Jordan found the models were pleased to sign releases that might get their pictures or names into a national publication. Jackie had obviously told everyone the story about the photographer and they were filled with admiration for Nicole.
“I almost didn’t apply to Moonlight Ventures because I thought she wouldn’t be interested in representing someone who wasn’t already famous,” Jackie said. “But I decided to take a chance and she was so nice.”
Martin laughed. “I applied in case I got a chance to meet her. She was awesome and now I’m making money as a model. Who’d have thought?”
“I was really nervous when Nicole and her partners bought Moonlight Ventures,” Cara Williams confessed. “Mr. McClaskey took such good care of everybody and I thought they’d dump most of us since we hadn’t become superstars. They didn’t and I was so grateful. Then I got worried whether they’d know how to run a talent agency, but I’m getting more calls than ever.”
The general consensus was the same—they were glad Nicole was their agent. Jordan jotted down several potential quotes, then said goodbye and went to join Nicole, who sat on a bench near the door, reading something on an e-reader. As he approached she turned off the device and stood.
“All set?”
“Sure.”
It was a bad time to be leaving the gym, with afternoon commuter traffic at its worst.
“Traffic is one of the reasons I’m especially grateful I don’t have a regular nine-to-five job,” Jordan said as he inched his car out onto the road.
“True, and I’ve been glad that my job is flexible enough that I can usually avoid it as well. I feel for people who don’t have options.”
“I have a friend who actually likes commuting. Dan keeps a supply of lecture CDs and audio books and says it’s his time,” Jordan explained. “When he gets home, it’s all about mowing the lawn and taking out the garbage, washing the windows and completing other jobs his wife finds for him. Dori keeps him really busy.”
“Too bad he has such a demanding wife.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Except that you made it sound as if anything he does around the house is because his wife requires him to do it. Did they buy the house together, or move into her place?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Dan bought it a couple of years before they met.”
“Then is it his belief that Dori keeps him busy, or yours?”
“Mine,” Jordan conceded. “I guess I simply don’t get the suburbs and white picket fence routine.”
“Yes,” Nicole mused, “I was surprised to find myself buying a house as well. Perhaps I was looking for something.” Her voice almost sounded wistful.
“Something you can find in real estate?” he asked.
“More the illusion, I suppose.”
“And what was that?” he pressed, thinking her answer might help explain her decision to leave modeling and move to Seattle.
“Never mind. It’s personal.”
“You’re the one who wanted to avoid interview subjects while we’re on the road.”
Nicole let out a derisive sound. “I’m not stupid—your questions have more to do with the magazine article than casual conversation.”
She was right and Jordan sighed. No wonder she seemed to have trouble regarding him as a responsible, ethical journalist. “Okay, what are your hobbies?” he asked the first thing that came to mind.
“I like reading, especially biographies.”
“What are you reading now?”
“Alexander Hamilton. I’m behind. I saw the musical in New York and am finally getting around to the book it’s based on.”
Jordan nodded. “What else do you enjoy?”
“Why does this still sound like an interview?”
“Sorry. Should we sit in silence?”
“That would be awkward as well. Why don’t you tell me about some of your special interests?”
He thought about it, not wanting to reveal too much. “As you already know, traveling is one of the big ones. And before you ask, I’ve enjoyed all the countries I’ve visited, but for different reasons.”
“I know what you mean. It’s hard to say that a single place is a favorite, because it’s like comparing papayas with grapes. I was always frustrated when my schedule meant I had to leave a country and all I’d seen was the hotel and the photo location. The one time I was in Moscow, I only saw the Hermitage from a distance.”
Once before, when she’d alluded to something similar, he couldn’t deny that he’d been dismissive, even derisive, implying she felt sorry for herself without a valid reason. Now he considered what it would be like to be in Athens and not be able to visit the Acropolis, or in Paris and miss seeing Notre Dame. Or not being able to just laze a few days away in Hawaii. He would feel extremely deprived.
“That’s like being invited to a feast,” he said, “and only getting to sniff the scent rising from the table.”
“Yes. I’d like to try road trips. You know, driving cross-country, maybe following the old Route 66. Or it would be interesting to visit all the Civil War sites. Then there are the national parks. It feels strange when I talk to someone from Australia who raves about the Petrified Forest in Arizona and I have to admit that I haven’t been there.”
Jordan thought back to his childhood and the times they’d been in the car, his parents arguing while he and his sisters poked each other in the back seat.
“Road trips might be over-romanticized,” he said. “We did a few when I was a kid.”
“Where did you go?”
“There was a trip to the Grand Canyon.”
“That’s an amazing place. Did you ride the mules down to the canyon floor?”
“Yes.” He snickered. “Terri picked out the most cantankerous mule she could find, one that’s usually left in the corral or ridden by the mule driver. They got along great. The driver couldn’t believe it.”
“That sounds like Terri.”
