Moonlight Over Seattle. Callie Endicott

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