“Chelsea Masters. I’m staying in Nicole’s guesthouse for a while.”
Barton was attractive, with broad shoulders, brown hair and blue eyes. He looked as if he was in his midthirties.
“Then we’re neighbors. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Same here.”
He started toward his house, before stopping and looking back at her. “Say, would you like to go out to dinner or a movie this weekend?”
“Sure. Oh, that is... I just got here and I don’t know if my brother will want to do something. He lives here, too. I probably shouldn’t make any plans. You know...while I’m getting settled. Some other time, maybe?”
She liked his smile and felt awful about her wishy-washy answer.
“Family first. I’ll check back with you.”
Barton went inside his house while Chelsea scurried up the stairs to the front door of the guesthouse apartment. Perhaps she should have explained she’d just broken up with her boyfriend and didn’t want to start dating right away. But would that imply that she thought he was especially interested in her? All he’d done was ask her on a casual outing.
Chelsea groaned and dropped onto the couch. Somehow she had to stop being such a limp noodle.
* * *
BARTON PUT HIS students’ papers in his home office and went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. His new neighbor seemed nice, just like Nicole George. He’d hardly believed his eyes when he realized she was the one who’d bought the house next door. They’d talked several times and she was always friendly and normal, quite different from how he’d imagined a supermodel would act.
He hadn’t considered asking her for a date though—it hadn’t even occurred to him to think of her that way.
Since Ellyn had walked out on their marriage two years ago, he’d pretty much kept his head down and concentrated on getting through each day. But his brother, Peter, kept saying it was time to dive into the dating scene again. Barton hadn’t been interested until seeing Chelsea Masters and the thoughtful way she’d helped save his students’ tests and other papers.
Up close he’d seen bruises on her face, visible despite her makeup, and wondered if that also had something to do with her not wanting to go out for a while.
With a mrrooow, his cat, Spike, jumped onto the kitchen island. Spike had dry food in a bowl, but preferred human chow when he could get it.
“You aren’t supposed to be there, pal,” Barton scolded absentmindedly.
Spike purred. He’d lived a hard life before showing up at the school where Barton taught. There were several notches missing from his right ear, his tail was kinked in the middle, and a dip on one side of his jaw suggested it had been broken at some point. The students had named him Spike and fed him scraps, which had led to Barton taking the little con artist home, right before the Christmas break.
Grabbing Spike and his plate, Barton headed for the office, only to discover the cat had reached out a paw and filched a slice of roast beef from the sandwich.
“Fine.”
Barton dumped the sandwich in the cat bowl and went to make another one. There was no point in getting annoyed with Spike—the cat had learned to survive any way he could. And at least he’d embraced a litter box and cushy indoor life with enthusiasm. His favorite spot to nap was a south-facing window where he could catch rays on sunny days and watch birds on the other side of the glass.
Adopting him had felt like closing the final chapter on Ellyn. She never would have tolerated an animal in the house, particularly a beat-up tomcat with the table manners of Attila the Hun.
For some reason Barton wondered how Chelsea Masters would react to Spike. She’d acted a little funny when he’d asked her out—was she trying to put him off with her excuse, or was he just being too sensitive? He didn’t want to
get seriously involved with anyone right away, but an occasional dinner or other outing would be nice—eating a meal with Spike just wasn’t the same as eating with a human being.
He’d let his social ties slide after the divorce.
A couple of weeks ago, Barton had gone to dinner at another teacher’s house where he’d met her husband and kids. While pleasant, it was awkward for a single man to spend time with a married couple. Still, it was a start. His brother was right. If he didn’t start coming out of his post-divorce fog, he’d miss out on a lot.
Chapter Five
LATE IN THE afternoon Jordan stood and told Nicole he’d be back at seven thirty, ready for the second trip to the high school. Though he dreaded sitting through the same performance again, he respected her for wanting to give the kids a second look.
He went around to the entrance of the garage apartment and knocked. Chelsea was pale and shaky when she answered the door and he mentally castigated Moonlight Ventures for the hard day she must have had. He wasn’t being reasonable and knew it, but she was his sister and he didn’t want her upset.
“Ready for dinner?” he asked.
“Uh, sure.”
“What kind of food appeals tonight?” he asked, as she locked the door and followed him downstairs.
“Whatever is good for you.”
“Really, what would you like?” he persisted. When was Chelsea going to learn that she had a right to have what she wanted some of the time?
“Anything is fine.”
He sighed. “How about Mexican? There’s a place at the mall.”
“I like Mexican.”
Jordan knew she did, which was why he’d suggested it. Food choices weren’t as important as not taking crap from a boyfriend, but it was a start. He wanted her to stick up for herself.
“How did your first day at the agency go?” he asked, trying to make it a casual query.
“Fine. Nicole is awfully nice and so is Adam. I wish he could stay, but he has a string of modeling jobs over the next several weeks.”
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