Читать онлайн книгу «Too Close To Call» автора Barbara Dunlop
Too Close To Call
Barbara Dunlop
Jordan Adamson is in a jam. His idyllic life in Alaska has never been the same since a chance encounter with a twin brother he hadn't known he had. Jordan has to impersonate Jeffrey in front of his closest colleagues, and in L.A., no less! Good thing Jordan met Ashley Baines–she's offered to steer him clear…right to bed!Ashley's got the biggest promotion of her life standing right in front of her, yet all she can see is tall, hunky, laid-back Jeffrey? He's saying all the right things and making all the right moves, but she's never had the urge to touch him before. Can this be the same uptight guy she once knew, who's now back in town after the same hotshot job she's up for?With the lies closing in on Jordan, can Ashley get past the truth once she knows it? Only one thing's for sure, it's gonna be too close to call!
Now, this was kissing
Jordan’s fingertips found the silky skin between Ashley’s short sweater and little skirt. He longed to explore farther, but they’d agreed on just a kiss.
So he focused on her mouth, kissing her longer, harder, deeper. Only coming up for air to pepper the corners of her mouth with mini-kisses, tasting her soft skin, treating himself to her hidden scent where her neck curved into her shoulder.
But the kiss was a lie.
He was living a lie.
She thought he was Jeffrey, and Jeffrey thought she was the enemy. And here in L.A., Jordan Adamson didn’t even exist. Of all the off-limits women in the whole off-limits world, Ashley took first prize.
There was no way for this to turn out well.
Ashley took a step back, slipping from his arms, breaking their touch. “That was…cataclysmic.”
And he so wanted it to.
Dear Reader,
When Colleen Collins and I decided to write two connected books, we knew we had to use the big city—her area of expertise—and the far north, which is mine. We came up with the idea of The Parent Trap for adults, and both realized we were onto something fun.
Throughout the writing I helped her with northern details, such as whether or not you’d find trees on the tundra and how a dogsled works. At the same time she told me about the peculiarities of television executives and where to eat and shop in L.A. It was an experience we’d both like to repeat someday.
I sincerely hope you enjoy meeting Jordan Adamson, the hero in Too Close To Call, along with his long-lost twin brother, Jeffrey Bradshaw, in Too Close for Comfort.
Happy reading,
Barbara Dunlop
Books by Barbara Dunlop
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
848—FOREVER JAKE
901—NEXT TO NOTHING!
HARLEQUIN DUETS
54—THE MOUNTIE STEALS A WIFE
90—A GROOM IN HER STOCKING
98—THE WISH-LIST WIFE
Too Close to Call
Barbara Dunlop
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my dear friend Colleen Collins—city girl extraordinaire.
And for my brilliant editor, Kathryn Lye. We’re not in Kansas anymore!
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u73b868a5-e448-5bac-86ec-a98b1c61d240)
Chapter 2 (#u53126e53-8ef8-58b1-acd0-9cfbaabdc1ca)
Chapter 3 (#uecafe64f-e663-50fa-bff1-8ae12b637560)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
1
“NATIONAL WEATHER says there’s a snowstorm building off the Gulf of Alaska,” Jordan Adamson called to his dispatcher in the reception area of True North Airlines as he tore the printout from his fax machine.
“Is it going to shut us down?” Wally Lane swiveled on his chair, eyebrows lifting. “Cyd’s heading out on the Arctic Luck run in about ten minutes.”
“We’ve got a few hours leeway, but radio Bob and make sure he keeps an eye on it.”
Flying in adverse weather conditions was part of being an Alaskan bush pilot. Though late October snowstorms could be fierce, Jordan didn’t want his pilots taking unnecessary chances. Go or no-go was a combination of meteorological reports, the view outside the cockpit window and gut instinct.
Jordan reached through the window opening from his small office and handed Wally a copy of the report. “Tell Bob to hold tight in Sitka if necessary.” After a second’s pause, he added, “And remind him to—”
“Keep the customer satisfied,” Wally echoed the rest of Jordan’s words with perfect rhythm and intonation.
Jordan rolled his eyes heavenward. The staff at his small airline in Alpine, Alaska had been teasing him for months about his evangelical customer satisfaction mission.
“Bob’s picking up his ex-wife,” said Wally. “He might prefer the storm to holing up with her in Sitka overnight.”
Jordan grinned. “Pilot’s discretion.” He took a step back.
“Roger,” said Wally, with a snappy salute.
The front door opened, and Wally swiveled back to the counter as a man stepped into the reception area. Jordan assumed it was Cyd’s four o’clock passenger.
In that European suit and shiny loafers, the man was overdressed for a plane ride to Arctic Luck. In fact, he was overdressed for anything north of the sixtieth parallel.
The man looked up, and Jordan did a double take. There was something startlingly familiar about him. Had they met before? The man’s eyes widened, and he drew back. For a moment, Jordan wondered if he’d somehow offended him.
While Wally talked to the customer, Jordan turned to the stacks of papers on his desk, making a quick search for a passenger list to check the name. Part of delivering good customer service was remembering your customers’ needs and treating them as though they were important to the business. It was all right there in the Alaska Tourism Association brochure guidelines.
Jordan’s airline currently held first place in this year’s Alaska Tourism customer satisfaction surveys. If he could hang on to the lead for the rest of the season, it would mean free advertising in all of the government brochures next summer. That kind of exposure was sure to increase his business—a necessity if he wanted to add a commuter jet to his fleet.
Which he did.
As soon as possible.
While he located the manifest for the Arctic Luck trip, he heard Cyd land the Cessna. Right on time, but she’d have to be quick with the turnaround if she wanted to beat the snow.
Jordan squinted at the passenger name, hoping it would trigger a memory.
Jeffrey Bradshaw.
The name didn’t mean anything to him. He glanced back through the window, racking his brain. He knew he’d seen the man before.
“JEFFREY BRADSHAW is due back in L.A. on Monday.” Rachel Bowen, a set designer at Argonaut Studios stopped beside the treadmill where Ashley Baines was jogging to the beat of vintage Springsteen.
“What?” Ashley pulled off the headphones, snapping them around her neck.
“Jeffrey. Here. Monday,” said Rachel.
Ashley hit the button on the treadmill control and rocked to an abrupt stop, turning to stare at her friend and co-worker. She drew a deep breath, winded from her workout. “So, that’s it, then.” She wiped a hand across her hair, down over her tight braid. “It’s him against me?”
Rachel nodded. “Sure looks that way.”
Ashley felt her stomach clench. Jeffrey showing up to challenge her for the promotion to vice president wasn’t exactly a surprise, but she had held out a slim hope he’d stay away and leave the field clear.
A fellow acquisitions director at Argonaut, Jeffrey was definitely her most serious competition. He was smart, experienced and connected. He was also crafty, with a ruthless edge that she wouldn’t want to test.
Perspiration tickled her forehead and her temples, and her damp spandex top stuck to the skin between her shoulder blades. She picked up a white towel that she’d hung over the handle of the treadmill and scrubbed it across her forehead, flipping her braid out of the way to dry her neck.
“Got any more scuttlebutt on him?” she asked.
Rachel was a close friend, and a gifted set designer at Argonaut. She was friendly and outgoing, and had an amazing ability to keep her finger on the pulse of office politics.
“Just that he’s checking out locations in Alaska,” said Rachel.
“Alaska?” Ashley blinked in confusion.
“You know. Snow, ice, you have to cut through Canada to get there.”
“His big, innovative idea is Alaska?”
The chairman of the board had let it be known that an innovative new hit series was number one on his wish list right now. Whoever came up with the right series had a huge leg up on the promotion.
Jeffrey had spent the last year on special assignment in New York. What could have given him a sudden interest in Alaska?
“He must be pitching a Northern Exposure thing,” said Rachel.
“A comedy?” Ashley tossed the towel into a nearby bin. Comedies were always risky, but when they hit, they hit big.
“Or an outdoor adventure,” said Rachel.
“Adventure’s on the decline. It’s medical, cop or comedy this year.”
An Alaskan cop? An Alaskan hospital? Neither of those rang true to Ashley. It had to be a comedy.
Shoot. The last thing she needed was for Jeffrey to deliver something more original than her edgy, California-based detective series.
“Think I should add a comedic element?” she asked Rachel, raising her thumb and capturing the nail between her teeth. Maybe straight drama wasn’t the way to go.
“Comedy is big right now,” said Rachel.
Of course it was. Comedies were getting all the attention this year, all the awards, all the ratings. How could she have been so foolish?
Ashley headed for the change rooms. “I should have thought of this earlier.”
“It’s pretty late in the game to switch,” said Rachel.
“I know. It’ll mean redoing the storyboard and the video clips.”
“And rewriting all the scripts.”
Ashley paused with her hand on the change-room door. “It’ll mean redoing the entire presentation. From scratch.” A near impossibility, since this was Saturday, and the pitch meeting with the chairman of the board was scheduled for Monday.
Rachel tucked her dark hair behind her ears. “I suppose you could take a chance to submit it as is.”
Ashley’s hardboiled detective drama suddenly seemed pale and flat, and somehow safe, even if it did have beaches, plenty of buff bods and guaranteed action sequences in every episode.
If Jeffrey was going for broke with a comedy/drama, set in Alaska of all places, she was going to have to make her California location feel fresher and more interesting.
“Think he’s going for broke?” asked Rachel, skipping to keep up with Ashley as she headed down the tiled hallway, past the racket courts.
“Alaska’s a pretty bold move for a setting,” said Ashley. The more she thought about it, the more she realized Jeffrey was taking a risk, pulling out all the stops.
And, why wouldn’t he? It was the promotion of the decade.
She’d made a mistake when she let his absence lull her into a false sense of security. He might not have been in L.A. all year long, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.
“Any way to put off the Board meeting?” Ashley asked. She definitely needed more time.
Rachel stopped in the middle of the hall and gave her an incredulous look.
“You know his secretary, right?” asked Ashley.
Rachel knew everybody.
“Not that well,” said Rachel.
“She got any weaknesses?”
“Chocolate and Chippendale Dancers,” said Rachel.
Ashley smiled. “What about Fire Dance tickets. I hear the male lead is burning up the headlines.”
“You’ve got tickets to Fire Dance?”
“Front row, center, balcony one.” Ashley’s grin widened. “Clive Johnston traded me for the Lakers last week.”
“Throw in dinner at La Salle, and I think I can get you a deal.”
“Done,” said Ashley. “Get her to switch the meeting to Friday.” She stopped at the door to the change room. “You going to be around tonight?”
“You want to grab dinner and sketch out some ideas?”
Ashley nodded. “That would be terrific.”
“Meet you on the deck at the Breakwater Café.”
“Give me half an hour to shower and change.” Ashley pushed open the door with the heel of her palm. Her workout was officially over. She now had more important things to worry about than her glutes.
JORDAN WASN’T GOING to worry about Cyd, even if she was overdue by half an hour. The storm had grown faster and more violent than anyone had predicted. The radios weren’t working, but if she’d gone down, they’d have an emergency beacon signal coming in. They didn’t.
She’d probably landed short of Arctic Luck.
“Everyone but Cyd’s accounted for,” said Wally, hanging up the office telephone and tossing his clipboard onto the counter. “Bob’s holed up in Sitka, and the rest never got off the ground.”
Just then an operator’s voice came over the radio phone.
Jordan was closer, so he grabbed the mike.
It was Cyd. And, thank goodness, she was fine.
But before Jordan could get more than a few particulars, an angry male voice took over. “I’m the passenger who paid to be flown to Arctic Luck,” Jeffrey Bradshaw thundered.
Terrific. Maybe Cyd wasn’t so fine.
“But I was flown to Kati—Kati—”
Jordan didn’t wait for Jeffrey to spit out the word Katimuk. He keyed the mike. “Sorry about that,” he interrupted, putting on a relaxed, professional voice. “Can’t fight the weather. But we’ll get you to Arctic Luck as soon as possible.”
“I need to get there immediately.” The command crackled through the static of the radio waves.
Wally raised his eyebrows.
“Afraid we can’t do that,” said Jordan. Weather delays were a necessary hazard of flying in the North, particularly in the fall. Jeffrey needed to buck up and wait it out.
“Nothing’s impossible,” said Jeffrey. “I’ll contact my office. Have them call another airline.”
Jordan keyed the mike again. “You can call. But, nobody’s going to fly in this.”
“Why?” Jeffrey demanded.
Why? Didn’t they have windows up in Katimuk? There was a good foot of new snow on the ground in Alpine, and more was gusting from the sky.
“Weathered in is weathered in,” said Jordan, shooting Wally a look of amazement. What part of blizzard didn’t Jeffrey understand?
