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2

THERE WAS ONLY ONE PERSON that Jeff depended on for advice. Himself. However, when gazillion-dollar financial matters were involved, he was out of his league, although he’d never admit it to anybody, especially his older brother, Andrew.

And it was for this reason that, when he called Andrew to meet him for happy hour, he told his brother that he needed to hit him up for money for a charitable donation.

Andrew was a successful hedge-fund manager—a hugely successful hedge-fund manager.

Jeff tried not to compare his successes to Andrew’s, because he’d always come up short—several billion short, in case anyone was counting. Of course even God couldn’t really compare to Andrew’s successes. But to be fair, God took a day off once a week, and Andrew never did. Jeff was a firm believer in a day off.

“So, what’s this cause of yours?” asked Andrew, sitting at the bar, sipping on his beer.

“Heart disease in kids. We’re doing a campaign to raise awareness. There’s some great breakthroughs in the medical community, new drugs that are entering trials and we’re putting together a complete media package, kicking off with this Their Hearts On The Line campaign. Great stuff. Really hits you right here,” said Jeff, laying a hand over his chest.

“How much do you need?”

“What’s the life of a child worth to you, Andrew? Then multiply that by fifty.”

“That’s serious cash.”

“Heart disease is serious business.”

“All right,” said Andrew, who then wrote one very large check.

Jeff tucked the paper in his pocket; he’d mail it to a charity tomorrow. He loved his brother unconditionally, owed him in ways that he could never pay back, but sometimes a man had to have a little fun. Separating Andrew from his vault full of money was Jeff’s favorite game. In the old days, those checks would be made out to Jeff, but eventually Jeff had managed on his own, so he had to think of new, better and more philanthropic causes for Andrew’s millions.

As the checks had gotten bigger, Andrew developed a reputation as a high roller within charity circles, and Jeff got to watch the pained expression on Andrew’s face as he signed his name at the bottom of each and every one.

Life didn’t get any better than this.

“So, how’re you doing?” asked Jeff. “How’s the new firm?”

“Lots of work,” said Andrew, blowing out a breath. “But worth it.”

“Saw where Jamie made the cover of Forbes.”

“Yeah,” said Andrew. At the mention of his girlfriend, Andrew’s face reflected something approaching humanity.

Whatever.

Jeff leaned against the bar and spotted a brunette watching him over the rim of her glass. Automatically he smiled at her, because deep in his genetic makeup, Jeff was wired for one thing: sex.

Andrew watched the interplay but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to, his eyes said it all. Andrew disapproved of Jeff’s lifestyle. Big whoop.

“I got a call from Ed Weinberger at Stockard-Vine Public Relations. We played on a golf foursome a while back. Anyway, he had a question about some stock, and I mentioned you to him. Turns out they’re looking for a VP. You should think about it.”

Jeff frowned into his beer mug. That was the problem with being around Andrew. His brother reminded him of the other thing that existed beyond sex and Jeff’s boat fund: responsibilities, with a capital R. The brunette stopped her perusing, and Jeff took a long swallow of beer. Responsibilities were best taken on when drunk.

Eventually, the taste of the lager left his mouth, but the sour taste of life remained.

Jeff met his brother’s eyes squarely. “Andrew, I’m not eighteen anymore. I have a career and a job that I got all by myself. I don’t need your help.”

Someday, his brother might understand that Jeff wanted to make it solo. ’Course, Andrew would probably be dead before it all sunk it, but Jeff would keep reminding him.

They’d been raised without their father, and Andrew had taken care of the Brooks family for so long that sometimes he forgot that everyone could take care of themselves now.

“I know you don’t like my help. I’m just letting you know the possibilities are there. It’d get you one step closer to that boat you want.”

Now it was time to change the subject. “So, listen, I have a question for you,” started Jeff, picking up a handful of peanuts and lining them up on his napkin.

“Shoot.”

“When you need to get somebody in line with your way of thinking, what do you do?”

“You’re kidding me. I thought you were the PR whiz.”

Damn. Lack of sleep was causing Jeff to lose his touch. “This really isn’t a PR sort of question. It’s more a question of mankind,” said Jeff, popping a peanut in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

“Or womankind?”

“I don’t think we need to be gender-specific here. I’ve been thinking about this. I mean, PR is my business and all, but there are more important things going on in the world, and I need to pay attention to them.”

