Under the edge of the table, I twist my arm to sneak a look at my watch. It’s past nine, and my flight leaves at eleven. The airport here in central Oregon is tiny, and I won’t be checking a bag, but it takes at least half an hour to get there. That leaves me less than ninety minutes to make my flight. I knew I should have picked an afternoon departure.
Actually, I shouldn’t have agreed to take this meeting at all. It’s my last week in the office before my temporary reassignment to Portland. I should be back in LA, straightening my apartment for the sublet, finalizing my reports, and making sure there’s no yogurt in my office fridge, not meeting with a reluctant client—a client who won’t even be on my roster. Romance Channel star Nica Holmes is way above my pay level. I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to do this favor for my coworker.
Despite the shade of an umbrella, the heat is starting to rise. Although Copper Butte Ranch is located in the mountains, we’re on the “high desert” side of the Cascade Range. According to my weather app, it was eighty-nine degrees yesterday.
Three women sit around the green metal table, chattering and giggling. I should have cornered Ms. Holmes as soon as I arrived instead of letting her shuffle me out to the coffee klatch on the back deck. I only agreed to take this meeting because Veronica promised it would be fast. I didn’t realize I’d have to sit through the ladies’ morning coffee club.
I lean forward to check out the pastry tray. Super-sticky cinnamon rolls sit next to a stack of dry-looking sugar cookies. “No chocolate?”
“I know, right?” In response to my muttered comment, Nica’s half-sister, Maddie, giggles and nudges my arm with her elbow. “I got you covered.” She shoves a white paper bag into my lap.
I unroll the top to reveal three gooey chocolate brownies, one with a corner missing. “These look amazing. I don’t want to steal your stash!”
The redhead pats her flat stomach, the muscles visible beneath the bottom of her cropped top. “I’ve had enough. But don’t let Nica see them—she banned chocolate in the house. Something about her lack of willpower.”
The sliding door to the house opens, and a tall, handsome, middle-aged man with thick dark hair and sparkling blue eyes steps out. He greets Nica with a scorching kiss—this must be Matt Hertzsprung, the new boyfriend. Time to get to business.
Matt exchanges greetings with Nica’s sister and mother. When Nica introduces me, I stand to shake his hand. His grip is firm and callused—as one would expect from a woodworker. According to the client brief, he makes guitars for a living. “Nice to meet you, Matt. I don’t know if Nica told you, but Sylvia—her manager—asked us to take a look at—” His friendly face has gone blank—he doesn’t like the idea of working with a publicist. I give him an apologetic smile. “We want to make sure your relationship with Nica is presented in the best possible way to reinforce her brand.”
“You want to present our—what?” He shoots a panicked look over his shoulder toward the slider Nica just disappeared through.
I turn to the others. “Will you ladies excuse us for a moment?” Without waiting for a reply, I herd Matt toward the house. He slides the screen door open, and we step into the cool, unlit kitchen.
Nica stands behind the island, pouring coffee from a glass carafe. “Sylvia insisted on sending her. Let’s hear her out.” She puts the mug in front of her—boyfriend? Lover? Main squeeze? This is why I’m here. To help them label the relationship.
“Thank you.” I jump into my prepared speech. “Nica Holmes is a brand. Her fans watch her movies because they identify with what they perceive her to be: sweet, wholesome, romantic. Nica tells me you’re a fan of her work, so you know what I’m talking about. We want to make sure her fans learn about your affaire de coeur in a way that reinforces that image. I’m going to arrange for a photographer to—”
Matt jerks, and the coffee sloshes in the mug. “Not that Boitano guy!” The notorious paparazzo now spends way too much time in Rotheberg in hopes of catching photographs of the celebrities who vacation in the cute tourist town or at the Ranch.
As if I’d hire one of those parasitic celebrity chasers. “No, of course not. That man is the bane of my existence! His work is the exact opposite of what we’re trying to do. He tries to catch celebrities at their worst. We’re working to present your relationship at its best.”
Matt thunks the mug onto the counter, and his hands go to his hips, like an angry, middle-aged superhero. “No offense, but I don’t know why this is necessary. My brother didn’t need a publicist when he and Rachel started dating.” He runs a hand through his thick hair and glances at Nica.