Wally grinned. He’d made a big deal yesterday about how this Jeffrey guy looked exactly like Jordan. And Jordan had to admit there was a bit of a resemblance. But he was beginning to hope that was all they had in common.
Jordan released the mike button. “Please tell me I’m his double in looks only.”
Wally just grinned wider.
The radio stayed silent.
Jordan keyed the mike again. “Nobody will risk an aircraft,” he elaborated, trying not to let the frustration come through in his voice. “And I’m sure you don’t want to risk your life. Stick with Cyd. She knows what she’s doing. She’ll get you out as soon as possible.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Jeffrey. “Your pilot could have landed me in Arctic Luck, but she flew me to Katimuk instead?”
Wally rolled his eyes and started to chuckle at the absurdity of the questions.
“She landed where she felt the plane and passengers would be safe,” said Jordan. Be thankful you’re alive, he almost added. Be it Katimuk or Timbuktu, safe on the ground was safe on the ground.
“Bull,” Jeffrey barked.
“Charming,” said Wally.
“And nothing like me,” said Jordan.
“THERE WAS NOTHING even remotely funny about that, was there?” Ashley let her head fall back in defeat on the couch in her small Westwood apartment.
Rachel clicked a button on the remote control, turning off the last video clip for the detective series, and the television screen went blank.
“Not particularly,” she admitted.
They were going to have to reshoot every clip.
“What if Detective Moonie is older, more worldly-wise, jaded…” Ashley searched her brain for possibilities. Their original idea was definitely not going to fly as comedic.
“If he’s older, we’ll lose the buff bod,” said Rachel. “Pecs sell. You know that.” She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, moving immediately into a graceful toe touch.
“So do tight butts,” Ashley pointed out. “Could we have an older, worldly-wise detective with a great butt?”
Rachel straightened, pulled down her cropped T-shirt and laughed. “I can see it all now, Detective Moonie, health club maniac, near retirement and just in from the mean streets of New York, decides to take a part-time gig as a lifeguard, faces danger, thrills and jokes while chasing bikini-clad women along Malibu Beach.”
“Okay, the butt would be tough to do on an old guy. What if we make him younger? But a geeky, unattractive man who’s fawned over by gorgeous women. Then we’re sure to nail the eighteen to thirty-five-year-old male demographic.”
“The basic premise behind all of your finer adult films.” Rachel crossed to the small kitchen. “Got any wine in here?”
“In the fridge door,” said Ashley. “Maybe we make him gay.”
“Oh, yeah, now that’ll nail a broad demographic.”
“I think women like gay men.”
“As friends, sure. But not as a buff butt fantasy on their television screens.” Rachel popped the cork on the wine bottle.
“Our demographic is men, anyway,” said Ashley. “Hey. What if Detective Moonie is an aging, hardboiled, uptight eastern kind of guy, and his new protégé is a gay, laid-back, California beach boy.”
Rachel stopped, midpour. Her eyes narrowed. “That could be funny.”
Ashley quirked an eyebrow. “Couldn’t it, though? Fish out of water? The women in the episodes would all be attracted to the gay guy, but end up lusting after the older guy with experience.”
“Think we could get Sean Connery for the older man?” asked Rachel.
“You and I are definitely on the same wavelength.” Ashley curled her legs under her on the couch, her synapses starting to hum.
“YJ17546, TRUE NORTH AIRLINES answering,” Wally said into the mike of the radio phone.
Jordan glanced through the office window as Wally hung a suit jacket on the coat hook in the reception area. The coat sure didn’t look like Wally’s style.
One of Jordan’s other pilots was also out in reception, busy explaining the afternoon flight delay to six Japanese tourists. Jordan had arranged a free night’s stay for them in a local hotel, and the interpreter was passing along the news.
Meanwhile, four cameras clicked away, the occasional flash reflecting off the posters on the walls.
“I don’t think you understand just how serious this situation has become,” came an all too familiar voice over the radio.
Jordan caught Wally’s gaze through the open window, then he shook his head and pretended to bang it three times against the office wall.
“Say again?” said Wally into the mike.
“I need, need to be in L.A. by the end of the day. Do you understand that?” Jeffrey’s voice rose. “There’s almost two feet of snow up here, you have all my credit cards and I have to get to L.A.”
“I’m afraid the snow has grounded all of our flights again today,” said Wally. “What credit cards?”
“In my coat. The pilot put me in some kind of giant parka but then left my coat behind. What kind of an outfit is this?”
“The parka’s a necessity in the Cessna. And, I can assure you, your credit cards are perfectly safe,” said Wally evenly, taking down the suit jacket and putting it in his lap.
Oh, boy. Jordan made a mental note to lock Jeffrey’s coat and credit cards up in his office. He also figured he’d better write a memo regarding passenger’s personal effects. Not that anyone had left their clothing behind before. Well, except for the bra in the Cessna that one time.
“And, I understand your frustration,” Wally continued smoothly. “I truly wish I had an easy solution.”
Jordan was going to make Wally employee of the month.
“And, I truly wish you understood the problem!” Jeffrey snapped back.
Wally held the mike toward Jordan, an invitation to take over clearly written on his face.
The tourists watched the exchange with interest, cameras poised in case something interesting happened.
Jordan signaled that Wally should keep talking. He was doing a terrific job.
Wally shrugged philosophically, then mouthed “watch this” to Jordan.
“So, why don’t you explain it to me?” Wally said to Jeffrey. He held up the brochure from the Department of Tourism, pointing to bullet point number five: Let the customer vent when necessary. Ensure you show empathy before giving him any negative message.
Jordan gave Wally a thumbs-up.
“I have an important meeting in L.A. at eleven o’clock Monday morning,” Jeffrey articulated in a staccato rhythm. “If I’m not at that meeting, I will lose my promotion, and most certainly lose the Alaska television series.”
“There’s going to be a television series in Alaska?” asked Wally, his voice betraying a sudden interest.
“Not if I stay stuck in Katimuk, there’s not.”
“What kind of a television series?”
The camera clicking stopped, and the Japanese tourists all bowed to the pilot before filing back out to the bus. A couple took final shots of Wally talking on the radio.
“It would have been called Sixty Below, a comedy about the lives and loves of the people in Arctic Luck,” said Jeffrey.
“Would. Note the word would,” he continued. “I never did get to Arctic Luck, strike one. I can’t take pictures of anything in the blizzard, strike two. And I can’t get to the pitch meeting tomorrow, strike three.”
“Can’t you pitch it by phone?” asked Wally as the door swung shut behind the interpreter. The pilot headed for the hangar.
“Pitch what?” asked Jeffrey. “I’ve never even seen the town. And, no, it’s not something you do by phone. I need pictures, drawings, storyboards.”
“Of Arctic Luck.”
“No. Of San Diego. Of course of Arctic Luck.”
Wally glanced at the wall of the office.
Jordan followed his gaze to the collage on the bulletin board. Sure enough, there were pictures of Arctic Luck, along with every other community in interior Alaska.
“If…uh…somebody else went to the meeting, with pictures and diagrams, could you tell them what to say?”
Wally was offering to go to L.A.? Was he crazy?
“Won’t work,” said Jeffrey.
“Why not?”
“They won’t take the pitch from anybody but me.”
Jordan strolled into the reception area and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to figure out what Wally was thinking. Sure, he could take a four-wheel drive into Anchorage. The jumbo jets were still taking off near the coast. But, what the heck did Wally think he could do in L.A.?
“What if it was you?” asked Wally.
Jordan waved his hands and shook his head frantically. Making promises you couldn’t keep was definitely against the Department of Tourism’s wallet-card advice.
“You’re sending a plane?” came Jeffrey’s hopeful voice.
“No. I’m sending Jordan.”
“Jordan?”
Jordan?
“My boss. The guy who looks just like you.”
“Jordan’s flying up here?”
Jordan’s not flying anywhere.
“Nope. We send Jordan to L.A.”
“What?” Jordan’s sharp exclamation matched Jeffrey’s.
“Holy cow,” said Wally. “Even your voices sound the same.”
“I’m not going to L.A.,” said Jordan, moving toward the radio.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Jeffrey.
“He looks just like you,” said Wally into the microphone. He pointed to the graph on the wall showing the customer satisfaction ratings.
The static crackled on the radio. “It’s not—”
“He does,” came Cyd’s voice in the background.
Jordan’s eyes narrowed.
“Put your money where your mouth is,” Wally said to Jordan. “If you hurry, you’ll be back in time for your birthday.”
Jordan started to protest, but he quickly realized he didn’t need to say a thing. Jeffrey would put a stop to this. Jordan could just stand here and pretend to go along for the sake of customer satisfaction. He’d be putting his money where his mouth was, without actually having to pay up. Perfect.
“Sure,” said Jordan easily, enjoying the role of customer service white knight. “Anything for customer satisfaction.”
“We give him a haircut,” said Wally into the mike, with a thumbs-up to Jordan. “You tell him exactly what to say. He goes to the meeting, then flies back home.”
“Never in a million years,” said Jeffrey.
“You got a better idea?” asked Wally.
“Fly up here and get me,” said Jeffrey.
“No can do. Tell me, what’s the worst that would happen if Jordan tried and failed?”
“The series is dumped, and my career is ruined.”
“What will happen if you don’t make the meeting?”
“The series gets dumped, and my career is ruined.”
“What are the odds of success?”
“Ten percent.”
“That’s ten percent better than we’ve got going for us now.” Wally pointed to another bullet point on the department’s brochure: Take the customer’s problem on as your own.
Now Wally decided to become Mr. Customer Service Guru. Jordan waited for Jeffrey’s vehement dismissal of the whole idea. Jordan in L.A. trying to pretend he was some hot damn television executive? As if.
“We have pictures of Arctic Luck,” said Wally into the silent radio.
“Good ones?” asked Jeffrey.
“Great ones,” said Wally.
There was a long silence. Jordan blinked in confusion. Where was the supercilious, unreasonable man from yesterday? He should be coming back with an angry retort about fixing the weather, telling Wally what a ridiculous, unworkable—
“First thing he needs to know is the org chart,” said Jeffrey.
Jordan stumbled a step back, his eyes widening.
“There’s a copy of last year’s annual report in the right-hand, top drawer of the desk in my condo. Keys to the condo are in my coat pocket.”
2
THE FIRST PERSON Jordan met in L.A. was Jeffrey’s friend and former co-worker, Rob Emery. Nice guy. A whole lot nicer than Jeffrey seemed, in fact.
Jeffrey had explained the impersonation to Rob, and Rob had offered to help in any way he could.
They’d stayed up all night reviewing the basic makeup of Argonaut Studios and the delivery of a presentation for the television series Jeffrey had planned.
Jordan didn’t get any sleep, but by morning he was armed with sketches, descriptions of scenes, outlines of the series characters and pictures of Arctic Luck for the location—all in living color. Rob, now a documentary filmmaker, definitely seemed to know what he was doing, and Jordan felt confident he could describe Jeffrey’s television series proposal to the Board members.
In fact, he thought it would be a very funny show. Stereotypical Alaska stuff, of course, but exactly what residents of the lower forty-eight would expect in a comedy series from the north.
The grizzly bear sequence in episode two was preposterous. The bears were still in their dens at Easter, and no one could get that close without having their head taken off. But, if the audience was willing to suspend their disbelief, he could see the humor.
He straightened the stack of packages that were ready to be handed out to the Board members. Jeffrey’s efficient secretary, Bonnie Greenbough, had copied and stapled them together over the past hour.
She seemed delighted to have Jeffrey back. She’d probably be even more delighted when the real Jeffrey arrived and didn’t brush off her friendly overtures with excuses about being busy. She seemed like a perfectly nice woman, and Jordan felt guilty avoiding conversations with her.
But he had to keep his head down and his mouth shut, and try not to make any mistakes. There were more people on one floor of the Argonaut office building than in the entire town of Alpine—and they all seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Unlike Jordan, who could barely find the rest room.
He was tiptoeing through a minefield.
His office door opened, and he glanced up, hoping it was Bonnie.
It wasn’t.
A drop-dead gorgeous, nattily dressed, perfectly made-up woman strolled through the doorway and snapped the door shut behind her, pausing to lean against it. “Well, well, well,” she drawled. “The prodigal returns.”
Jordan pushed back in his chair and watched the woman saunter across the large office. “Ashley Baines. In the flesh.”
Jeffrey had mentioned her several times.
And Rob had mentioned her too, while pointing out her picture in the company’s annual report.
Evidently, the “iron maiden” was Jeffrey’s competition for this promotion. Both men had spoken of her with a mixture of awe and fear.
Jordan didn’t think she looked all that scary as she folded herself into one of the guest chairs. She arched a perfect brow over glowing blue eyes and gave him a quick, dispassionate once-over.