“What’s her name?”

“You know, it really ticks me off that you have such a low opinion of me that you think if I’m having issues, it has to be about women. I have thoughts. Deep thoughts.”

“Usually involving sex.”

“You don’t see my sex life thrown out onto the Internet like some cheap Playboy movie of the week,” Jeff reminded him.

Andrew’s face closed off. “That’s not fair.”

It probably wasn’t, but that never stopped Jeff. Last fall, Andrew and Jamie’s affair had been loosely fictionalized all over America in Andrew and Jeff’s younger sister’s sex blog. Gotta love technology.

“And it’s not fair that you don’t give me credit for deeper character virtues. You think all I have on the brain is women and sex.”

“What did you do last night?” asked Andrew.

“I was at a club.”

“By yourself?”

“There’s lots of people at clubs.”

“The night before?”

“I don’t think that matters.”

“Another club?”

“Maybe.”

“And did you get laid on either one of these two nights?”

Ah, moral dilemma. Jeff could admit the truth—tell his brother that he’d been celibate for the past three months, except for the one night of sex with Sheldon that he couldn’t remember. That’d be the answer from a man with deeper character virtues.

The alternative would be to lie about his current sexual endeavors, or lack thereof, because Andrew would never believe that Jeff wasn’t hitting the sheets with somebody—anybody, for that matter.

“Duh. ’Course I got laid,” said Jeff, rolling his eyes.

“I rest my case,” replied Andrew, raising his glass.

“You tricked me!” exclaimed Jeff, using his inherited acting skills to fake indignation.

Andrew gave him The Look.

Jeff blew out a breath.

Now that was out of the way, too.

On to the one question that had been burning in Jeff’s brain.

“Listen, I need to ask you a hypothetical question. What would happen if there was a merger between Con-Mason U.S.A. and Summerville Consumer Products?”

Andrew whistled. “No shit?”

“I said hypothetical.”

Andrew stared up at the ceiling, lips pursed. Andrew thought this was his thinking look.

Jeff called it the Stick-Up-My-Ass look.

“Okay, Con-Mason—Chinese. Summerville—rumors of new product development.” He looked back at his brother. “All in all, big. Very, very big. But what does Con-Mason get out of this?”

Sheldon. “My lips are sealed,” answered Jeff. “So this would be huge? Worth lots of money?”

“Many zeroes, Jeff. More than you can count.”

That’s what Jeff was afraid of. Time to cut off moronic heroic notions before said notions rose up to bite him in the butt.

“So, when are you going to propose to Jamie?” asked Jeff, expertly steering the conversation into friendlier waters.

Andrew’s face turned a whiter shade of pale. “That’s a big step.”

“Chicken?”

“No, it’s just that a man needs to think of his life strategically. One step at a time. You start with your business goals, get those in order and then move on to personal ones. Jamie and I will end up married, but I want to get the new firm right up there in the top two.”

“You mean the top ten?”

“Uh, no, the top two.”

“And then, after many years have passed, and you’re both old and gray? You try and get down on one knee to propose, but by this time you’re arthritic in not only one, but both knees, and she has to help you up. What if she’s not going to wait for you, Andrew? What if she’s not going to wait for you to achieve your goals?”

Jeff knew that Jamie would wait on Andrew forever if necessary, but Jeff thought it’d be more fun to put the fear of loneliness into his brother. Jamie would thank him for it later.

“Of course she’ll wait until the firm is ready. Jamie’s more ambitious than I am,” said Andrew, traces of doubt coloring his voice.

Jeff covered his smile with a hand to his face and then put on a serious look. “If you really want something, you have to put everything aside, don’t you?” Secretly, Jeff had always admired Andrew’s single-minded focus. Andrew never let the distractions of life get in his way. If Jeff had been that single-minded, it would be Columbia-Starr-Brooks Communication by now, and he’d be the proud owner of a sweet thirty-five-foot double-masted sailboat with polished decks. Pipedreams was what he used to call his goals. But now they seemed within reach. Maybe he could be more like Andrew…

Jeff looked at Andrew with new respect. Well, technically, he’d always respected his brother, but he usually hid it. This time he didn’t.

“You apply yourself, put in the hours, and it’ll pay off in the end. Life works out, Jeff. It always does.”

Yeah, life would work out for everyone but Sheldon. “No matter if you don’t exactly agree with what’s going on?”

