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Furniture was another thing Rachel and Hayden had disagreed about; he’d wanted everything modern and fashionable, while she’d preferred comfort. Compromise wasn’t in his lexicon. She’d let him have every piece of furniture in the divorce, and then purchased what she’d wanted in the first place.
“Before I finish making dinner, I have to decide what to do with my life,” Rachel said. “Any ideas?”
“Wow, a new life plan in the next twenty minutes,” Adam marveled. “Is this the latest Olympic event?”
Rachel laughed, feeling more normal. The four of them had known each other for years and no one could have been more faithful visiting her at the hospital and then at home, phoning and using Skype when they were out of town on jobs. Maybe friendship was better than romance. It certainly seemed more reliable.
“I thought you had two operations to go before making a decision,” Logan said.
“The benefits would be marginal at best, so I told the surgeon that enough is enough. Besides, Kevin made inquiries and nobody wants to hire me. They say it’s been too long and there was too much press about the accident—that my injuries are all consumers will think about. If they even remember me.”
Adam scowled. “Advertisers are remarkably shortsighted. But I’m glad you’ve decided not to have more surgery. We’ve hated seeing how much it drags you down.”
Rachel squared her shoulders. “Well, now I can rebuild myself and move on.”
“What about buying into your parents’ business in the Seattle area? You’re a great cook.”
She shook her head. “That isn’t the answer. For one, my little sister hopes to eventually take over Clarion Catering, and my being there would be a complication. Not to mention it would be like going back to childhood.”
Nicole shuddered. “What an awful thought.”
Both Logan and Adam groaned in a chorus of agreement.
Ironically, of the four of them, Rachel had experienced the most normal life growing up, but she still didn’t want to go backward. Anyhow, each time her parents visited, they wanted to coddle and protect her...and deny the reality of what a huge, ancient lighting boom could do to the human body if it wasn’t properly secured. She loved them, but she needed to reclaim her life. It was what her trauma counselor kept saying, but that didn’t make it less true.
Logan leaned forward. “Is there anything you’re especially interested in doing?”
“Not really. I’ve enjoyed the travel connected to modeling, but I can’t see becoming a flight attendant.”
“How about doing makeup for photo shoots?” he suggested. “You’ve helped out several times when the professional artist couldn’t get the look I wanted. And there was that one shoot where the entire makeup staff got food poisoning from sushi and you did it for everybody.”
Makeup artist was an interesting idea. She had the insurance payout, so she didn’t have to worry if the work wasn’t regular. And she’d be in the same field as her friends.
“Would it be hard to work in a setting similar to where the accident happened?” Nicole asked, looking concerned.
“Maybe, but I’m getting counseling for post-traumatic stress and I doubt that running away is the answer.”
Rachel almost felt guilty for talking about PTSD. After all, she’d been posing for a picture when something heavy fell on her, not saving lives like the two firefighters she’d met in the hospital. They ran into burning buildings when everyone else was running out of them. But when she’d tried dismissing her own experience, they’d said to stop, that trauma was trauma, no matter what had caused it.
Rachel struggled to smile. Right now she needed to concentrate on getting through each day, one step at a time.
“What do you know?” she announced in a determinedly cheerful voice. “You’ve managed to help me plan a new life in less than ten minutes. I’m impressed.”
CHAPTER ONE (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
Eight years later
RACHEL ATE BREAKFAST on the balcony of her new condo overlooking Lake Washington, relishing the crisp, cool air of early fall. The view was partly why she’d bought this place. At night, the sparkle of electric lights ringed the dark lake, and in the daytime the vista was ever changing, depending on the weather and which boats were out.
It was funny... She’d grown up in a small town near Seattle and had resisted returning after the accident, yet here she was, less than thirty miles from where her parents lived. Maybe Washington would always be home, or maybe she was just happy that the goal she and her friends had set three years earlier—buying a talent agency—had finally been reached.
Actually, they’d owned Moonlight Ventures for a year, but Nicole had run it alone at first, and then Adam had joined her. Now Rachel was here, and Logan would be joining them soon, as well. Becoming a talent agent was a challenge, the same as when Rachel had built her reputation as a model, and then as a makeup artist.
She decided to go for a walk and automatically checked her appearance in a mirror by the front door. It was Saturday and she didn’t have any appointments, but makeup was a habit that made her more confident. She kept it as light as possible, using the barest amount necessary to cover the lingering scars from her old injuries.
Rather than taking the elevator, she ran down the stairs. Since her accident and being bandaged like a mummy so often after surgeries, she’d become slightly claustrophobic.
“Hi,” said a childish voice as Rachel walked through the building lobby. A little girl gazed up at her. She was cute as could be, with brown eyes, reddish hair and an inquisitive expression.
“Hello. Who are you?”
“My name is Livvie. I’m seven.”
“I’m Rachel. Do you live in the Carthage?” The Carthage was the name of the building, supposedly chosen to evoke images of strength and engineering excellence.