Scary, no.
Challenging, definitely.
Her crisp, burgundy jacket and the narrow, matching skirt told him she meant business. But her blond braid was like a flash of sunshine in the dark, ostentatious office, and her trim body was the stuff of Jordan’s favorite fantasies.
“When did you hit town?” She crossed one leg over the other, showing off tanned, toned calves that held Jordan’s attention a little too long.
Maybe that was what scared Jeffrey and Rob so bad. The woman was sexy enough to be lethal.
Good thing Jordan was brave. Good thing he’d taken self-defense training. In fact, he’d be prepared to wrestle her on the carpet if push came to shove.
He’d be prepared to wrestle her at length.
Naked, if necessary.
He dragged his gaze back to her face. “Got in last night,” he answered her question.
She zeroed in on the pile of presentations sitting on the wide desk in front of them. Her eyebrows twitched with interest.
He reached out and flipped the papers facedown.
“Scared?” she asked.
He cocked his head to one side. “Of you?”
She laughed at the tone of incredulity, and the sound trickled through him like clear stream water. That laugh sure didn’t mesh with the personality Jeffrey had described.
“Of my series,” she said.
“We’re ready to give you a run for your money.” He patted the pile of upside-down papers, considering the merits of locking them in one of the desk drawers until the meeting. Who knew how far she’d go if she happened to stroll into his office and find it empty?
“Can’t wait to see it,” she said. “But I came to tell you that if you have any tweaking to do, you’ve caught a break.”
“A break?” he asked.
“The meeting’s been put off until Friday.”
Jordan rocked forward in his chair. Friday? He didn’t have until Friday. He’d signed up for one day in L.A., not five days in L.A. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Stroke of a pen by the chairman of the board’s secretary.” She looked smug, and a little self-satisfied. She’d obviously been pivotal in postponing the meeting. But, why? What did she have to gain?
She couldn’t know his secret already. Could she?
He gazed into her clear blue eyes for signs that he was caught.
She stared back, poker-faced, not giving a thing away.
Jordan had never been any good at mind games. He much preferred the straight-ahead approach. Like a wrestling match on the floor of the office—winner got the promotion.
He wondered if she’d go for it.
“Friday at ten,” said Ashley.
“I have an appointment on Friday.” In Alpine, Alaska. Running his company. Wally had only convinced him to do this much because he was the closest thing Jordan had to family.
“So, cancel,” she said.
“It’s not that simple.”
The storm was forecast to last most of the week, so there was no hope of Jeffrey making it back to save the day.
Forget the possibility that Jordan would be caught before Friday, his employees back home were depending on him. The airline wasn’t going to run itself.
She smirked, and shrugged her slim shoulders. “Then don’t show. I don’t mind.”
Then she nodded at the stack of papers, leaning slightly forward in her chair. “I hear yours is set in Alaska.”
“Arctic Luck,” said Jordan, then immediately wondered if he’d made a mistake. Jeffrey had distinctly told him not to share any information with Ashley.
“What’s the title?” she asked.
“What’s yours?” he returned, not about to get caught out a second time.
She smiled, revealing straight, white teeth and giving those blue eyes a luminescent glow. A shiver of attraction shot to life inside him. He quickly quelled it. That was the last thing he needed.
“Kissed In California,” she replied.
His gaze subconsciously shifted to her full lips. But he quickly blinked his way back to her eyes. Bottomless. Amazingly beautiful.
His brain might know she was off limits, but his libido appreciated what his libido appreciated. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do about it.
“Cute title,” he said into the silence.
“It’s a cute concept.”
“Going to tell me about it?” he asked.
“Not on your life.”
“Spoilsport.”
“You expect me to make this easy for you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Good.” She paused. “I’d hate for you to be disappointed.”
It was his turn to grin. “I’m not so far.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means I can’t wait to see what your medical series is all about.”
“Detective series,” she corrected.
Jordan’s grin widened.
“Don’t get all smug on me. I gave you that one.”
And she had. He had no doubt.
This was a woman completely in control, completely sure about what she wanted, where she was going and what she was doing.
Jeffrey had her all wrong. She wasn’t dangerous. She was intriguing. Sharp and prickly, but definitely intriguing.
“Stop that,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Stop what?”
“Does the bedroom eyes thing actually work in New York?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A challenge glittered in the depths of her irises. “Don’t mess with me.”
That challenge called to him. It made him envy Jeffrey for getting to work with her all the time. Okay, so Jeffrey got to work against her all the time. But it was probably still stimulating as all get out.
She sighed in exasperation and threw up her hands. “What now?”
“You’re not what I expected.”
“What are you talking about?”
Oops. “I mean, this isn’t what I expected.”
She sat back. “You thought I’d just roll over and play dead as soon as I heard you were showing up?”
Jordan didn’t chance answering this time.
She shook her head. “Not on your life, Jeffrey. You just hang on to your New York hat, because I am going to blow you so far out of the East River.”
Jordan couldn’t help the grin that crept out.
She straightened, and her skirt hiked up showing off an inch of shapely thigh. Her full lips were pursed. And those crystal blue eyes pinned him with a challenge worthy of a wild lynx.
Too bad all that pent-up intensity and emotion was working against him instead of for him. If he ever had a choice, he’d want her on his team. She could probably survive quite nicely in the Alaskan bush.
“Exactly how are you planning to blow me out of the East River?” he asked, wondering if he could fake her into divulging a little more information. Though, if he was honest, he wasn’t doing it so much for Jeffrey’s sake at this point, as he was trying to best her for the gratification of his own ego.
“With skill and talent,” she responded smoothly. “And hard work.”
“You don’t think I’m willing to work hard?”
“I want it more than you do.”
“Maybe.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked momentarily confused.
Oops. Not a Jeffrey answer. “I mean, I’m sure you think you want it more than I do. But, you know me, Ashley—”
“That’s right. I do. And I’m not going to let you undermine me this time.” She pinned him with a knowing look.
This time? Jordan needed to talk to Jeffrey.
“Then you know I never back away from a fight,” he said. That seemed like a safe assumption about Jeffrey. And, it was true enough for Jordan, too.
“Back away?” she scoffed. “I’m sure you’ll do your usual end run.”
Jordan wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. It made Jeffrey, him, sound rather conniving. He was definitely going to find out what Jeffrey had done to this woman.
“I promise you.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “Whatever’s happened between us in the past, this time you’ll see me coming.”
SEE HIM COMING?
What did he mean, see him coming? L.A. studio executives, Jeffrey Bradshaw in particular, were not known for their frontal attacks. Nobody got ahead in this business by giving the competition a chance to mount a defense.
Ashley shut her office door and leaned hard against it, closing her eyes.
What was the matter with her? She’d started off planning to pump Jeffrey for information, but ended up practically throwing down the gauntlet. Talk about an ill-advised frontal attack. Jeffrey knew more about her plans than she’d ever intended to divulge.
But—she took a deep breath—she hadn’t come away completely empty-handed.
She crossed to her desk, adjusted the opaque blinds to block the midday sun from streaming through the picture windows and clicked on her Internet link.
Arctic Luck, Alaska.
“You’re slipping, Jeffrey,” she muttered to herself.
What was in Arctic Luck, and why would it make a funny television series?
After fifteen minutes of surfing, Ashley had her answer, at least to one of her questions.
Nothing was in Arctic Luck. Nothing at all.
Well, according to the National Forest Service, it had ten unserviced campsites and several miles of grizzly-infested hiking trails. You could catch pike and Arctic grayling in the local lakes—when they weren’t frozen solid. And, one of the citizens had made the Anchorage Daily News two years ago when his dog team chased off a bull moose during a dogsled race.
As to how Jeffrey planned to make that funny and marketable to a broad demographic, she had absolutely no idea.
Her odd couple/sexy/mismatched buddies/action/fish out-of-water/detective series had to be better than husky dogs and moose. After all, how could a person possibly make a moose sexy?
Not even Jeffrey. Who, well, speaking of sexy…
Ashley closed her eyes again.
Something had happened to Jeffrey while he was away in New York. He suddenly oozed sex appeal. He looked like he’d spent the entire year at the gym and in a tanning booth. She sure didn’t remember that rugged, outdoorsy, hardened appearance from last year.
It was distracting. She didn’t want to be thinking about his broad shoulders and bulging biceps while she was plotting ways to undermine his bid for the vice presidency. She wanted to focus on his weaknesses and vulnerabilities.
She sat up straight, shaking the mental image, forcing herself to catalogue everything she knew that might be valuable. The series was set in Arctic Luck. It might be a drama, but was probably a comedy, or a combination of both. He hadn’t given her the title. But, she’d given him hers.
Damn.
There was nothing in Arctic Luck except wilderness, fish and moose. How was that interesting? How was that funny? He’d hidden his proposal from her, which meant there was something on the front page.
The page.
His proposal was on pages, not on a computer, not in sound bites, not in video clips. He was giving a paper presentation.
There it was. His weakness and her opportunity. If she went flat out—a bells and whistles, high-tech, multimedia extravaganza—she’d win.
Ashley picked up the phone and punched in Rachel’s number.
Rachel picked it up on the second ring.
“Did you get Sean Connery?” asked Ashley without preamble.
“No, but I got Greg Duncan for the clips. He’s almost as good. Did you pump Jeffrey?”
“I tried.” With very limited success. The main thing she’d found out was that there was suddenly something weird about Jeffrey—in an intriguing sexy way. But she wasn’t about to share that with Rachel.
“What did he tell you?”
“The location. It’s Arctic Luck, Alaska.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s ’cause you’re not a bull moose.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Little backwater, hole-in-the-wall, near as I can tell. I don’t know what Jeffrey’s thinking. But, get this, it looks like his presentation is on paper.”
“Completely?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe they’re not as progressive in New York.”
“Suits me just fine. Can we film tonight?”
“Got a skeleton crew meeting us at the beach at seven.”
ASHLEY AND RACHEL had spent the entire evening filming the first of the new clips. And now Ashley had to stay late that night to layer them into the proposal. That left them with three days before the meeting.
She glanced at her watch. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning. If she worked really fast, she might have time to catch a couple of hours sleep before starting work. She’d let some other things slip yesterday in order to get the filming done, and she’d have to take care of them tomorrow, or rather, later this morning.
She double-clicked the button on the computer in the Argonaut Studios audiovisual computer lab. She was linking still photos, sound bites, video clips and text files into a smooth presentation.
The room held high-end computers with top of the line monitors, specifically designed for video and animation. Argonaut provided them in a central facility for the use of all employees, though the film and photography staff had dibs on them during the day.
The door opened and Ashley turned to see who had joined her. Though official office hours were eight to five, the television industry was a hotbed of last-minute deadlines and emerging crises. No matter what time it was, day or night, there were always a few people working in the main office building.
Her eyes focused on Jeffrey, as he let the door close behind him.
“How’s it going?” he asked, in a gravelly voice.
“Fine.” She quickly minimized the screen before he could get close enough to see the details.
“A few last-minute adjustments?” he asked, strolling across the dimly lit room.
“A few,” she admitted, although it was far more than a few, and she wouldn’t consider it last-minute until Thursday night.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Just keeping up with the Joneses.” He took the computer directly across from her, swiveling the chair to face her. He could have picked any of the other four workstations in the room. The ones farther away from her—out of spying and distracting distance.
“I hear you’re setting a high standard.” He slid a disk into the drive and began punching keys. “Thanks to you, I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Had he been spying on her? Asking around? Bribing employees? She wouldn’t put it past him.
“A gentleman never tells.” Jeffrey turned his attention to the computer screen, and she thought she caught a hint of a smile. “We happened to be having dinner on the deck at the Breakwater.”
“You just happened to be overlooking my shoot?” Ashley didn’t believe it for a second. They must have followed her there. The Breakwater deck would have given them a perfect view of last night’s filming.
“You were spying on me,” she accused.
Jeffrey glanced up. “What do I look like? James Bond?”
No. Actually, he looked more like Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans. With shorter hair and darker eyes. And maybe his chin was stronger, too. Funny, she didn’t remember Jeffrey ever looking so rawly sensual.
Wait a minute. Her mind was wandering. What were they talking about?
Spying. Right. She’d lost it there for a moment. Must be sleep deprivation.
She realized his gaze was gaining intensity, and she shifted in her chair. “If you weren’t spying on me, what were you doing at the Breakwater?”
“Rob said they had good steaks.”
“Since when did you start eating steaks?”
“My third birthday.”
“Cute.” Maybe that’s what bulked up his muscles. Jeffrey had taken to eating red meat over the past year.
He hit a couple of keys on his computer, and a series of colors reflected off the planes and angles of his face.
“You have video clips?” So much for scooping the competition.
“These are stock tourist clips of Alaska. Rob’s working with the actors.”
