It was a great stadium, with the feel of an old-time ballpark. Not that she knew much about old-time ballparks, but it was what Barton claimed and she was willing to take his word. One thing was sure, he consumed his mustard-laden fries with every sign of liking them that way.
“Do you think you’re going to enjoy your job at the agency?” he asked.
“It’s different because I worked for a large company in the past, but it’s easier at Moonlight Ventures to see how much difference I can make.”
“Nice. That turns it into more than a job.”
“I guess it does.”
Just then a Mariners player hit a long ball and Barton leaned forward as he cheered. Chelsea shifted in her seat. It was a good hit, but it was his arm brushing against her that consumed her attention. He was dressed in a short-sleeved cotton shirt and the muscles flexing in his bare forearm showed he was in good shape. Barton was awfully attractive, something she didn’t want to keep noticing.
Friends, she reminded herself.
“You know, I like the way the Mariners play,” she said a little later, when he returned from buying lemonade for them both.
“Ah, my plan is working,” he said with satisfaction. “I figure if I get someone into the stadium, the Mariners will do the rest.”
“I’m already a fan of Safeco Field, but I can’t claim to be a Mariners fan just yet. I just like the way they play, that’s all.”
“Then we’ll have to keep coming back until you’re hooked.”
Tingles went up and down her spine. As much as she didn’t want to think of Barton as anything except a friend, there was something exciting about getting acquainted with a guy who was already talking about future...baseball games.
It had been a long time since she’d gotten excited about much of anything.
* * *
JORDAN SPENT TUESDAY morning trying to write his column, but his mind kept wandering to how Nicole had looked—earnest and energized—as she’d dealt with her clients on the winter wear photo shoot. They had responded to her, too, obviously trusting that she had their welfare at heart.
Perhaps it would help if he studied her file rather than keep on denying how much thoughts of her were distracting him. Except that made things worse since the file included numerous photos. And the pictures that hadn’t previously interested him now served as a reminder of the effect she was having on his body.
Finally he went for a run, then came back and forced himself into finishing a couple of columns. He liked having a stockpile ready—it helped to avoid submitting something that didn’t meet his standards.
He ate dinner at a favorite restaurant, but became concerned when he noticed a man berating his companion for something inconsequential. Jordan saw evidence of bruises on her arms.
His stomach churned.
As in his sister’s case after the car accident, there could be legitimate reasons for the injuries, but it was hard to interpret the wariness in the woman’s eyes as anything but fear. It could have easily gone that direction with Chelsea...and he wasn’t entirely convinced it hadn’t.
When the woman stood and went toward the restroom, he tried to follow casually and while he waited for her, he pulled a worn card from his wallet. He’d been given it when doing a column on domestic violence.
He cleared his throat as she emerged from the restroom, hoping he wouldn’t startle her. “I might be butting in here,” he said, “but I have a sister who’s gone through a lot and...well, here.”
He handed her the card and she looked at it, then nodded silently before tucking it deep in her purse.
“Thanks.”
Jordan felt helpless, but knew that to push any further might put the woman at greater risk.
A cold shower, some work on a possible second column about domestic violence, and three BBC documentary films later, Jordan finally fell asleep.
* * *
CHELSEA SEEMED CAUTIOUSLY cheerful as Jordan came through the agency door on Wednesday afternoon.
“You look good,” he said, “the job must be going well.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed with obvious sincerity. “I also got to see the Mariners game on Monday night at Safeco. It was loads of fun.”
“How did that happen?”
“Barton was given two tickets by someone at the school and he said it was a chance to draft a new fan for his team.”
“That’s nice, but is it wise to get involved with someone so soon?”
A soft noise drew his attention to Nicole, who stood a few feet down the hallway, her eyes narrowed. But it was nothing compared to the mulish set of Chelsea’s mouth.
“Jordan, whether I do or don’t get involved with anyone is my decision,” she said. “By the way, I buzzed Nicole when I saw you coming toward the door.”
“Here I am,” Nicole added pleasantly. “We’d better get going.”
Outside in the parking lot, Jordan walked deliberately toward his car. “I’ll drive.”
Nicole’s face was amused as she gave him the address of their destination. Though she said nothing, Jordan felt as if sexist was emblazoned on his forehead. And not just because of the driving issue. Just how much was a brother supposed to say to a grown-up sister?
“I don’t have a problem with women drivers,” he said, programming the address into his GPS.
“I never said you did.”
“Did you think it...that I’m a sexist who has to stay behind the wheel?”
“I believe it’s possible you’re a sexist about a great many things. Most men I’ve known are, even my closest male friends, though they don’t like admitting it any more than you apparently do.”
“The problem is, the target keeps changing,” he said, feeling annoyed despite having no reason for it.
“How do you mean?”
“I’m talking about the way an enlightened man is supposed to think and act.”