Andrew nodded wisely, his brow furrowed. “Let me tell you a secret, Jeff. Corporate America is not for the faint of heart. It’s a tough, bullshit business, where money trumps all else. It’s not going to change. You’ll come across a lot of times where you don’t agree with what’s going on. But that’s the way business works. The people who own the company decide how they’re going to run it, and they don’t care about you. So if you want something, you get it. End of story. Haven’t you learned anything from me?”

“Sure” said Jeff, popping a peanut in his mouth. “Apply yourself, focus, ignore the crap. I can do that.”

Maybe.

WHEN JEFF HAD CALLED SHELDON to say he wanted to meet with her on Thursday, Sheldon knew the perfect place. Agent Provocateur was stylish but lurid, in a genitalia-engorging way. By the time Jeff made it through the door at the Soho shop, Sheldon was wielding eight transparent teddies, three sheer bras and one garter belt complete with little black bows. He stopped and stared. Suddenly, he was a man traveling in another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of sheer lace and peek-a-boo bras. Next stop, the Erection Zone.

Sheldon held up a bra with cut-out nipples and smiled. “What do you think?”

His Adams apple bobbed up and down. That firm yet classical mouth pulled into a frown. His sexy brown eyes were full of foreboding, yet flavored with the tastiest bit of lust. “I thought we had a new set of ground rules.”

“You said no nudity.” With garments in hand, she strolled to the dressing rooms. “This isn’t nudity. Coming?”

He followed her, but when it came to breaching the sanctity of the changing room, he stopped at the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait.”

She sighed. “Whatever.”

Inside, she stripped off her clothes and pulled on the white lace teddy. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I know why you’re doing this.”

Sheldon paused. “Doing what?”

“This whole vamp-the-world thing.”

She giggled. Vamp was such a cute, old-fashioned word, and Jeff was so—not. Unless she missed her guess, and she never did, that suit was Armani. No, the man didn’t have an old-fashioned bone in his body as hard, muscular and top-shelf as that body was. “Why am I vamping the world?”

“Your father told me about the engagement.”

Now that stopped her cold. For only a second. Then she pasted the smile back on her face and began to tie the little white straps that kept the top in place. Sheldon looked in the mirror, pleased with the way her breasts nearly spilled over the cups. The white was innocent and classy, but the whole ensemble screamed “Take me, I’m yours.”

“What about it?” she asked in a bored voice.

“You don’t want this to happen.”

Sheldon opened the door and watched his face turn a pleasant shade of bone-white that went well with his dark hair. “Grow up, Jeff,” she told him, then performed a sexy little turn. “What do you think?” she asked, cocking a hand on her hip, making sure he could appreciate the curve of her rear.

“It’s nice,” he said, swallowing. He dragged his gaze up and focused on the wall. “You’re okay with the marriage thing, then?”

She took a step closer, letting lace-covered nipples brush against his chest, as much for her as for him. “I live in a separate place from most of the rest of the world. I can’t marry just anybody. There’re family considerations, corporate considerations and genetic considerations.”

“You’re making that up,” he accused, his eyes straying to her cleavage.

Sheldon faced the mirror and pulled at one strap, letting it hang off her shoulder. “The genetic considerations aren’t true, but the rest is. It’s a trade-off, Jeff. I get what I want, and Daddy gets what he wants. What could be better?”

This time his gaze locked onto her face, trapping her there. “What do you want, Sheldon?”

She looked away, deciding she didn’t like the innocent white look on her. No, she needed something with spice. Black. Or her signature red. That would complement her blond hair, not wash it out. “That’s for me to know and you to speculate on for the rest of your days.”

“So you’re going to go through with this?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Well, you do seem to favor a lot of guys for a woman who’s about to get married.”

“It’s not like it’s going to happen next week.”

“And you’re sowing your wild oats?”

She tilted her head. “Absolutely.”

“And that’s your final answer?”

“Yeah, Reege.”

She thought he would argue more. Secretly, she wanted him to argue more, but instead he sighed, giving up on her. “Okay, then we’ve got lots of work to do, but if we focus, we’re cool. I’ve come up with a five-point plan strategically designed to fix your image.”

She slammed the door in his face and stripped off the teddy. “I don’t need to fix my image.”

“You do if you’re going to go through with this,” he answered matter-of-factly.