Her surprise must have shown on her face.
“You thought I’d just throw in the towel?” he asked softly with a slight shake of his head. “I’ve got a lot at stake here.”
So did she. In fact, so much was at risk here, that even having this conversation was a mistake. She couldn’t afford to inadvertently give him any more ammunition against her. She turned her attention to the big monitor in front of her, and enlarged her presentation.
She opened up one of the text files which contained a synopsis on the series idea and started proofreading.
She could hear the clicking of the computer keys as Jeffrey began working.
The overall storyline synopsis looked good, so she moved on to the episode specific stories.
They’d only come up with two episodes so far. They needed at least six.
While she proofread the text in front of her, she let her mind wander to other story ideas.
Before she realized it, she’d stopped reading. As the story ideas rambled through her brain, her action hero sprinted down the beach and suddenly turned into Jeffrey. That made no sense, since Jeffrey was neither old and jaded nor was he gay.
Still, her mind insisted on picturing him tanned and toned against the white sand…with her…in her smallest bikini. She felt the waves tickle her feet and imagined his warm hands on her skin, pausing on the curve of her hip, toying with the ties on her bathing suit.
A shiver of arousal ran through her.
Then the daydream changed. They were in a big bed. White, gauzy curtains billowed in the ocean breeze through an open window.
She could hear the gulls calling, and the waves crashing. She was in his arms, and it was morning, so they must have made love.
But, darn it, she couldn’t remember making love. She stared down at his dark head against the crisp, white pillowcase. She wanted him to wake up so they could make love again.
“Ashley?” His voice was husky against her ear, the soft puff of air erotically tickling her sensitive skin.
He was awake. She turned her head and smiled into his dark, sexy eyes. They were going to make love again, and this time she was going to savor every second.
“You want me to take you home?” he asked.
Home? She shook her head. No way. Not before they made love again.
She tipped her chin, hoping he’d reach out with those big, strong hands and stroke her face.
“Coffee?” he asked. “Or maybe breakfast? It’s nearly six.”
“Are those my only choices?” she mumbled in the sexiest voice she could muster.
“What other choices do you want?” There was a hint of laughter in his tone.
Ashley was about to tell him in bald terms just exactly what choice she was looking for.
But, suddenly, the hotel room vanished, replaced by a computer screen. Jeffrey wasn’t in her arms in a fantasy bedroom on the oceanfront. He was leaning over her in the Argonaut computer lab.
Icy mortification washed through her. He was waking her up from a catnap and she was about to proposition him.
“Coffee sounds good,” she choked out. Coffee. Followed by a long cold shower, and a stern lecture about curbing her fantasy life.
“Want me to bring it here, or you want to go out and grab some breakfast together?”
“What time is it?” She straightened up in the padded chair.
“Nearly six,” he said.
She lifted her hand to her forehead, combing back the fine hairs which had worked their way loose from her braid. Checking her skirt and short-sleeved sweater she made sure everything was in the right place.
Two hours? She’d been asleep for two hours?
As the implication sunk in, her gaze flew to her computer screen. He could have done anything in two hours. He could have read her whole presentation. He could have erased it or sabotaged it.
“The answer is nothing,” he said dryly.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“It’s written all over your face.” He straightened. “I’m an honest man, Ashley. I want to win, but not at the cost of my principles.”
Principles? Ashley blinked. That wasn’t a word bandied about in the L.A. television industry very often.
She honestly didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
“Besides, if I betrayed you while you slept, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Let me buy you some bacon and eggs.”
“I don’t eat meat.”
“Then, let me buy you pancakes and fruit. Not to brag or anything, but you’re going to need your strength if you’re going up against me.”
As Ashley stared into his eyes, the sensations from the dream burst back through her mind, making her shiver with the memory. She’d felt so safe in his arms. More safe and loved and cherished than she’d ever imagined possible.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut, reality warring with fantasy.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders, strong fingers coaxing her up. His voice was a sensual rumble near her ear. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
Ashley yielded to the pressure of his arm. Yielded to the magic of her dream. Yielded to the charisma of the new Jeffrey. She allowed him to draw her into a standing position, her body brushing his broad chest.
Had he grown taller?
No. That was silly.
“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked, voice soft.
She shrugged her shoulders, making no move to pull away. “What day is this?” She gave a quick, nervous laugh.
He cocked his head, looking deep into her eyes for a long moment. Then something subtly shifted in his expression, and he quickly blinked.
His fingertips held her arm a little more tightly. “Uh. You better let me take you home to bed.”
Ashley drew a quick breath, her breasts brushing against him for a split second.
He didn’t mean…
Of course he didn’t mean that.
But, she had such a craving.
“Ashley?” He sighed her name, and his gaze darkened.
“Jeffrey?” she whispered back, subconsciously leaning in.
Just one little kiss. She just wanted a sample. Just a taste of what she’d missed in her dream.
His arm slipped to her waist and tightened around her. He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Then he drew her cheek against the thin fabric of his dress shirt, rocking ever so slightly.
Something inside her shuddered, then settled, then sighed.
“This is bad,” he whispered against her hair, voice sounding strained.
He stroked his palm down her disheveled braid. His chest rose and fell with several deep breaths.
“Yeah,” she agreed, as the heat of his hand seeped into every single follicle.
“I cannot believe…”
She waited, but he didn’t finish the sentence. She tipped her head back so she could look him in the eyes. Her lips softened and her knees grew weak.
This was bad, but in such a good way.
3
JORDAN GAZED down at Ashley’s slumberous eyes and inviting lips, soft and deep pink in the flickering light from her computer screen. On second thought, bad was an understatement.
This was a disaster.
He knew he had to walk away—now, before things got out of hand. But somehow, he couldn’t get that message to his legs.
She blinked her long lashes. Once, then twice, then three times. She looked slightly tousled from sleep—that crisp, perfect, don’t-touch-me edge gone.
Desire convulsed within him.
He stroked his fingertips over her hair, reveling in its soft texture, inhaling the subtle scent of her wild-flower perfume. “Do you think…”
“Yes?” she answered on a whisper, her sweet breath puffing against his skin.
His hand tightened involuntarily around the rope of her braid. “That if I kissed you…”
Her eyes closed, and she softened in his arms.
He moved another inch and brushed his lips gently across hers, testing the tender skin, absorbing the heat. “That in two minutes…”
A small shudder ran through her.
“Maybe five minutes…” he amended, pausing, puckering, holding her moist lips for a single heartbeat.
Her hands came up to grip his biceps.
He touched her lower lip with the tip of his tongue and sensation rocketed to his toes. “In, say, ten minutes from now…We could walk out of here and forget it ever happened?”
“Jeffrey?” Her voice was small. Her fingertips dug into his arms, bringing far more pleasure than pain.
“Yeah?” he breathed.
“You’re already kissing me.”
“Oh, no, I’m not.” He shook his head. This wasn’t kissing.
But if she was willing…
He gave her a second to pull away. Then he opened his mouth, tipped his head, captured her lips, and sealed them together in a fusion of heat and pent-up passion, his brain blinded to everything but the feel and taste of Ashley.
She came up on her toes, and he settled his arm more firmly around her waist, pulling her tight against his tension-filled body. His fingers tangled in her hair, thumb stroking her cheek, circling her ear, dipping, delving, finding the tender, secret places on the back of her neck.
He flicked his tongue against the inside of her lips, and her mouth opened wider on a moan. Her hands slid to his shoulders and she held on, tipping her head to one side. Her tongue met his halfway, tangling in a burst of heated need.
Now this was kissing.
His fingertips found the silky skin between her short sweater and her little skirt, twitching in reaction. He longed to explore further, but they’d only agreed on a kiss.
So, he focused on her mouth, kissing her longer, harder, deeper. Coming up for air to pepper the corners of her mouth with mini kisses, tasting her soft skin, inhaling the hidden scent where her neck curved into her shoulder.
And then he was back to her mouth, because that was the apex of her magic. The computers hummed in the background, the multicolored screens bathing the room in a soft glow. Jordan was losing his center, losing his perspective.
She tasted of sweet coffee and midnight dreams, and he wanted the kiss to go on forever.
But the kiss was a lie.
He was living a lie.
She thought he was Jeffrey, and Jeffrey thought she was the enemy. And here in L.A., Jordan Adamson didn’t even exist. Of all the off-limits women in the whole off-limits world, Ashley took first prize.
There was no way for this to turn out well.
Though his body screamed for mercy, Jordan loosened his hold. He forced his hand to let go of her hair. He broke from her lips, gathering his strength, steeling his desire, then going back for a single, lightning-fast kiss of regret.
Her eyes flickered open. A deep breath slipped out between her swollen lips.
“Our ten minutes are up,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers.
“So soon?” she asked.
Not a moment too soon, his brain pointed out. Even though his body strongly disagreed.
“You okay?” he asked. He was okay. Well, except for the fact that the universe had just shifted and he was struggling to get his bearings.
“That was…” She took a step back, slipping from his arms, breaking their touch.
“Cataclysmic?” It wasn’t the perfect word. But he didn’t think the perfect word existed to describe what had just happened between them.
She squared her shoulders, the tough, professional Ashley emerging from the soft, romantic goddess. “A really big mistake.”
She was right, but it pricked his pride. He wasn’t about to let her shift gears that quickly. “You didn’t like it?” he asked.
“Quit fishing.”
Jordan gave her a cocky half smile, hoping to shake a reaction out of her. “I don’t need another compliment. Your actions speak louder than words.”
“What actions?”
“You kissed me. Seriously.”
She gave a light laugh, and smoothed her hair back, her expression going neutral. She might have been staring at a log sheet for all the emotion in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jordan was taken aback by the complete transformation. “Are you telling me I imagined your reaction?”
No way. Not a chance. A woman couldn’t fake that.
She smiled smugly. “This is Hollywood, Jeffrey.” She reached past him to pop her disk out of the computer. “Everything’s an illusion.” Then she straightened and saluted him with the plastic cover. “See you at the Board meeting on Friday.”
Jordan watched the sway of her hips as she walked out the door.
Acting?
If she could act like that, the woman deserved an award.
Of course, this was L.A. And she was in the television business. Who was to say she didn’t start out as an actress?
Still.
He’d bet she wasn’t that good.
And, he’d bet that if they kissed again, he could prove it. He squared his shoulders. If he met her in her office, or in his office, or in one of the 26th floor meeting rooms…
One more chance, and he could show her who was and wasn’t acting.
Yeah.
He nodded his head.
Then he shook his head.
What was he thinking? He might be leaving on Friday, but Jeffrey was coming back to stay. The man had to work for Argonaut Studios. He had to work with Ashley. Jordan couldn’t leave a disaster in his wake.
SOMEBODY UP THERE was out to get Ashley.
Her heels clicked on the hallway floor as she made her way toward the east wing of the studio at three in the afternoon.
When Harold Gauthier, the chairman of the board, had asked her to attend tonight’s Platinum party at his mansion, she’d been overjoyed. It was an A-list party, a sure sign she was being noticed in the upper echelons of the studio.
In the split second after he’d issued the invitation, she’d planned her wardrobe, her hair, even pondered if she’d have time for a quick facial and a pedicure.
But then he’d dropped the bombshell.
“Get Jeffrey Bradshaw to pick you up,” he’d said.
And, of course, she’d said, “love it.” And suddenly, instead of going to the party as an up-and-coming executive, she was going to the party as the date of an up-and-coming executive.
For a minute there, Harold had actually reminded her of her father. And that chafed.
What was with men?
Why couldn’t they simply see her as a professional? Not a female professional, but simply a colleague.
Her father was wonderful, and she loved him dearly, but he had an annoying habit of trying to second-guess her life. With the best of intentions, he kept asking why she was knocking herself out to get ahead in her career, since she’d probably meet a good man and quit anyway.
Her brothers were the same way, mired somewhere in 1950s thinking. And the one and only time she’d been in a serious relationship, the man squashed her professional aspirations so fast she’d barely known what hit her.
“There’s nothing wrong with a career, darling.” Reggie had said as her three-carat diamond solitaire sparkled hypnotically in the candlelight at Ruffino’s. “It just has to be the right career. You know, maybe something at the museum or the gallery, a hostess, part-time. At least until the children come along. You’ve got all the right clothes.”
Actually, she hadn’t had all the right clothes.
Thank goodness.
She had power clothes. He’d wanted low-key elegance followed by designer-maternity and upscale-housewife.
Ashley definitely did not have the right clothes to marry Reggie Lawrence.
She approached Jeffrey’s office and took a deep breath, bracing herself to take him on next.
Men.
When they weren’t trying to marry you off, they were throwing themselves in your career path.