“Ah, but enlightenment is a continual process and every time there’s a setback for women, I think some of us respond by doubling down on our expectations.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’ll put it this way: the space program would have never reached the moon if they’d only aimed at the top of a mountain.”
It still didn’t make sense, yet in a way he understood.
“You might be right, about the moonshot, anyhow. But I still say that it’s uncomfortable not knowing how a man is supposed to respond on various issues.”
“Does that include brotherly advice versus unwelcome interference?”
Nicole’s face was expressionless as she fastened her seat belt, but Jordan remembered the look in her eyes when he’d been talking to Chelsea.
“I’m not interfering,” he insisted. “Look, you don’t understand the circumstances. Chelsea just left a really bad relationship and—”
Nicole held up a hand. “I told you it’s none of my business. If Chelsea wants me to know, she will tell me.”
“Then isn’t how I talk with her about it also none of your business?”
“You’re right,” Nicole conceded unexpectedly. “Besides, she seems capable of telling you herself when you’ve gone too far.”
“You think I went too far?”
“I thought we just agreed that it isn’t my business.”
Jordan laughed ruefully. “True, but I’m still worried about her.” He didn’t even know why he was pushing the subject. He’d already realized he should let Chelsea be an adult, the way Nicole was doing.
“In that case,” Nicole said, “what I think is that it’s nice you care so much about your sister.”
Curiously pleased, Jordan started his car. Yet, he realized, he could have made better use of time. He’d been talking with Nicole for several minutes about nothing to do with the article. Not that they could have gotten i
nto anything very much since they had agreed to suspend the interviews while driving. But he needed to keep on track; the sooner he finished the PostModern articles, the sooner he might get a better night’s sleep.
* * *
NICOLE STEPPED FROM the small sports car, barely touching the polite hand Jordan had offered. She didn’t want to appear as if she was avoiding his touch, even if that was the case.
“Why a gym?” he asked as they walked into the building.
“They’re shooting sports gear ads for a local company that is poised to go national.”
“Are the models new? That is, why come to this particular photo shoot? Or is it the potential for national exposure?”
“The exposure has nothing to do with it. There are seven locations that I’m not visiting today, including two with clients on their first jobs. Four of the six models at this shoot have experience, but I’ve had mixed reports on the photographic studio.”
“I see.”
His eyes were enigmatic and she didn’t know what he was making of her explanation. Truthfully, while she would have come regardless, she wanted Jordan to observe this particular photo shoot. After the comments he’d made, she’d decided he should see some of the realities of modeling and suspected this would be one of the more challenging jobs.
Inside the gym she forgot her speculations and focused on the models being given the outfits they were supposed to wear. Then they were directed to the locker rooms to dress.
Jordan was speaking with the photography crew, asking them to sign releases for the pictures he wanted to take himself.
“I’m nervous,” Crystal Draper said as she came outside, looking cute in a trim biking outfit.
“You’ll be fine.”
She was fine in the end, though she had to work for it. The photographer wanted “honest perspiration,” by which he meant Crystal riding an exercise bike until moisture gathered on her forehead.
Periodically Nicole was aware of Jordan snapping his own pictures.
“What’s his thing about?” another model, Martin Carter, asked during a break, gesturing toward Jordan. Martin was a college student trying to earn money toward graduate school, though he was still deciding between architecture and engineering.
“That’s Jordan Masters. He’s writing a series of articles for PostModern magazine,” Nicole explained. “There won’t be anything printed about you without your permission. He’s going to ask for a release, and if you don’t want to sign it, that’s entirely your decision.”
“But it might help our careers, right?” Crystal asked. “It’s good exposure to get into a big magazine like PostModern, even if we aren’t paid.”
“True,” Nicole confirmed.
“Then he can take as many pictures of me as he wants.” She gazed at Jordan appreciatively. “He’s sure good-looking, isn’t he?”
“Say it a little louder,” Martin drawled, “I don’t think he heard you the first time.”
Crystal giggled.
There was no question that Jordan had heard. The half smile on his lips reminded Nicole of the teenaged boy she’d known long ago. Did any man completely lose the boy inside...and wasn’t that one of the things women found both appealing and irritating?
Pushing the thought away, she focused on the work. An hour later, her attention was caught by a commotion across the gym with the second photographer. He was shouting and the model was obviously at the point of tears.
Nicole hurried over. “Hey, how is it going?”
The photographer looked disgusted. “The blasted girl doesn’t know how to climb.”
Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Climbing wasn’t one of the skills you specified in your contract with Moonlight Ventures. Jackie fits everything your studio stated you were looking for when you chose her and the others at the go-see.”
“I guess, but I need someone who can scale a climbing wall,” he declared. Loudly.
“Apparently you don’t know how to fill out paperwork and fill in the right boxes and blanks, but I’m not yelling at you for it. Let me work with Jackie and we’ll see what can be done. What shot are you trying to get?”
He described what he wanted, the model in full climb, right hand reaching upward, coyly glancing over her left shoulder.