She flung open the door, because she hated the cool, matter-of-fact tone he used. This was her life he wanted to fix, as if she were some chipped statue, or a knockoff purse with a broken zipper.

“You said no nudity,” he reminded her.

She slammed the door shut. “No, you said that.”

“But you promised.”

“Fine,” she said, picking out the demi-bra and garter belt. “Tell me about this brilliant plan of yours,” she said, sliding on a pair of red panties, gritting her teeth the whole time.

“Okay. There’re five basic areas that we can target—personal life, artistic endeavors, sports, giving back to the community and what I call the “little man.”

Giving back to the community? The “little man”?

Sheldon pulled on the hose, nearly running them, and then snapped the demi-bra in place. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“It’s my job.”

“Of course,” she said, and examined herself in the mirror.

Artistic endeavors? What a crock. She’d show him artistic endeavors. She pulled the bra cup down half an inch, exposing one nicely artistic nipple. Then she opened the door. “Should I get this one?”

He didn’t move.

She waved a hand in front of his face. “Jeff?”

He gave his head one hard shake. “You are so paying for this, Sheldon.”

“For what?”

He pulled at the bra cup, covering her up, but she didn’t miss the way his thumb lingered.

“Nothing,” he answered. “All we need to do is focus.”

Focus. He thought they needed to focus. She knew they needed to have sex. Mad, passionate, glorious sex so that she could exorcise Jeff Brooks from her system before he “fixed” her.

Sheldon went back into the dressing room and pulled on her sundress and sandals, a pleased smile on her face as she remembered the feel of his hands on her. Outside the door, she could hear his pacing. All that restrained tension.

Someday. Someday soon, Jeff Brooks.

Yeah, Sheldon knew exactly what she wanted.

3

THE SUMMERVILLE ENCLAVE WAS situated overlooking the ocean in the Hamptons. Sheldon had spent every single weekend of her summers there, and the smell of the sea air never failed to stir her senses. The sun was setting over her shoulder, casting a glimmering reflection on the water.

There was something about the solitude of the water that called to her. It was a time when she could turn off all the extraneous aspects of the Summerville legacy—of which there were many—and simply be.

As she sat on the boat dock, watching the gray waters of the Atlantic, she took another deep breath. A seagull perched on a wooden post, waiting for bread crumbs. He’d be waiting for a long time because Sheldon wasn’t the bread crumb type.

Being a Summerville had its privileges, that was for sure. She could jet off to Aspen or the Alps, take off for the Caribbean whenever she got the urge and could spend three times the GNP of Cuba on clothes.

It’d be really, really petty to complain, so she didn’t. She rose and took a few steps closer to the water, the catamarans lazily riding the swells, the gentle lapping of the waves soothing her nerves, clearing her head of all negativity.

Sometimes she thought she should be doing something meaningful with her life. But then she’d go out and tie one on and would eventually come to the realization that there were people in the world destined for meaningful things.

Sheldon wasn’t one of them.

She spotted her sister, Cami, leaving the house, walking down the steps toward Sheldon. As if she needed a reminder of her place in the grand scheme of things.

Camille Summerville, at age twenty-four, was two years younger than Sheldon and a paler, more refined version of her sister. Sheldon still loved her in spite of it. Cami didn’t have the flash of Sheldon, she wore khakis and linen shirts and she gardened. As she walked out on the beach, her sneakers kicked in the sand. Another difference—Sheldon wouldn’t be caught dead in sneakers.

“I’m supposed to tell you that dinner will be served at seven,” said Cami.

“Yeah, sounds great.”

“Monique called an hour ago, and left a message. She wants you to go out with some of her friends.”

Monique was their mother’s tennis coach, Sheldon barely knew her. “What now?”

“I don’t know, but she kept talking about some tennis tournament.”

“I don’t play tennis.”

“I think she’s angling for someone to sponsor her,” admitted Cami.

“Why can’t people just come out and ask? Why pretend to be friends, or to be nice, or to be interested in anything about me? Why not just be honest?”

“Don’t shoot me, I’m just the service.”

Sheldon laughed. “I don’t believe that no one ever hits you up for stuff. Use your influence, Sheldon,” she said in a mocking voice.

“I solved that a long time ago.”

“How?”

“I told them that Dad gave it all to you. I’m the poor, struggling medical student.”

