Moonlight Over Seattle. Callie Endicott

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.”