“That sounds familiar.” Nicole remembered it was the exact pose she’d done for a major sportswear ad a few years earlier.
“Maybe you could take over the shot, since you already know what I want.” His voice was eager, his eyes sharp and speculative.
Jackie’s expression fell.
“That isn’t possible,” Nicole said coolly. “I’m here as the agent for my client, not to take her place. Aside from that, copying another company’s advertising campaign would be unethical. It’s possible you might even get sued.” He couldn’t afford her modeling services, either, but that was beside the point.
“It isn’t going to be exactly the same. For one, that was outdoors, this is in a gym. Anyhow, you just...we didn’t have to use your agency and we don’t have to use it again.”
“That’s absolutely correct,” she agreed smoothly. “And we aren’t required to do business with anyone who doesn’t behave appropriately. This is a two-way street, Mr. Stanton.”
Jordan was approaching, a belligerent glint in his eyes, and Nicole got the strangest idea he was prepared to battle the photographer on her behalf. He halted when she fixed him with a sharp look and shook her head.
But as she started working with Jackie, the stray thought crossed her mind that Jordan might have latent knight-in-shining-armor instincts. It would be an interesting aspect to his self-defined skeptic persona.
A rather endearing one.
* * *
JORDAN WAS CAUGHT between a primitive desire to see the photographer knocked on his ass and admiration at Nicole’s skilled handling of the situation. Stanton had tried to threaten and manipulate her and she hadn’t even flinched. And it had obviously given her client confidence. Jackie listened carefully to Nicole’s instructions and was able to make her way up the climbing wall a few feet.
“I want her toward the top,” the photographer complained once Nicole had Jackie settled in place.
“Then you aren’t as skilled as the woman who shot the ads you claim you aren’t trying to reproduce,” Nicole shot back smoothly. “This is the exact height and position I was in when the original photos were taken.”
Jordan nearly choked, trying to restrain his glee. The photographer was a petulant fool who was too dumb to know he was outclassed and had been beaten at his own game.
“Who does that bimbo think she is?” the guy stalked closer and grumbled to Jordan. He didn’t seem to mind that Nicole was close enough to overhear. “I hope you’re getting all of this down for those articles you’re writing.”
“Absolutely,” Jordan assured him. “It’s always interesting to readers when a man is incompetent and gets rescued by a smart woman. They’ll probably grind their teeth over your pathetic attempt to manipulate her, but what’s a story without drama to give it spice?”
“You... I, that isn’t...” the man sputtered. “You can’t say something like that about me.”
“Don’t worry, you aren’t important enough to mention by name.”
Nicole’s shoulders were shaking, her eyes merry, and Jordan’s body tightened with desire at the sight.
The photographer stared with a horrified expression, then rushed to finish his shots. After another thirty minutes he packed his equipment and went over to the other photographer, who listened, then shook his head and said something that made Stanton shout a curse and stomp from the gym.
It wasn’t long before the rest of the photos were completed and the models had gone to the locker rooms to change into their street clothes.
The remaining photographer walked over to Nicole. He looked te
nse. “Ms. George, I understand there was a problem with Bob Stanton.”
“Yes. He berated my client for not being a climbing expert and then tried to manipulate me into taking her place. That kind of behavior is problematic, at best.”
“I can’t apologize enough. He told me he had a plan to get you into the ads and I told him to forget it, that isn’t how my studio does business. He wants to rescind his release for PostModern. Even though Bob is my employee, I don’t think I can ignore his request. I should say I did employ him. He’s fired, as of this afternoon.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“Today was just the last straw. I’ve given him several chances and while he’s a decent photographer, he won’t follow directions.” He turned to Jordan. “Mr. Masters, pictures of Bob should be excluded. In any case, I’d prefer not having him associated with my studio. It’s tough enough making it in this business without me getting a bad rep.”
The man’s face seemed open and straightforward and Jordan sorted through the releases. He handed over the one for Bob Stanton.
“Stanton isn’t very bright, is he?” Jordan said to Nicole once they were alone. “If he’d been warned not to pull that game, why did he complain to his boss about how it turned out?”
“He was probably trying to tell his side first. I hadn’t planned to say anything, but he must have assumed I would. People like that generally seem to think you’ll behave even worse than they do.”
“But you also wouldn’t have sent any of your clients to work with him again, right?” Jordan hazarded a guess.
“We have a few tigers at the agency who’d chew him up and spit him out, but I wouldn’t inflict him on rookies. His name goes on my watch list for the future.”
“Is it a long list?”
“Nope. I rate studios and photographers for how well they handle various aspects of the work, but there’s only one other name on the list. Now he’ll have Stanton for company. By the way, we can leave now, if you like.”
“Do you mind if I have a private chat with your clients?” Jordan asked. “I need to get releases and ask a few questions.”
“If it’s all right with them, it’s fine with me.”
Moonlight Over Seattle Page 14