Sheldon swung a mock fist, and Cami dodged. Somehow Cami always managed to escape.

This time her sister gave her a sympathetic look. “The Conrads will be here, too. You should wear something nice. Dad would like that.”

“Yeah, I will. I thought you were in the city for the weekend.”

Cami was finishing up her second year of medical school at Columbia and never had time off, summers included. Cami was destined for meaningful things.

“I should be. Got the boards to study for, but I needed to talk to you.” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and bit her lip, looking majorly guilty.

“What about?” asked Sheldon, curious about what sort of thing would give Cami a guilt complex. A B- on a test? A parking ticket? Walking past a homeless guy on Tenth Avenue without throwing money in his direction?

“I want to go to the islands this weekend, and I need you to cover for me.”

And no, it wasn’t anything wicked at all. Cami just wanted a break. “Why can’t you tell Mom?”

“Two reasons. One, she’d give me serious grief for skipping out on my studies. And two, Lance. She thinks it’s a ‘rebellious phase’ I’m going through.”

“Lance?”

Cami’s faced turned all dreamy, and she let out one of those long, seventh-grade sighs. “Lance. He’s a drummer in this band.” Cami looked around to see if anyone else was listening. Satisfied that the bird wasn’t going to tell, she continued. “We’re gonna do it, Sheldon.”

“Have sex?”

“Heck, no, we’ve done that hundreds of times. We’re going to go away for a weekend. And I want to skinny dip in the ocean and have sex on the beach and do all those crazy tropical things that normal people are rumored to have done. Have you ever had sex on the beach?”

Actually, Sheldon hadn’t because the beach was her place and her place alone. But Cami looked all goo-goo about the prospect, so Sheldon put on her best “dreamy-flashback” smile. “It’s great. It’s really hot, and you get all sweaty and sticky, but then, just when you think it’s totally yuck, you can dive into the ocean and cool off, the warm waters wrapping around you. Five stars, Cami. Definitely.”

“Oh, I can’t wait. And I bought a new bikini. With strings.”

“You and Lance will have a great time.”

Playfully, Sheldon kicked some sand in Cami’s direction. Sheldon didn’t have any of Cami’s important things to worry about. Yeah, no muss, no guilt. Until the day she was engaged, she was as free as the bird still perched nearby, waiting patiently for crumbs.

Sheldon fished in her pocket and tossed the bird an Altoid’s mint. Not a piece of bread, but he’d have great breath. He flew down and picked up the mint.

Cami shook her head.

“You know, you and Josh should get married in the Caribbean. Barefoot. Maybe some quiet guitar music in the background. What do you think?”

“Yeah, maybe,” answered Sheldon. “Let’s go inside. After all, don’t want to keep Josh waiting.”

THE FORMAL DINING ROOM SEATED forty when necessary. Tonight the table was set for eight, but Sheldon really wished they’d put in the extra leaves so that conversation would be kept to a minimum.

The four extra seats were occupied by the Conrad family: James Conrad, his wife, Marge; their daughter, Jennifer; and the favored son, Josh, Sheldon’s soon to be fiancé.

She picked at her peas and watched Josh from the corner of her eye. He was handsome, with sun-bleached California hair, earnest blue eyes, a dimple in his chin and a mouth that was a hair too wide, but it fit him. Josh was the eternal optimist. For some reason, every time Sheldon laid eyes on him, she wanted to kill him. Not the best start for a marriage.

“Sheldon, how’s your steak, honey?”

Sheldon smiled at her father. “I think I’m going to become a vegetarian. Do you know how they make steak? Cutting up the cows, all that blood—”

Sheldon’s mother held up a perfectly manicured hand. “Not at the dinner table, Sheldon.”

Sheldon blinked vacantly. “Sure, Mom.”

Her mother, ever the peacemaker, turned to Josh. “So, Josh, what’s new and exciting at Con-Mason?”

He speared a piece of meat with his fork, his mouth curved into an even bigger smile than usual. “Sales for the new line of bathroom cleaners are up seventeen percent, and we’ve put some incentives in place for the sales team. Very exciting stuff. I think third quarter growth will surprise everyone—especially the analysts.” Then he took a bite of his steak and chewed. Still smiling.