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Barbara Dunlop
Jordan Adamson is in a jam. His idyllic life in Alaska has never been the same since a chance encounter with a twin brother he hadn't known he had. Jordan has to impersonate Jeffrey in front of his closest colleagues, and in L.A., no less! Good thing Jordan met Ashley Baines–she's offered to steer him clear…right to bed!Ashley's got the biggest promotion of her life standing right in front of her, yet all she can see is tall, hunky, laid-back Jeffrey? He's saying all the right things and making all the right moves, but she's never had the urge to touch him before. Can this be the same uptight guy she once knew, who's now back in town after the same hotshot job she's up for?With the lies closing in on Jordan, can Ashley get past the truth once she knows it? Only one thing's for sure, it's gonna be too close to call!
Now, this was kissing
Jordan’s fingertips found the silky skin between Ashley’s short sweater and little skirt. He longed to explore farther, but they’d agreed on just a kiss.
So he focused on her mouth, kissing her longer, harder, deeper. Only coming up for air to pepper the corners of her mouth with mini-kisses, tasting her soft skin, treating himself to her hidden scent where her neck curved into her shoulder.
But the kiss was a lie.
He was living a lie.
She thought he was Jeffrey, and Jeffrey thought she was the enemy. And here in L.A., Jordan Adamson didn’t even exist. Of all the off-limits women in the whole off-limits world, Ashley took first prize.
There was no way for this to turn out well.
Ashley took a step back, slipping from his arms, breaking their touch. “That was…cataclysmic.”
And he so wanted it to.
Dear Reader,
When Colleen Collins and I decided to write two connected books, we knew we had to use the big city—her area of expertise—and the far north, which is mine. We came up with the idea of The Parent Trap for adults, and both realized we were onto something fun.
Throughout the writing I helped her with northern details, such as whether or not you’d find trees on the tundra and how a dogsled works. At the same time she told me about the peculiarities of television executives and where to eat and shop in L.A. It was an experience we’d both like to repeat someday.
I sincerely hope you enjoy meeting Jordan Adamson, the hero in Too Close To Call, along with his long-lost twin brother, Jeffrey Bradshaw, in Too Close for Comfort.
Happy reading,
Barbara Dunlop
Books by Barbara Dunlop
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
848—FOREVER JAKE
901—NEXT TO NOTHING!
HARLEQUIN DUETS
54—THE MOUNTIE STEALS A WIFE
90—A GROOM IN HER STOCKING
98—THE WISH-LIST WIFE
Too Close to Call
Barbara Dunlop
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my dear friend Colleen Collins—city girl extraordinaire.
And for my brilliant editor, Kathryn Lye. We’re not in Kansas anymore!
Contents
Chapter 1 (#u73b868a5-e448-5bac-86ec-a98b1c61d240)
Chapter 2 (#u53126e53-8ef8-58b1-acd0-9cfbaabdc1ca)
Chapter 3 (#uecafe64f-e663-50fa-bff1-8ae12b637560)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
1
“NATIONAL WEATHER says there’s a snowstorm building off the Gulf of Alaska,” Jordan Adamson called to his dispatcher in the reception area of True North Airlines as he tore the printout from his fax machine.
“Is it going to shut us down?” Wally Lane swiveled on his chair, eyebrows lifting. “Cyd’s heading out on the Arctic Luck run in about ten minutes.”
“We’ve got a few hours leeway, but radio Bob and make sure he keeps an eye on it.”
Flying in adverse weather conditions was part of being an Alaskan bush pilot. Though late October snowstorms could be fierce, Jordan didn’t want his pilots taking unnecessary chances. Go or no-go was a combination of meteorological reports, the view outside the cockpit window and gut instinct.
Jordan reached through the window opening from his small office and handed Wally a copy of the report. “Tell Bob to hold tight in Sitka if necessary.” After a second’s pause, he added, “And remind him to—”
“Keep the customer satisfied,” Wally echoed the rest of Jordan’s words with perfect rhythm and intonation.
Jordan rolled his eyes heavenward. The staff at his small airline in Alpine, Alaska had been teasing him for months about his evangelical customer satisfaction mission.
“Bob’s picking up his ex-wife,” said Wally. “He might prefer the storm to holing up with her in Sitka overnight.”
Jordan grinned. “Pilot’s discretion.” He took a step back.
“Roger,” said Wally, with a snappy salute.
The front door opened, and Wally swiveled back to the counter as a man stepped into the reception area. Jordan assumed it was Cyd’s four o’clock passenger.
In that European suit and shiny loafers, the man was overdressed for a plane ride to Arctic Luck. In fact, he was overdressed for anything north of the sixtieth parallel.
The man looked up, and Jordan did a double take. There was something startlingly familiar about him. Had they met before? The man’s eyes widened, and he drew back. For a moment, Jordan wondered if he’d somehow offended him.
While Wally talked to the customer, Jordan turned to the stacks of papers on his desk, making a quick search for a passenger list to check the name. Part of delivering good customer service was remembering your customers’ needs and treating them as though they were important to the business. It was all right there in the Alaska Tourism Association brochure guidelines.
Jordan’s airline currently held first place in this year’s Alaska Tourism customer satisfaction surveys. If he could hang on to the lead for the rest of the season, it would mean free advertising in all of the government brochures next summer. That kind of exposure was sure to increase his business—a necessity if he wanted to add a commuter jet to his fleet.
Which he did.
As soon as possible.
While he located the manifest for the Arctic Luck trip, he heard Cyd land the Cessna. Right on time, but she’d have to be quick with the turnaround if she wanted to beat the snow.
Jordan squinted at the passenger name, hoping it would trigger a memory.
Jeffrey Bradshaw.
The name didn’t mean anything to him. He glanced back through the window, racking his brain. He knew he’d seen the man before.
“JEFFREY BRADSHAW is due back in L.A. on Monday.” Rachel Bowen, a set designer at Argonaut Studios stopped beside the treadmill where Ashley Baines was jogging to the beat of vintage Springsteen.
“What?” Ashley pulled off the headphones, snapping them around her neck.
“Jeffrey. Here. Monday,” said Rachel.
Ashley hit the button on the treadmill control and rocked to an abrupt stop, turning to stare at her friend and co-worker. She drew a deep breath, winded from her workout. “So, that’s it, then.” She wiped a hand across her hair, down over her tight braid. “It’s him against me?”
Rachel nodded. “Sure looks that way.”
Ashley felt her stomach clench. Jeffrey showing up to challenge her for the promotion to vice president wasn’t exactly a surprise, but she had held out a slim hope he’d stay away and leave the field clear.
A fellow acquisitions director at Argonaut, Jeffrey was definitely her most serious competition. He was smart, experienced and connected. He was also crafty, with a ruthless edge that she wouldn’t want to test.
Perspiration tickled her forehead and her temples, and her damp spandex top stuck to the skin between her shoulder blades. She picked up a white towel that she’d hung over the handle of the treadmill and scrubbed it across her forehead, flipping her braid out of the way to dry her neck.
“Got any more scuttlebutt on him?” she asked.
Rachel was a close friend, and a gifted set designer at Argonaut. She was friendly and outgoing, and had an amazing ability to keep her finger on the pulse of office politics.
“Just that he’s checking out locations in Alaska,” said Rachel.
“Alaska?” Ashley blinked in confusion.
“You know. Snow, ice, you have to cut through Canada to get there.”
“His big, innovative idea is Alaska?”
The chairman of the board had let it be known that an innovative new hit series was number one on his wish list right now. Whoever came up with the right series had a huge leg up on the promotion.
Jeffrey had spent the last year on special assignment in New York. What could have given him a sudden interest in Alaska?
“He must be pitching a Northern Exposure thing,” said Rachel.
“A comedy?” Ashley tossed the towel into a nearby bin. Comedies were always risky, but when they hit, they hit big.
“Or an outdoor adventure,” said Rachel.
“Adventure’s on the decline. It’s medical, cop or comedy this year.”
An Alaskan cop? An Alaskan hospital? Neither of those rang true to Ashley. It had to be a comedy.
Shoot. The last thing she needed was for Jeffrey to deliver something more original than her edgy, California-based detective series.
“Think I should add a comedic element?” she asked Rachel, raising her thumb and capturing the nail between her teeth. Maybe straight drama wasn’t the way to go.
“Comedy is big right now,” said Rachel.
Of course it was. Comedies were getting all the attention this year, all the awards, all the ratings. How could she have been so foolish?
Ashley headed for the change rooms. “I should have thought of this earlier.”
“It’s pretty late in the game to switch,” said Rachel.
“I know. It’ll mean redoing the storyboard and the video clips.”
“And rewriting all the scripts.”
Ashley paused with her hand on the change-room door. “It’ll mean redoing the entire presentation. From scratch.” A near impossibility, since this was Saturday, and the pitch meeting with the chairman of the board was scheduled for Monday.
Rachel tucked her dark hair behind her ears. “I suppose you could take a chance to submit it as is.”
Ashley’s hardboiled detective drama suddenly seemed pale and flat, and somehow safe, even if it did have beaches, plenty of buff bods and guaranteed action sequences in every episode.
If Jeffrey was going for broke with a comedy/drama, set in Alaska of all places, she was going to have to make her California location feel fresher and more interesting.
“Think he’s going for broke?” asked Rachel, skipping to keep up with Ashley as she headed down the tiled hallway, past the racket courts.
“Alaska’s a pretty bold move for a setting,” said Ashley. The more she thought about it, the more she realized Jeffrey was taking a risk, pulling out all the stops.
And, why wouldn’t he? It was the promotion of the decade.
She’d made a mistake when she let his absence lull her into a false sense of security. He might not have been in L.A. all year long, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.
“Any way to put off the Board meeting?” Ashley asked. She definitely needed more time.
Rachel stopped in the middle of the hall and gave her an incredulous look.
“You know his secretary, right?” asked Ashley.
Rachel knew everybody.
“Not that well,” said Rachel.
“She got any weaknesses?”
“Chocolate and Chippendale Dancers,” said Rachel.
Ashley smiled. “What about Fire Dance tickets. I hear the male lead is burning up the headlines.”
“You’ve got tickets to Fire Dance?”
“Front row, center, balcony one.” Ashley’s grin widened. “Clive Johnston traded me for the Lakers last week.”
“Throw in dinner at La Salle, and I think I can get you a deal.”
“Done,” said Ashley. “Get her to switch the meeting to Friday.” She stopped at the door to the change room. “You going to be around tonight?”
“You want to grab dinner and sketch out some ideas?”
Ashley nodded. “That would be terrific.”
“Meet you on the deck at the Breakwater Café.”
“Give me half an hour to shower and change.” Ashley pushed open the door with the heel of her palm. Her workout was officially over. She now had more important things to worry about than her glutes.
JORDAN WASN’T GOING to worry about Cyd, even if she was overdue by half an hour. The storm had grown faster and more violent than anyone had predicted. The radios weren’t working, but if she’d gone down, they’d have an emergency beacon signal coming in. They didn’t.
She’d probably landed short of Arctic Luck.
“Everyone but Cyd’s accounted for,” said Wally, hanging up the office telephone and tossing his clipboard onto the counter. “Bob’s holed up in Sitka, and the rest never got off the ground.”
Just then an operator’s voice came over the radio phone.
Jordan was closer, so he grabbed the mike.
It was Cyd. And, thank goodness, she was fine.
But before Jordan could get more than a few particulars, an angry male voice took over. “I’m the passenger who paid to be flown to Arctic Luck,” Jeffrey Bradshaw thundered.
Terrific. Maybe Cyd wasn’t so fine.
“But I was flown to Kati—Kati—”
Jordan didn’t wait for Jeffrey to spit out the word Katimuk. He keyed the mike. “Sorry about that,” he interrupted, putting on a relaxed, professional voice. “Can’t fight the weather. But we’ll get you to Arctic Luck as soon as possible.”
“I need to get there immediately.” The command crackled through the static of the radio waves.
Wally raised his eyebrows.
“Afraid we can’t do that,” said Jordan. Weather delays were a necessary hazard of flying in the North, particularly in the fall. Jeffrey needed to buck up and wait it out.
“Nothing’s impossible,” said Jeffrey. “I’ll contact my office. Have them call another airline.”
Jordan keyed the mike again. “You can call. But, nobody’s going to fly in this.”
“Why?” Jeffrey demanded.
Why? Didn’t they have windows up in Katimuk? There was a good foot of new snow on the ground in Alpine, and more was gusting from the sky.
“Weathered in is weathered in,” said Jordan, shooting Wally a look of amazement. What part of blizzard didn’t Jeffrey understand?
Wally grinned. He’d made a big deal yesterday about how this Jeffrey guy looked exactly like Jordan. And Jordan had to admit there was a bit of a resemblance. But he was beginning to hope that was all they had in common.