“You bet. Mom and Dad joked about taking the mule back to California and keeping him in our backyard.”
Nicole’s voice was soft. “That must be a good memory.”
It was good. Now that he thought about it, the arguing hadn’t been on road trips, but around town. Vacations were the times when the Masterses had been a family. Jordan’s standby position was to forget his childhood or only recall the bad parts, but that didn’t provide a complete picture.
“When was your family at its best?” he asked curiously. “On vacation?”
“We didn’t take that many, since we were on the go so much, partly for my parents’ work as fashion buyers, and partly when I was on assignment.” Her lips curved. “But there was one time we flew up to my aunt’s funky little cabin on the Northern California coast. It verged on primitive and definitely wasn’t something my parents usually liked.”
“Which is...?” Jordan prompted.
“Luxury hotels with room service. Anyhow, Mom went there often when she was a kid and Dad had visited a few times, too, so I guess nostalgia helped. We all collected shells and sea glass, along with so much driftwood, we couldn’t get it into our suitcases and had to ship it home. I remember being supremely happy, and I think everyone else was, too. The greatest part was being able to walk on the beach with Emily and just be sisters.”
It wasn’t quite the answer Jordan had expected, but maybe that was par for the course when it came to childhood memories. What he couldn’t explain was his sudden wish that he could have been there with Nicole, picking up shells on the beach.
Chapter Ten
NICOLE WONDERED WHAT Jordan was thinking about; there was a relaxed smile on his face, as if he was contemplating something pleasant. Probably her imagination.
The traffic was stop-and-go, even on surface streets.
“I’m sorry,” he said afte
r a particularly long wait on the freeway. “My talk with the other models probably put us in even worse traffic than if we’d left immediately.”
“I doubt it made much difference and you’re the one paying the price, if there is one. All I have to do is sit back and relax while you drive.”
“How about avoiding this mess by getting a bite to eat? Or do you have plans?”
“No plans, so I guess it’s all right.”
A freeway exit was ahead and Jordan went off with a string of other vehicles. He seemed to know where he was headed and soon turned into a restaurant parking lot.
“I eat here often,” he said.
Nicole made sure to get out before he had a chance to walk around to the passenger side. She had a feeling the restaurant was a place where he normally took a date. If they were observed, she wanted this to appear to be what it was, a simple business dinner.
“Mr. Masters,” the maître d’ greeted him, “how nice to see you. Did you have a pleasant trip to Fiji?”
“Excellent. I didn’t make a reservation, but we were stuck in traffic and stopping for dinner made more sense than sitting in gridlock. Is there any possibility of getting a table?”
“It’s before the rush and there’s always room for you.” The man’s gaze shifted to Nicole and he bowed slightly. “Ms. George, isn’t it? I read that you had moved to Seattle. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Nicole acknowledged. The restaurant was the sort of high-class establishment where the staff expected to see people from the news. As time passed, she’d be recognized less often and become more anonymous. Agents simply didn’t have the same public profile.
With Jordan there to interview and probe her transition to a behind-the-scenes agent, she was asking herself the kind of questions he might have asked, such as...how would she feel about becoming a face in the crowd?
Being human, the answer was complicated. Part of her would miss the attention. She recalled reruns of an old television series she’d seen as a kid. The theme song had said something about being in a place where everyone knew your name. Undoubtedly it was nice to be recognized in certain situations.
“What are you thinking about?” Jordan asked as they were seated at a discreetly secluded table.
“Honestly? About what it will be like when waiters don’t recognize me any longer. It isn’t as if I’m known everywhere I go, but for a while there will be restaurants like this one, where I’ve never eaten and I’m still greeted by name.”
“Will it bother you if people forget?”
“It’s inevitable they’ll forget, so there’s no ‘if’ about it. I bet even the most famous actors and actresses walk into places where people don’t recognize them. And once they move out of the public eye, they’re naturally recognized less often.”
“You sound pragmatic about it.”
“There isn’t much point in being anything else.”
His intense brown eyes studied her. Jordan had the same rugged good looks as a man like Matt Damon, only his coloring was dark. No doubt Jordan had sat in this restaurant many times with a woman who’d felt fortunate to enjoy his attention for the evening. She might have felt the same...if she didn’t know every word from her mouth could end up in print.
“You still haven’t said whether it will bother you to be unknown,” he prompted.
“I don’t think it will, but no one can say for sure how they’ll react as time goes on.”
“You aren’t a diva.”
“And you sound surprised by that.”
“I’m always surprised when I look in the rearview mirror and see my preconceptions lying in pieces on the road.”
Grinning, Nicole sipped from the goblet of ice water the waiter had brought. Jordan wasn’t the only one whose beliefs had been run over by current experience.
“It’s odd,” she said, “when you realize how many alternate realities are possible in life.”
“How do you mean?”
“If certain things had been different, we might have become friends, the way you and Emily were. I know you and Em are the same age, but you were only two years older than me and we lived close to each other.”