“Your brother?” I pause, mentally flipping through my notes. Who the heck is his brother and why would— “Oh, right, the singer. Musicians are easy. People expect indiscretions from them, so if they just keep their noses clean, they’re golden.” Now that I’ve placed him, I can see the resemblance. This man is a more ordinary-looking version of his famous country star brother. If I remember correctly, Blake Stein relocating home to Rotheberg was the impetus for Boitano’s move here.
“My brother is very protective of his brand, which is quite similar to Nica’s, actually. He’s the clean and wholesome type. And he had no trouble dealing with that by himself. He certainly didn’t need to hire a publicist. And besides, people have seen me on Nica’s social media.” Matt turns to Nica. “Right?”
Nica nods, but I raise my hand again. They don’t recognize the vast difference between Blake’s situation and theirs. Blake and Rachel were high school sweethearts. Their relationship is a magical fairytale. Matt and Nica, on the other hand, are less obviously wholesome. He’s a decade and a half older, a blue-collar craftsman, not a romantic music star. Nica’s a Romance Channel darling. Her fans are middle-aged housewives, retired career women, and gay men. They want only the best for their beloved Nica, and they will tear Matt apart if they think he’s not good enough.
But that argument isn’t going to fly, so I try a different tack. “Look, Matt, I get it. And frankly, I agree. You fit the brand. But Sylvia wants to make sure it’s done professionally. I’d like to schedule a photographer to get some good pictures of you two doing normal couple things. That’s all. We’ll use those on Nica’s social media.”
Matt’s chin juts out, and his eyes narrow. “I thought she posted her own stuff? In fact, that was one of the things she was doing here. We did some video.”
Celebrity TikToks are not the same as professionally curated video. I hide my distaste under a neutral expression and soften my tone. “And those were great. Perfect for her followers. But I need images that can be used in professional media, too. We want to present a unified message. I promise it won’t take more than a few hours, and you’ll be done.”
“I’m still not convinced this is necessary.” Nica folds her arms. “We aren’t getting engaged.” Her face goes a little pink. “If we were, I’d be on board. But this is too new—it’s too soon to put out anything formal. I’ve posted a few pics and vids to my personal feed, and I think that’s plenty at this point. Would you want to have to do a formal presentation when you’ve just started dating a new guy? I’ve never done one before.”
No, I would not. Nothing kills a romance faster than trying to formalize it too soon—at least that’s what I’ve seen. I don’t have a lot of personal experience in that realm—I’ve been too busy building a career to fall in love. My job is my life.
I sigh and lean a little closer, repeating myself in hopes of getting through to them. “I get it. I’ll tell Sylvia that. She seems to think this is different.” I raise my brows, looking from one to the other with a shrug. They exchange a soft look, then turn to me, arms crossed in a unified stand. They don’t want to play ball.
That’s fine with me—I’ve got better things to do. I recently accepted a marketing position at Webster Dillinger’s parent company, Red Carpet Marketing, and I’m only here as a favor to my coworker, Veronica. Our unreasonable boss demanded Veronica take this meeting—despite today being her wedding day. I agreed to make the initial foray on her behalf. “I’ll tell her what you said. But if she disagrees, you’re going to have to take it up with her. Just between you and me, this is my last week at Webster Dillinger. I start a new position next month, so someone else will take over this campaign.” Sylvia said Nica would be resistant, and since “Holmes-Sprung” isn’t my client, I’m happy to walk away. Once Nica sees how badly things can go without professional management, Veronica can swoop in to save the day.
Nica comes around the end of the kitchen island and puts a hand on Matt’s arm. “Perfect. Tell Sylvia you presented your case, and I—we said no thank you. I’ll tell her that, too. Now that you’re off the hook, let’s go back outside.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and tap a text to Veronica:
Over to you.
Although she should be preparing for her wedding in five hours, she responds almost instantly:
Veronica
As expected?
Sylvia called it. Resistance.
Someone knocks on the open front door. “Yoohoo? Anyone home?” A short, stylish woman—probably in her late fifties—comes in without waiting for an invitation. Her brown bob swings around her face, revealing green strands underneath. She moves with the athletic grace of a much younger woman, bouncing into the room and wrapping Nica in a big hug. Her warm smile embraces everyone in the room, including me, in its glow.
“Gloria!” Nica steps back, sweeping all of us onto the deck in one smooth movement. As she introduces the newcomer to her family, I catch sight of a younger man hanging back by the house.