Jordan released the mike button. “Please tell me I’m his double in looks only.”
Wally just grinned wider.
The radio stayed silent.
Jordan keyed the mike again. “Nobody will risk an aircraft,” he elaborated, trying not to let the frustration come through in his voice. “And I’m sure you don’t want to risk your life. Stick with Cyd. She knows what she’s doing. She’ll get you out as soon as possible.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Jeffrey. “Your pilot could have landed me in Arctic Luck, but she flew me to Katimuk instead?”
Wally rolled his eyes and started to chuckle at the absurdity of the questions.
“She landed where she felt the plane and passengers would be safe,” said Jordan. Be thankful you’re alive, he almost added. Be it Katimuk or Timbuktu, safe on the ground was safe on the ground.
“Bull,” Jeffrey barked.
“Charming,” said Wally.
“And nothing like me,” said Jordan.
“THERE WAS NOTHING even remotely funny about that, was there?” Ashley let her head fall back in defeat on the couch in her small Westwood apartment.
Rachel clicked a button on the remote control, turning off the last video clip for the detective series, and the television screen went blank.
“Not particularly,” she admitted.
They were going to have to reshoot every clip.
“What if Detective Moonie is older, more worldly-wise, jaded…” Ashley searched her brain for possibilities. Their original idea was definitely not going to fly as comedic.
“If he’s older, we’ll lose the buff bod,” said Rachel. “Pecs sell. You know that.” She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, moving immediately into a graceful toe touch.
“So do tight butts,” Ashley pointed out. “Could we have an older, worldly-wise detective with a great butt?”
Rachel straightened, pulled down her cropped T-shirt and laughed. “I can see it all now, Detective Moonie, health club maniac, near retirement and just in from the mean streets of New York, decides to take a part-time gig as a lifeguard, faces danger, thrills and jokes while chasing bikini-clad women along Malibu Beach.”
“Okay, the butt would be tough to do on an old guy. What if we make him younger? But a geeky, unattractive man who’s fawned over by gorgeous women. Then we’re sure to nail the eighteen to thirty-five-year-old male demographic.”
“The basic premise behind all of your finer adult films.” Rachel crossed to the small kitchen. “Got any wine in here?”
“In the fridge door,” said Ashley. “Maybe we make him gay.”
“Oh, yeah, now that’ll nail a broad demographic.”
“I think women like gay men.”
“As friends, sure. But not as a buff butt fantasy on their television screens.” Rachel popped the cork on the wine bottle.
“Our demographic is men, anyway,” said Ashley. “Hey. What if Detective Moonie is an aging, hardboiled, uptight eastern kind of guy, and his new protégé is a gay, laid-back, California beach boy.”
Rachel stopped, midpour. Her eyes narrowed. “That could be funny.”
Ashley quirked an eyebrow. “Couldn’t it, though? Fish out of water? The women in the episodes would all be attracted to the gay guy, but end up lusting after the older guy with experience.”
“Think we could get Sean Connery for the older man?” asked Rachel.
“You and I are definitely on the same wavelength.” Ashley curled her legs under her on the couch, her synapses starting to hum.
“YJ17546, TRUE NORTH AIRLINES answering,” Wally said into the mike of the radio phone.
Jordan glanced through the office window as Wally hung a suit jacket on the coat hook in the reception area. The coat sure didn’t look like Wally’s style.
One of Jordan’s other pilots was also out in reception, busy explaining the afternoon flight delay to six Japanese tourists. Jordan had arranged a free night’s stay for them in a local hotel, and the interpreter was passing along the news.
Meanwhile, four cameras clicked away, the occasional flash reflecting off the posters on the walls.
“I don’t think you understand just how serious this situation has become,” came an all too familiar voice over the radio.
Jordan caught Wally’s gaze through the open window, then he shook his head and pretended to bang it three times against the office wall.
“Say again?” said Wally into the mike.
“I need, need to be in L.A. by the end of the day. Do you understand that?” Jeffrey’s voice rose. “There’s almost two feet of snow up here, you have all my credit cards and I have to get to L.A.”
“I’m afraid the snow has grounded all of our flights again today,” said Wally. “What credit cards?”
“In my coat. The pilot put me in some kind of giant parka but then left my coat behind. What kind of an outfit is this?”
“The parka’s a necessity in the Cessna. And, I can assure you, your credit cards are perfectly safe,” said Wally evenly, taking down the suit jacket and putting it in his lap.
Oh, boy. Jordan made a mental note to lock Jeffrey’s coat and credit cards up in his office. He also figured he’d better write a memo regarding passenger’s personal effects. Not that anyone had left their clothing behind before. Well, except for the bra in the Cessna that one time.
“And, I understand your frustration,” Wally continued smoothly. “I truly wish I had an easy solution.”
Jordan was going to make Wally employee of the month.
“And, I truly wish you understood the problem!” Jeffrey snapped back.
Wally held the mike toward Jordan, an invitation to take over clearly written on his face.
The tourists watched the exchange with interest, cameras poised in case something interesting happened.
Jordan signaled that Wally should keep talking. He was doing a terrific job.
Wally shrugged philosophically, then mouthed “watch this” to Jordan.
“So, why don’t you explain it to me?” Wally said to Jeffrey. He held up the brochure from the Department of Tourism, pointing to bullet point number five: Let the customer vent when necessary. Ensure you show empathy before giving him any negative message.
Jordan gave Wally a thumbs-up.
“I have an important meeting in L.A. at eleven o’clock Monday morning,” Jeffrey articulated in a staccato rhythm. “If I’m not at that meeting, I will lose my promotion, and most certainly lose the Alaska television series.”
“There’s going to be a television series in Alaska?” asked Wally, his voice betraying a sudden interest.
“Not if I stay stuck in Katimuk, there’s not.”
“What kind of a television series?”
The camera clicking stopped, and the Japanese tourists all bowed to the pilot before filing back out to the bus. A couple took final shots of Wally talking on the radio.
“It would have been called Sixty Below, a comedy about the lives and loves of the people in Arctic Luck,” said Jeffrey.
“Would. Note the word would,” he continued. “I never did get to Arctic Luck, strike one. I can’t take pictures of anything in the blizzard, strike two. And I can’t get to the pitch meeting tomorrow, strike three.”
“Can’t you pitch it by phone?” asked Wally as the door swung shut behind the interpreter. The pilot headed for the hangar.
“Pitch what?” asked Jeffrey. “I’ve never even seen the town. And, no, it’s not something you do by phone. I need pictures, drawings, storyboards.”
“Of Arctic Luck.”
“No. Of San Diego. Of course of Arctic Luck.”
Wally glanced at the wall of the office.
Jordan followed his gaze to the collage on the bulletin board. Sure enough, there were pictures of Arctic Luck, along with every other community in interior Alaska.
“If…uh…somebody else went to the meeting, with pictures and diagrams, could you tell them what to say?”
Wally was offering to go to L.A.? Was he crazy?
“Won’t work,” said Jeffrey.
“Why not?”
“They won’t take the pitch from anybody but me.”
Jordan strolled into the reception area and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to figure out what Wally was thinking. Sure, he could take a four-wheel drive into Anchorage. The jumbo jets were still taking off near the coast. But, what the heck did Wally think he could do in L.A.?
“What if it was you?” asked Wally.
Jordan waved his hands and shook his head frantically. Making promises you couldn’t keep was definitely against the Department of Tourism’s wallet-card advice.
“You’re sending a plane?” came Jeffrey’s hopeful voice.
“No. I’m sending Jordan.”
“Jordan?”
Jordan?
“My boss. The guy who looks just like you.”
“Jordan’s flying up here?”
Jordan’s not flying anywhere.
“Nope. We send Jordan to L.A.”
“What?” Jordan’s sharp exclamation matched Jeffrey’s.
“Holy cow,” said Wally. “Even your voices sound the same.”
“I’m not going to L.A.,” said Jordan, moving toward the radio.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Jeffrey.
“He looks just like you,” said Wally into the microphone. He pointed to the graph on the wall showing the customer satisfaction ratings.
The static crackled on the radio. “It’s not—”
“He does,” came Cyd’s voice in the background.
Jordan’s eyes narrowed.
“Put your money where your mouth is,” Wally said to Jordan. “If you hurry, you’ll be back in time for your birthday.”
Jordan started to protest, but he quickly realized he didn’t need to say a thing. Jeffrey would put a stop to this. Jordan could just stand here and pretend to go along for the sake of customer satisfaction. He’d be putting his money where his mouth was, without actually having to pay up. Perfect.
“Sure,” said Jordan easily, enjoying the role of customer service white knight. “Anything for customer satisfaction.”
“We give him a haircut,” said Wally into the mike, with a thumbs-up to Jordan. “You tell him exactly what to say. He goes to the meeting, then flies back home.”
“Never in a million years,” said Jeffrey.
“You got a better idea?” asked Wally.
“Fly up here and get me,” said Jeffrey.
“No can do. Tell me, what’s the worst that would happen if Jordan tried and failed?”
“The series is dumped, and my career is ruined.”
“What will happen if you don’t make the meeting?”
“The series gets dumped, and my career is ruined.”
“What are the odds of success?”
“Ten percent.”
“That’s ten percent better than we’ve got going for us now.” Wally pointed to another bullet point on the department’s brochure: Take the customer’s problem on as your own.
Now Wally decided to become Mr. Customer Service Guru. Jordan waited for Jeffrey’s vehement dismissal of the whole idea. Jordan in L.A. trying to pretend he was some hot damn television executive? As if.
“We have pictures of Arctic Luck,” said Wally into the silent radio.
“Good ones?” asked Jeffrey.
“Great ones,” said Wally.
There was a long silence. Jordan blinked in confusion. Where was the supercilious, unreasonable man from yesterday? He should be coming back with an angry retort about fixing the weather, telling Wally what a ridiculous, unworkable—
“First thing he needs to know is the org chart,” said Jeffrey.
Jordan stumbled a step back, his eyes widening.
“There’s a copy of last year’s annual report in the right-hand, top drawer of the desk in my condo. Keys to the condo are in my coat pocket.”
2
THE FIRST PERSON Jordan met in L.A. was Jeffrey’s friend and former co-worker, Rob Emery. Nice guy. A whole lot nicer than Jeffrey seemed, in fact.
Jeffrey had explained the impersonation to Rob, and Rob had offered to help in any way he could.
They’d stayed up all night reviewing the basic makeup of Argonaut Studios and the delivery of a presentation for the television series Jeffrey had planned.
Jordan didn’t get any sleep, but by morning he was armed with sketches, descriptions of scenes, outlines of the series characters and pictures of Arctic Luck for the location—all in living color. Rob, now a documentary filmmaker, definitely seemed to know what he was doing, and Jordan felt confident he could describe Jeffrey’s television series proposal to the Board members.
In fact, he thought it would be a very funny show. Stereotypical Alaska stuff, of course, but exactly what residents of the lower forty-eight would expect in a comedy series from the north.
The grizzly bear sequence in episode two was preposterous. The bears were still in their dens at Easter, and no one could get that close without having their head taken off. But, if the audience was willing to suspend their disbelief, he could see the humor.
He straightened the stack of packages that were ready to be handed out to the Board members. Jeffrey’s efficient secretary, Bonnie Greenbough, had copied and stapled them together over the past hour.
She seemed delighted to have Jeffrey back. She’d probably be even more delighted when the real Jeffrey arrived and didn’t brush off her friendly overtures with excuses about being busy. She seemed like a perfectly nice woman, and Jordan felt guilty avoiding conversations with her.
But he had to keep his head down and his mouth shut, and try not to make any mistakes. There were more people on one floor of the Argonaut office building than in the entire town of Alpine—and they all seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Unlike Jordan, who could barely find the rest room.
He was tiptoeing through a minefield.
His office door opened, and he glanced up, hoping it was Bonnie.
It wasn’t.
A drop-dead gorgeous, nattily dressed, perfectly made-up woman strolled through the doorway and snapped the door shut behind her, pausing to lean against it. “Well, well, well,” she drawled. “The prodigal returns.”
Jordan pushed back in his chair and watched the woman saunter across the large office. “Ashley Baines. In the flesh.”
Jeffrey had mentioned her several times.
And Rob had mentioned her too, while pointing out her picture in the company’s annual report.
Evidently, the “iron maiden” was Jeffrey’s competition for this promotion. Both men had spoken of her with a mixture of awe and fear.
Jordan didn’t think she looked all that scary as she folded herself into one of the guest chairs. She arched a perfect brow over glowing blue eyes and gave him a quick, dispassionate once-over.
Scary, no.
Challenging, definitely.