“So what would have had to be different?”
“I’m sure it would have helped if I hadn’t seen you as an arrogant egotist and you hadn’t seen me as a brain-dead puppet.”
He grimaced. “You knew I called you that?”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “Of course I did. There were kids who couldn’t wait to tell me whatever names you or someone else devised for me. High school was the worst. You were the star, whether it was in soccer or one of the other sports, while most kids either resented me or tried to suck up in hopes of getting something.”
“You were invited to parties, but you mostly didn’t go. The other kids thought you were too stuck-up.”
“I was embarrassed to explain my parents wouldn’t let me because they were afraid I’d mess up my clean teen image.”
He looked rueful. “Our fellow students probably would have resented that as well.”
“Probably. Lissa Anderson was furious when I sneaked out to her birthday bash and my parents showed up to rescue me from the wild crowd, then called the police after we were safely away. It caused quite a ruckus. Lissa said she’d been humiliated in front of everyone who mattered and would never forgive me. I didn’t get many invitations after that. She made sure of it.”
His brow creased. “Did I go to Lissa’s party?”
“Yes, but you were drunk by nine. Lissa’s parents weren’t there and they hadn’t locked up their liquor. Most of the kids were drinking.”
“I’m impressed you remember.”
“Well...” Nicole hesitated, wondering if she should tell him what had happened, but it wasn’t important enough to keep secret. “Mostly I remember because when I went out to the patio for air, you grabbed me and gave me a very hot kiss.”
* * *
JORDAN’S MOUTH WENT DRY. In his high school years he would have been mortified to know he’d kissed “the brain-dead puppet.” Now he’d give a lot to remember it—which made him a fool, since he was already having a difficult enough time controlling his response to her.
“Should I apologize?” he asked finally.
Nicole chuckled with easy humor. “If it mattered, I wouldn’t have mentioned it. We were kids. You were a typical teenage boy, into sports and cars. I was a weird teenage girl with one foot in high school and the other in the bizarre world of modeling.”
At the moment, trying to wrap his brain around the image of them pressed closed together was too much of a challenge, so he focused on her choice of words.
“Do you tell your clients that modeling is a bizarre world?”
“I’m honest with them.”
“Does your family appreciate the description? You mentioned that they made the decisions about your career until you were nineteen.”
Her gaze dropped to the menu. “I don’t say it to them, since they’d consider it a criticism. As fashion buyers they love the culture surrounding haute couture and advertising. Having a daughter they could promote as a model involved them even deeper in the international fashion scene and gave them even more influence.”
“Is it a criticism?”
She lifted her eyes again and stared at him frankly. “Every life, every career, every choice we make is full of pros and cons. When I was a kid, the only reason I knew my parents’ life in the fashion industry was bizarre was when I saw how other people lived. Maybe the hardest part was knowing my sister was getting left out. It kept us from being as close as we should have been. I love Emily, but we don’t have much in common and I don’t know how to bridge the gap, especially now that she’s married and starting a family in another state.”
“Why especially?”
“Because I don’t expect marri
age and children will be a part of my life.”
His start of surprise must have been obvious, for her brow rose and she regarded him with a bland expression.
“That’s unusual. Why don’t you think your life will include those things?” he asked.
“You think it’s perfectly all right for a cynical columnist to be happy with his bachelor life, but a woman can’t make the same choice without it being questionable?” she countered.
Jordan felt the walls closing in him again...cave walls and he was a Neanderthal. Only a man mired in old-fashioned stereotypes assumed all women wanted marriage and children. Still, his gut told him that Nicole wasn’t being entirely truthful. But the article he was writing wasn’t about her love life and asking out of personal interest was too, well, personal.
He’d be wise to keep his distance from anything approaching intimacy. Yet his job as a reporter was to get at the real Nicole. It was a quandary he didn’t know how to resolve.
* * *
BARTON DROVE TOWARD his house, whistling happily. He was tired—short nights could do that to a guy—but some things were worth a few after-the-fact yawns. Monday’s game had gone into extra innings and he was still catching up on sleep. He’d offered to leave at ten and, to his delight, Chelsea had made a face at him.
“Leave?” she’d asked. “With the score tied and the home team needing support? What kind of fan are you?”
The Mariners had won the game at midnight. Chelsea had cheered and clapped along with the faithful diehards in the stadium, and then they’d made their way to the parking garage. With the late hour, the traffic wasn’t bad and getting home hadn’t taken long.
Part of him had wanted to kiss Chelsea good-night, but she’d stopped him from even going up the stairs to her apartment door. Instead he’d watched until she was safely inside, then strode home to slide into bed and think about what a great evening it had been.
Now as Barton came down the street, he saw Chelsea walking up the sidewalk in shorts and a light sweatshirt. The air felt hot to him, but it wasn’t unusual for newcomers to find Seattle weather cooler than people who’d lived there for a while. He braked and rolled down his window.
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