He’s tall—well over six feet—with a bodybuilder’s broad shoulders, solid chest, and narrow waist. His pale blue button-down shirt is open at the neck and tucked into dark jeans. The rolled-back cuffs reveal strong, tanned forearms. Dark brown hair waves back from a chiseled face that bears enough resemblance to Gloria to make their mother-son relationship recognizable. He’s beautiful in a very masculine way.
My heart stutters for a second, and some primal form of recognition seems to click. This is a man I’d like to know better. I step closer and hold out a hand. “Hi, I’m Gina Wilkes.”
“Rob Mead,” he mumbles as we shake. His hand is large and warm, and when he releases me, my fingers feel cold.
Gloria turns to her son, a puzzled look on her face. “Why are you here?”
“Because you wanted me to meet Maddie.” Rob blinks his emerald-green eyes, unfairly surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Why do men get the best eyelashes?
My own eyes—a boring hazel—dart to the young redhead. She’s pretty—in that effortless, expensive Southern California way I’ve tried to copy for years. I push away an instant, instinctive pang of loss. She and Rob would look good together. Like a big, protective knight and a fairy princess.
I’m only here for a meeting. I shouldn’t care if a handsome man meets a pretty woman. I’m not in the market for a relationship—I have work to do and a new boss to wow.
Gloria frowns. “Don’t be silly. Maddie’s clearly not right for you. No offense, dear.” She aims this last bit at the younger woman.
Maddie drags her eyes from her phone to assess Rob’s magnificent physique with a lingering once-over. “Don’t worry about it, Glo. Mamas try to set me up with their sons all the time. Although they aren’t usually as hot as yours. You interested in moving to LA?”
Rob shudders. “Definitely not.”
“There ya go. Not gonna happen.” The young woman turns back to her phone.
I suppress a smile. I got a good feeling about her when she offered me the brownies. Now that good impression is confirmed.
Rob inches closer to the door. “I need to get some work done this morning.”
“But it’s Sunday!” Gloria shakes a finger at her son. “Didn’t your father and I teach you to rest on the sabbath?”
“I’m resting. I’m only working a few hours. I can come back and get you later if you want.”
Nica’s mother waves away Rob’s offer. “Don’t bother, dear. Gloria and I are going to ride the scooters.”
Rob reaches behind his back, groping for the screen door that’s still open behind him. He darts a furtive look over his shoulder, then eases into the house. “If you’ve got a ride home, I’m heading out. Nice to meet you all.”
Perfect exit opportunity. As I move, Maddie shoves the paper bag at me again. I take it, wave at the group in general, then shake hands with Nica. “I’d better go too. Sorry to intrude. It’s been a pleasure not doing business with you. Best of luck.” I follow Rob into the dim house. He waits by the front door, holding it for me, even though it’s been standing wide all morning. I nod my thanks and step onto the front porch. “Do you think I’ll make an eleven o’clock flight?”
Rob glances at his smart watch. “If you drive fast. And don’t need to check anything. But you might want to check your airline app. There have been some delays this weekend.”
I yank my phone out of my pocket and tap the icon. “No!” I wave the screen at him. “My flight is gone! Next available is six tomorrow morning! How’d you know?”
He shrugs. “I keep an eye on the news.”
I check the app again. “It looks like my connection in Portland is still on schedule. I wonder if I can get there by four.”
“Easily. It’s only a three-hour drive. You have a car?”
I wave at the black Nissan parked next to a shiny Tesla. “That’s my rental. I picked it up in Redmond. Maybe I can return it in Portland.”
“Maybe.” He pauses by the Tesla’s door. “There will be a hefty surcharge for a one-way. Been there, done that.”
“Shoot.” My boss isn’t likely to approve an extra fee, and my funds are tight. I love my job, but living in LA is expensive. And to be honest, I like nice things. I sigh. “I’d probably better wait until tomorrow. Of course, that means I’ll have to get a hotel.” My stomach sinks.
“Shouldn’t the airline cover that?” He drums his fingers on the roof of the Tesla.
“You’d think.” I poke at the airline app, but there’s no indication they’ve offered anything. “The company will have to if they don’t, since I’m here on business. But I really wanted to get home tonight.”
He clears his throat, as if he’s about to say something he thinks he might regret. “I’m driving to Portland this afternoon. If you want a ride.”