Her crisp, burgundy jacket and the narrow, matching skirt told him she meant business. But her blond braid was like a flash of sunshine in the dark, ostentatious office, and her trim body was the stuff of Jordan’s favorite fantasies.
“When did you hit town?” She crossed one leg over the other, showing off tanned, toned calves that held Jordan’s attention a little too long.
Maybe that was what scared Jeffrey and Rob so bad. The woman was sexy enough to be lethal.
Good thing Jordan was brave. Good thing he’d taken self-defense training. In fact, he’d be prepared to wrestle her on the carpet if push came to shove.
He’d be prepared to wrestle her at length.
Naked, if necessary.
He dragged his gaze back to her face. “Got in last night,” he answered her question.
She zeroed in on the pile of presentations sitting on the wide desk in front of them. Her eyebrows twitched with interest.
He reached out and flipped the papers facedown.
“Scared?” she asked.
He cocked his head to one side. “Of you?”
She laughed at the tone of incredulity, and the sound trickled through him like clear stream water. That laugh sure didn’t mesh with the personality Jeffrey had described.
“Of my series,” she said.
“We’re ready to give you a run for your money.” He patted the pile of upside-down papers, considering the merits of locking them in one of the desk drawers until the meeting. Who knew how far she’d go if she happened to stroll into his office and find it empty?
“Can’t wait to see it,” she said. “But I came to tell you that if you have any tweaking to do, you’ve caught a break.”
“A break?” he asked.
“The meeting’s been put off until Friday.”
Jordan rocked forward in his chair. Friday? He didn’t have until Friday. He’d signed up for one day in L.A., not five days in L.A. “How the hell did that happen?”
“Stroke of a pen by the chairman of the board’s secretary.” She looked smug, and a little self-satisfied. She’d obviously been pivotal in postponing the meeting. But, why? What did she have to gain?
She couldn’t know his secret already. Could she?
He gazed into her clear blue eyes for signs that he was caught.
She stared back, poker-faced, not giving a thing away.
Jordan had never been any good at mind games. He much preferred the straight-ahead approach. Like a wrestling match on the floor of the office—winner got the promotion.
He wondered if she’d go for it.
“Friday at ten,” said Ashley.
“I have an appointment on Friday.” In Alpine, Alaska. Running his company. Wally had only convinced him to do this much because he was the closest thing Jordan had to family.
“So, cancel,” she said.
“It’s not that simple.”
The storm was forecast to last most of the week, so there was no hope of Jeffrey making it back to save the day.
Forget the possibility that Jordan would be caught before Friday, his employees back home were depending on him. The airline wasn’t going to run itself.
She smirked, and shrugged her slim shoulders. “Then don’t show. I don’t mind.”
Then she nodded at the stack of papers, leaning slightly forward in her chair. “I hear yours is set in Alaska.”
“Arctic Luck,” said Jordan, then immediately wondered if he’d made a mistake. Jeffrey had distinctly told him not to share any information with Ashley.
“What’s the title?” she asked.
“What’s yours?” he returned, not about to get caught out a second time.
She smiled, revealing straight, white teeth and giving those blue eyes a luminescent glow. A shiver of attraction shot to life inside him. He quickly quelled it. That was the last thing he needed.
“Kissed In California,” she replied.
His gaze subconsciously shifted to her full lips. But he quickly blinked his way back to her eyes. Bottomless. Amazingly beautiful.
His brain might know she was off limits, but his libido appreciated what his libido appreciated. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do about it.
“Cute title,” he said into the silence.
“It’s a cute concept.”
“Going to tell me about it?” he asked.
“Not on your life.”
“Spoilsport.”
“You expect me to make this easy for you?”
“Definitely not.”
“Good.” She paused. “I’d hate for you to be disappointed.”
It was his turn to grin. “I’m not so far.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means I can’t wait to see what your medical series is all about.”
“Detective series,” she corrected.
Jordan’s grin widened.
“Don’t get all smug on me. I gave you that one.”
And she had. He had no doubt.
This was a woman completely in control, completely sure about what she wanted, where she was going and what she was doing.
Jeffrey had her all wrong. She wasn’t dangerous. She was intriguing. Sharp and prickly, but definitely intriguing.
“Stop that,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Stop what?”
“Does the bedroom eyes thing actually work in New York?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A challenge glittered in the depths of her irises. “Don’t mess with me.”
That challenge called to him. It made him envy Jeffrey for getting to work with her all the time. Okay, so Jeffrey got to work against her all the time. But it was probably still stimulating as all get out.
She sighed in exasperation and threw up her hands. “What now?”
“You’re not what I expected.”
“What are you talking about?”
Oops. “I mean, this isn’t what I expected.”
She sat back. “You thought I’d just roll over and play dead as soon as I heard you were showing up?”
Jordan didn’t chance answering this time.
She shook her head. “Not on your life, Jeffrey. You just hang on to your New York hat, because I am going to blow you so far out of the East River.”
Jordan couldn’t help the grin that crept out.
She straightened, and her skirt hiked up showing off an inch of shapely thigh. Her full lips were pursed. And those crystal blue eyes pinned him with a challenge worthy of a wild lynx.
Too bad all that pent-up intensity and emotion was working against him instead of for him. If he ever had a choice, he’d want her on his team. She could probably survive quite nicely in the Alaskan bush.
“Exactly how are you planning to blow me out of the East River?” he asked, wondering if he could fake her into divulging a little more information. Though, if he was honest, he wasn’t doing it so much for Jeffrey’s sake at this point, as he was trying to best her for the gratification of his own ego.
“With skill and talent,” she responded smoothly. “And hard work.”
“You don’t think I’m willing to work hard?”
“I want it more than you do.”
“Maybe.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked momentarily confused.
Oops. Not a Jeffrey answer. “I mean, I’m sure you think you want it more than I do. But, you know me, Ashley—”
“That’s right. I do. And I’m not going to let you undermine me this time.” She pinned him with a knowing look.
This time? Jordan needed to talk to Jeffrey.
“Then you know I never back away from a fight,” he said. That seemed like a safe assumption about Jeffrey. And, it was true enough for Jordan, too.
“Back away?” she scoffed. “I’m sure you’ll do your usual end run.”
Jordan wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. It made Jeffrey, him, sound rather conniving. He was definitely going to find out what Jeffrey had done to this woman.
“I promise you.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “Whatever’s happened between us in the past, this time you’ll see me coming.”
SEE HIM COMING?
What did he mean, see him coming? L.A. studio executives, Jeffrey Bradshaw in particular, were not known for their frontal attacks. Nobody got ahead in this business by giving the competition a chance to mount a defense.
Ashley shut her office door and leaned hard against it, closing her eyes.
What was the matter with her? She’d started off planning to pump Jeffrey for information, but ended up practically throwing down the gauntlet. Talk about an ill-advised frontal attack. Jeffrey knew more about her plans than she’d ever intended to divulge.
But—she took a deep breath—she hadn’t come away completely empty-handed.
She crossed to her desk, adjusted the opaque blinds to block the midday sun from streaming through the picture windows and clicked on her Internet link.
Arctic Luck, Alaska.
“You’re slipping, Jeffrey,” she muttered to herself.
What was in Arctic Luck, and why would it make a funny television series?
After fifteen minutes of surfing, Ashley had her answer, at least to one of her questions.
Nothing was in Arctic Luck. Nothing at all.
Well, according to the National Forest Service, it had ten unserviced campsites and several miles of grizzly-infested hiking trails. You could catch pike and Arctic grayling in the local lakes—when they weren’t frozen solid. And, one of the citizens had made the Anchorage Daily News two years ago when his dog team chased off a bull moose during a dogsled race.
As to how Jeffrey planned to make that funny and marketable to a broad demographic, she had absolutely no idea.
Her odd couple/sexy/mismatched buddies/action/fish out-of-water/detective series had to be better than husky dogs and moose. After all, how could a person possibly make a moose sexy?
Not even Jeffrey. Who, well, speaking of sexy…
Ashley closed her eyes again.
Something had happened to Jeffrey while he was away in New York. He suddenly oozed sex appeal. He looked like he’d spent the entire year at the gym and in a tanning booth. She sure didn’t remember that rugged, outdoorsy, hardened appearance from last year.
It was distracting. She didn’t want to be thinking about his broad shoulders and bulging biceps while she was plotting ways to undermine his bid for the vice presidency. She wanted to focus on his weaknesses and vulnerabilities.
She sat up straight, shaking the mental image, forcing herself to catalogue everything she knew that might be valuable. The series was set in Arctic Luck. It might be a drama, but was probably a comedy, or a combination of both. He hadn’t given her the title. But, she’d given him hers.
Damn.
There was nothing in Arctic Luck except wilderness, fish and moose. How was that interesting? How was that funny? He’d hidden his proposal from her, which meant there was something on the front page.
The page.
His proposal was on pages, not on a computer, not in sound bites, not in video clips. He was giving a paper presentation.
There it was. His weakness and her opportunity. If she went flat out—a bells and whistles, high-tech, multimedia extravaganza—she’d win.
Ashley picked up the phone and punched in Rachel’s number.
Rachel picked it up on the second ring.
“Did you get Sean Connery?” asked Ashley without preamble.
“No, but I got Greg Duncan for the clips. He’s almost as good. Did you pump Jeffrey?”
“I tried.” With very limited success. The main thing she’d found out was that there was suddenly something weird about Jeffrey—in an intriguing sexy way. But she wasn’t about to share that with Rachel.
“What did he tell you?”
“The location. It’s Arctic Luck, Alaska.”
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s ’cause you’re not a bull moose.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Little backwater, hole-in-the-wall, near as I can tell. I don’t know what Jeffrey’s thinking. But, get this, it looks like his presentation is on paper.”
“Completely?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe they’re not as progressive in New York.”
“Suits me just fine. Can we film tonight?”
“Got a skeleton crew meeting us at the beach at seven.”
ASHLEY AND RACHEL had spent the entire evening filming the first of the new clips. And now Ashley had to stay late that night to layer them into the proposal. That left them with three days before the meeting.
She glanced at her watch. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning. If she worked really fast, she might have time to catch a couple of hours sleep before starting work. She’d let some other things slip yesterday in order to get the filming done, and she’d have to take care of them tomorrow, or rather, later this morning.
She double-clicked the button on the computer in the Argonaut Studios audiovisual computer lab. She was linking still photos, sound bites, video clips and text files into a smooth presentation.
The room held high-end computers with top of the line monitors, specifically designed for video and animation. Argonaut provided them in a central facility for the use of all employees, though the film and photography staff had dibs on them during the day.
The door opened and Ashley turned to see who had joined her. Though official office hours were eight to five, the television industry was a hotbed of last-minute deadlines and emerging crises. No matter what time it was, day or night, there were always a few people working in the main office building.
Her eyes focused on Jeffrey, as he let the door close behind him.
“How’s it going?” he asked, in a gravelly voice.
“Fine.” She quickly minimized the screen before he could get close enough to see the details.
“A few last-minute adjustments?” he asked, strolling across the dimly lit room.
“A few,” she admitted, although it was far more than a few, and she wouldn’t consider it last-minute until Thursday night.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Just keeping up with the Joneses.” He took the computer directly across from her, swiveling the chair to face her. He could have picked any of the other four workstations in the room. The ones farther away from her—out of spying and distracting distance.
“I hear you’re setting a high standard.” He slid a disk into the drive and began punching keys. “Thanks to you, I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”
“Where did you hear that?”
Had he been spying on her? Asking around? Bribing employees? She wouldn’t put it past him.
“A gentleman never tells.” Jeffrey turned his attention to the computer screen, and she thought she caught a hint of a smile. “We happened to be having dinner on the deck at the Breakwater.”
“You just happened to be overlooking my shoot?” Ashley didn’t believe it for a second. They must have followed her there. The Breakwater deck would have given them a perfect view of last night’s filming.
“You were spying on me,” she accused.
Jeffrey glanced up. “What do I look like? James Bond?”
No. Actually, he looked more like Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans. With shorter hair and darker eyes. And maybe his chin was stronger, too. Funny, she didn’t remember Jeffrey ever looking so rawly sensual.
Wait a minute. Her mind was wandering. What were they talking about?
Spying. Right. She’d lost it there for a moment. Must be sleep deprivation.
She realized his gaze was gaining intensity, and she shifted in her chair. “If you weren’t spying on me, what were you doing at the Breakwater?”
“Rob said they had good steaks.”
“Since when did you start eating steaks?”
“My third birthday.”
“Cute.” Maybe that’s what bulked up his muscles. Jeffrey had taken to eating red meat over the past year.
He hit a couple of keys on his computer, and a series of colors reflected off the planes and angles of his face.
“You have video clips?” So much for scooping the competition.
“These are stock tourist clips of Alaska. Rob’s working with the actors.”