“Isn’t that nice?” Sheldon’s mother, Cynthia, looked every bit the Hamptons matron. Golden blonde, tanned and still gorgeous. That would be Sheldon in about twenty years, although Cynthia was missing Sheldon’s vacant expression. Her mother actually cared about things.

Then Cynthia turned to her oldest daughter. “Isn’t that nice, Sheldon?”

“Better than nice, Mom.” She looked in Josh’s direction. “Nuclear.”

He met her eyes, smiled, and then went back to his dinner. Oh, yes, theirs would be a match made in heaven.

The dinner conversation followed a well-established order. Gossip, excluding the Summerville and Conrad families, of course. Next up was the polo season. No one at the table played, including Josh, who was a golfer like Sheldon’s dad. However, lack of participation never stopped a heated discussion about how disappointing last season was.

Over dessert, Marge Conrad and Cynthia would launch into a full critique of the fall fashion season, each woman bemoaning her loss of figure. Both were size four.

Scintillating stuff, and after twenty-six years of it, Sheldon knew it all by heart.

After the last of the plates had been cleared away, her father opened a bottle of wine, pouring everyone a glass. Then he moved to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I have an announcement to make. I think y’all are going to be seeing a new side of Sheldon. Gave me a big surprise when she came to me and talked about expanding her world. Giving back to the community, trying artistic endeavors, taking an interest in New York’s fine array of sports offerings, turning her personal life into something more meaningful. I was tickled pink. And then, she told me about her favorite idea, sticking up for the ‘little man.’” He raised a glass. “To Sheldon, apple of my eye and owner of my heart.”

Sheldon raised her glass, pasting a smile on her face. So Jeff was that confident of his five-point plan that he’d pitched it to her father like a new advertising slogan?

Rage burned inside her, an oddly unfamiliar emotion. She’d be damned if Jeff was going to treat her like dishwashing powder.

Maybe she had a meaningless existence, maybe she was a black hole of humanity, but this time he had pushed her too far. This was a new and improved Sheldon with extra strength for tackling stubborn PR flacks where they lived.

Little did he know it, but Jeff Brooks had just issued a declaration of war.

MERCEDES BROOKS WAS JEFF’S younger sister and partner in crime, usually against Andrew. Then, when they were done with that, they’d turn on each other in that genuine, loving yet exquisitely painful sibling way that had endured since the dawn of time.

If she’d been homely or fat, Jeff might have cut her some slack, but Mercedes had looks. Not model looks, like Sheldon, but she had a unique I-can-kick-your-ass glint in her eyes that seemed to drive guys wild.

Jeff, having been the recipient of said glint more than once, was immune.

Currently, his pain-in-the-butt sister was curled up in his office, hogging his favorite chair, reading the New York Times—not her usual reading material. She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and continued to bitch. Another one of Mercedes’ finer qualities.

She pointed to the article she was reading and scowled. “I don’t think sex is cheapening America, do you?”

“What?” asked Jeff, the word sex capturing his interest.

“They’re talking about my blog.”

“Oh,” muttered Jeff, going over his notes. Mercedes had a sex blog that she wrote anonymously. The Red Choo Diaries. Most of his friends’ sisters wrote their secrets in their diaries. Not Mercedes. No, the whole freaking world had to know about her secrets.

“I don’t have time for this, Mercedes,” he said, sending off an e-mail to a reporter at the Daily News, his last reminder before today’s event.

“Why not? Don’t you care about the freedom of the press? You, of all people, who depend on the media in order to do your job? I think you’re a traitor in disguise, Jeff. I can’t believe you’re my brother.

“Oh, calm down, Mercedes. You write a sex blog, not Gone with the Wind.”

“And isn’t it a fact that you lie, cheat and brainwash people for a living?”

“On a good day, yes.”

She humphed and went back to the paper. “The least you could do is help me write an Op-Ed piece. You know, something with a great hook and pizzazz. I need to work on my platform.”

“What platform?” he asked.

“A marketing platform. My agent told me that.”

Jeff frowned. “What agent?”

“Do you pay attention to anything I tell you?”

“No.”

“At least Andrew listens to me.”

“I got him the other day.”

That brought the joy back into Mercedes’s eyes. “Really? How?”

“I told him that Jamie wouldn’t wait forever for him to propose.”

“Oh, what did he do? Pale, pasty complexion, the eye dodge, or the back-brace-posture-pose.”

“All of the above.”

“I bet he proposes next week.”