Her surprise must have shown on her face.
“You thought I’d just throw in the towel?” he asked softly with a slight shake of his head. “I’ve got a lot at stake here.”
So did she. In fact, so much was at risk here, that even having this conversation was a mistake. She couldn’t afford to inadvertently give him any more ammunition against her. She turned her attention to the big monitor in front of her, and enlarged her presentation.
She opened up one of the text files which contained a synopsis on the series idea and started proofreading.
She could hear the clicking of the computer keys as Jeffrey began working.
The overall storyline synopsis looked good, so she moved on to the episode specific stories.
They’d only come up with two episodes so far. They needed at least six.
While she proofread the text in front of her, she let her mind wander to other story ideas.
Before she realized it, she’d stopped reading. As the story ideas rambled through her brain, her action hero sprinted down the beach and suddenly turned into Jeffrey. That made no sense, since Jeffrey was neither old and jaded nor was he gay.
Still, her mind insisted on picturing him tanned and toned against the white sand…with her…in her smallest bikini. She felt the waves tickle her feet and imagined his warm hands on her skin, pausing on the curve of her hip, toying with the ties on her bathing suit.
A shiver of arousal ran through her.
Then the daydream changed. They were in a big bed. White, gauzy curtains billowed in the ocean breeze through an open window.
She could hear the gulls calling, and the waves crashing. She was in his arms, and it was morning, so they must have made love.
But, darn it, she couldn’t remember making love. She stared down at his dark head against the crisp, white pillowcase. She wanted him to wake up so they could make love again.
“Ashley?” His voice was husky against her ear, the soft puff of air erotically tickling her sensitive skin.
He was awake. She turned her head and smiled into his dark, sexy eyes. They were going to make love again, and this time she was going to savor every second.
“You want me to take you home?” he asked.
Home? She shook her head. No way. Not before they made love again.
She tipped her chin, hoping he’d reach out with those big, strong hands and stroke her face.
“Coffee?” he asked. “Or maybe breakfast? It’s nearly six.”
“Are those my only choices?” she mumbled in the sexiest voice she could muster.
“What other choices do you want?” There was a hint of laughter in his tone.
Ashley was about to tell him in bald terms just exactly what choice she was looking for.
But, suddenly, the hotel room vanished, replaced by a computer screen. Jeffrey wasn’t in her arms in a fantasy bedroom on the oceanfront. He was leaning over her in the Argonaut computer lab.
Icy mortification washed through her. He was waking her up from a catnap and she was about to proposition him.
“Coffee sounds good,” she choked out. Coffee. Followed by a long cold shower, and a stern lecture about curbing her fantasy life.
“Want me to bring it here, or you want to go out and grab some breakfast together?”
“What time is it?” She straightened up in the padded chair.
“Nearly six,” he said.
She lifted her hand to her forehead, combing back the fine hairs which had worked their way loose from her braid. Checking her skirt and short-sleeved sweater she made sure everything was in the right place.
Two hours? She’d been asleep for two hours?
As the implication sunk in, her gaze flew to her computer screen. He could have done anything in two hours. He could have read her whole presentation. He could have erased it or sabotaged it.
“The answer is nothing,” he said dryly.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“It’s written all over your face.” He straightened. “I’m an honest man, Ashley. I want to win, but not at the cost of my principles.”
Principles? Ashley blinked. That wasn’t a word bandied about in the L.A. television industry very often.
She honestly didn’t know whether to believe him or not.
“Besides, if I betrayed you while you slept, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Let me buy you some bacon and eggs.”
“I don’t eat meat.”
“Then, let me buy you pancakes and fruit. Not to brag or anything, but you’re going to need your strength if you’re going up against me.”
As Ashley stared into his eyes, the sensations from the dream burst back through her mind, making her shiver with the memory. She’d felt so safe in his arms. More safe and loved and cherished than she’d ever imagined possible.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut, reality warring with fantasy.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders, strong fingers coaxing her up. His voice was a sensual rumble near her ear. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
Ashley yielded to the pressure of his arm. Yielded to the magic of her dream. Yielded to the charisma of the new Jeffrey. She allowed him to draw her into a standing position, her body brushing his broad chest.
Had he grown taller?
No. That was silly.
“When’s the last time you slept?” he asked, voice soft.
She shrugged her shoulders, making no move to pull away. “What day is this?” She gave a quick, nervous laugh.
He cocked his head, looking deep into her eyes for a long moment. Then something subtly shifted in his expression, and he quickly blinked.
His fingertips held her arm a little more tightly. “Uh. You better let me take you home to bed.”
Ashley drew a quick breath, her breasts brushing against him for a split second.
He didn’t mean…
Of course he didn’t mean that.
But, she had such a craving.
“Ashley?” He sighed her name, and his gaze darkened.
“Jeffrey?” she whispered back, subconsciously leaning in.
Just one little kiss. She just wanted a sample. Just a taste of what she’d missed in her dream.
His arm slipped to her waist and tightened around her. He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Then he drew her cheek against the thin fabric of his dress shirt, rocking ever so slightly.
Something inside her shuddered, then settled, then sighed.
“This is bad,” he whispered against her hair, voice sounding strained.
He stroked his palm down her disheveled braid. His chest rose and fell with several deep breaths.
“Yeah,” she agreed, as the heat of his hand seeped into every single follicle.
“I cannot believe…”
She waited, but he didn’t finish the sentence. She tipped her head back so she could look him in the eyes. Her lips softened and her knees grew weak.
This was bad, but in such a good way.
3
JORDAN GAZED down at Ashley’s slumberous eyes and inviting lips, soft and deep pink in the flickering light from her computer screen. On second thought, bad was an understatement.
This was a disaster.
He knew he had to walk away—now, before things got out of hand. But somehow, he couldn’t get that message to his legs.
She blinked her long lashes. Once, then twice, then three times. She looked slightly tousled from sleep—that crisp, perfect, don’t-touch-me edge gone.
Desire convulsed within him.
He stroked his fingertips over her hair, reveling in its soft texture, inhaling the subtle scent of her wild-flower perfume. “Do you think…”
“Yes?” she answered on a whisper, her sweet breath puffing against his skin.
His hand tightened involuntarily around the rope of her braid. “That if I kissed you…”
Her eyes closed, and she softened in his arms.
He moved another inch and brushed his lips gently across hers, testing the tender skin, absorbing the heat. “That in two minutes…”
A small shudder ran through her.
“Maybe five minutes…” he amended, pausing, puckering, holding her moist lips for a single heartbeat.
Her hands came up to grip his biceps.
He touched her lower lip with the tip of his tongue and sensation rocketed to his toes. “In, say, ten minutes from now…We could walk out of here and forget it ever happened?”
“Jeffrey?” Her voice was small. Her fingertips dug into his arms, bringing far more pleasure than pain.
“Yeah?” he breathed.
“You’re already kissing me.”
“Oh, no, I’m not.” He shook his head. This wasn’t kissing.
But if she was willing…
He gave her a second to pull away. Then he opened his mouth, tipped his head, captured her lips, and sealed them together in a fusion of heat and pent-up passion, his brain blinded to everything but the feel and taste of Ashley.
She came up on her toes, and he settled his arm more firmly around her waist, pulling her tight against his tension-filled body. His fingers tangled in her hair, thumb stroking her cheek, circling her ear, dipping, delving, finding the tender, secret places on the back of her neck.
He flicked his tongue against the inside of her lips, and her mouth opened wider on a moan. Her hands slid to his shoulders and she held on, tipping her head to one side. Her tongue met his halfway, tangling in a burst of heated need.
Now this was kissing.
His fingertips found the silky skin between her short sweater and her little skirt, twitching in reaction. He longed to explore further, but they’d only agreed on a kiss.
So, he focused on her mouth, kissing her longer, harder, deeper. Coming up for air to pepper the corners of her mouth with mini kisses, tasting her soft skin, inhaling the hidden scent where her neck curved into her shoulder.
And then he was back to her mouth, because that was the apex of her magic. The computers hummed in the background, the multicolored screens bathing the room in a soft glow. Jordan was losing his center, losing his perspective.
She tasted of sweet coffee and midnight dreams, and he wanted the kiss to go on forever.
But the kiss was a lie.
He was living a lie.
She thought he was Jeffrey, and Jeffrey thought she was the enemy. And here in L.A., Jordan Adamson didn’t even exist. Of all the off-limits women in the whole off-limits world, Ashley took first prize.
There was no way for this to turn out well.
Though his body screamed for mercy, Jordan loosened his hold. He forced his hand to let go of her hair. He broke from her lips, gathering his strength, steeling his desire, then going back for a single, lightning-fast kiss of regret.
Her eyes flickered open. A deep breath slipped out between her swollen lips.
“Our ten minutes are up,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers.
“So soon?” she asked.
Not a moment too soon, his brain pointed out. Even though his body strongly disagreed.
“You okay?” he asked. He was okay. Well, except for the fact that the universe had just shifted and he was struggling to get his bearings.
“That was…” She took a step back, slipping from his arms, breaking their touch.
“Cataclysmic?” It wasn’t the perfect word. But he didn’t think the perfect word existed to describe what had just happened between them.
She squared her shoulders, the tough, professional Ashley emerging from the soft, romantic goddess. “A really big mistake.”
She was right, but it pricked his pride. He wasn’t about to let her shift gears that quickly. “You didn’t like it?” he asked.
“Quit fishing.”
Jordan gave her a cocky half smile, hoping to shake a reaction out of her. “I don’t need another compliment. Your actions speak louder than words.”
“What actions?”
“You kissed me. Seriously.”
She gave a light laugh, and smoothed her hair back, her expression going neutral. She might have been staring at a log sheet for all the emotion in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jordan was taken aback by the complete transformation. “Are you telling me I imagined your reaction?”
No way. Not a chance. A woman couldn’t fake that.
She smiled smugly. “This is Hollywood, Jeffrey.” She reached past him to pop her disk out of the computer. “Everything’s an illusion.” Then she straightened and saluted him with the plastic cover. “See you at the Board meeting on Friday.”
Jordan watched the sway of her hips as she walked out the door.
Acting?
If she could act like that, the woman deserved an award.
Of course, this was L.A. And she was in the television business. Who was to say she didn’t start out as an actress?
Still.
He’d bet she wasn’t that good.
And, he’d bet that if they kissed again, he could prove it. He squared his shoulders. If he met her in her office, or in his office, or in one of the 26th floor meeting rooms…
One more chance, and he could show her who was and wasn’t acting.
Yeah.
He nodded his head.
Then he shook his head.
What was he thinking? He might be leaving on Friday, but Jeffrey was coming back to stay. The man had to work for Argonaut Studios. He had to work with Ashley. Jordan couldn’t leave a disaster in his wake.
SOMEBODY UP THERE was out to get Ashley.
Her heels clicked on the hallway floor as she made her way toward the east wing of the studio at three in the afternoon.
When Harold Gauthier, the chairman of the board, had asked her to attend tonight’s Platinum party at his mansion, she’d been overjoyed. It was an A-list party, a sure sign she was being noticed in the upper echelons of the studio.
In the split second after he’d issued the invitation, she’d planned her wardrobe, her hair, even pondered if she’d have time for a quick facial and a pedicure.
But then he’d dropped the bombshell.
“Get Jeffrey Bradshaw to pick you up,” he’d said.
And, of course, she’d said, “love it.” And suddenly, instead of going to the party as an up-and-coming executive, she was going to the party as the date of an up-and-coming executive.
For a minute there, Harold had actually reminded her of her father. And that chafed.
What was with men?
Why couldn’t they simply see her as a professional? Not a female professional, but simply a colleague.
Her father was wonderful, and she loved him dearly, but he had an annoying habit of trying to second-guess her life. With the best of intentions, he kept asking why she was knocking herself out to get ahead in her career, since she’d probably meet a good man and quit anyway.
Her brothers were the same way, mired somewhere in 1950s thinking. And the one and only time she’d been in a serious relationship, the man squashed her professional aspirations so fast she’d barely known what hit her.
“There’s nothing wrong with a career, darling.” Reggie had said as her three-carat diamond solitaire sparkled hypnotically in the candlelight at Ruffino’s. “It just has to be the right career. You know, maybe something at the museum or the gallery, a hostess, part-time. At least until the children come along. You’ve got all the right clothes.”
Actually, she hadn’t had all the right clothes.
Thank goodness.
She had power clothes. He’d wanted low-key elegance followed by designer-maternity and upscale-housewife.
Ashley definitely did not have the right clothes to marry Reggie Lawrence.
She approached Jeffrey’s office and took a deep breath, bracing herself to take him on next.
Men.
When they weren’t trying to marry you off, they were throwing themselves in your career path.
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