The youngster vigorously bobbed her head. “We used to live in Seattle before Daddy went to work in New York, but I asked if we could come back because this is the place I like best. It’s...” She chewed on her lip. “It’s where I remember Mama best.”
Livvie seemed remarkably articulate and self-possessed for a child her age, though Rachel was hardly an expert on kids. “It was nice of your daddy to do that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ready for our walk, Livvie?” a young woman asked, coming up to them. She looked at Rachel. “Hello, I’m Gemma.”
“Gemma is my nanny, ’cept I’m too old for a nanny, so she just takes care of me,” Livvie volunteered.
“Hi, Gemma. I’m Rachel Clarion. I live on the second floor.” Rachel deliberately provided the information, figuring a nanny worth her salt would want to know exactly who had been talking with her charge.
“Daddy’s girlfriend was awful mad when we moved home,” Livvie said blithely, “but Gemma was happy because she grew up here and wants to go back to college.”
“Sweetie, you shouldn’t talk about your father that way to a stranger,” Gemma cautioned. She had a clear, melodic voice that probably appealed to a child.
“Why not?”
“Because it... It’s because some things are private.”
“Everybody knows. I heard Daddy say on the phone that Sandra whined to the newspaper people about us leaving.”
Rachel suspected that explaining privacy to a seven-year-old was like trying to bail water with a sieve. It would be even harder if Livvie’s father was well-known. As for his “whined to the newspaper” comment? The word evoked an image of a man who was impatient with women, maybe even scornful of them.
“Gemma, how long have you been a nanny?” she asked as a distraction.
“Since Livvie was a baby. When did you move to the Carthage?”
“A few weeks ago. I grew up in Washington, but lived in Los Angeles for a number of years. It’s nice to be back.”
“I know how you feel.”
Livvie tugged on Rachel’s arm. “Do you want to go with us? I’m putting my new boat in the water. It has a motor and everything!”
As Livvie held up the toy, there was a vibration under their feet. Someone across the lobby called, “Earthquake,” and Gemma let out a gasp.
“I’m sure we’re okay,” Rachel said quickly, “but let’s get over by that column.” She knew that the Carthage had been reinforced to withstand earthquakes and the central columns were part of the structural support.
“May-maybe we should go outside,” Gemma protested.
“The column,” Rachel repeated firmly, shepherding the other woman and Livvie close to the column. The possibility of flowerpots falling from the balconies above bothered her more than any chance the ceiling might come down in such a minor quake.
In less than ten seconds the shaking stopped. Her face ashen, Gemma had pulled Livvie close.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Rachel assured quietly. “We’re fine. That probably wasn’t even a 3.0.”
“I know. It’s just that when I was a kid I fell down a flight of stairs during the Nisqually quake and broke my leg.”
“That was a strong one.” Rachel remembered the Nisqually quake—it was hard not to remember being in such a powerful earthquake. “But this one mostly felt like a great big truck driving by, making the ground rumble a little. Right, Livvie?” she asked in an encouraging tone.
“Yup.” Livvie didn’t seem afraid, more excited. “Is there going to be a tidal wave?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then can we sail my boat now?”
Gemma laughed, visibly regaining her composure. She seemed nice, if unsure of herself. “I guess that puts things in perspective. Let’s go.”
When they reached the lake, Livvie focused on putting her small remote-controlled motorboat into the water.
“What is your college major?” Rachel asked as they kept a careful watch on the little girl.
“Childhood development. That’s why getting a job as a nanny seemed a good way to work my way through school.”
“There’s nothing like practical experience,” Rachel agreed.
“Right, but I didn’t want to leave my job when Simon...Mr. Kessler decided to go back East. When we got there he decided on homeschooling for Livvie and hired a teacher. Even so, it... Um, it didn’t seem practical to attend college in New York, but I’m starting classes again here in January,” she added awkwardly.
Rachel wondered how Gemma felt about her boss. The way she’d said his name had an odd tone and Rachel couldn’t decide whether it was affection or wariness. Well, good luck to her, and to anyone who had dreams of a romantic happily-ever-after.
SIMON KESSLER WAS frustrated by the unusually heavy Saturday traffic. He’d expected to stay at the office later, but even though Gemma had called and assured him that Livvie wasn’t upset by the small earthquake, he’d decided to come home and spend the afternoon with her.
At length he drove his Volvo into the building’s underground garage and got into the elevator. It was used by all the Carthage residents, but the top floor could only be accessed by a special key.
The elevator opened into an entrance foyer. He unlocked the front door and the first thing he heard was his daughter chattering happily away. Livvie was the most important part of his life, the best thing he and Olivia had ever done together. But now his complex, brilliant, wonderful wife was gone, and he was a widower and single father. He still missed Olivia so much that at times he thought he’d choke on the pain.
“Where’s my Livi-kin-kinnie?” he said, walking into the living room.
He stopped. A stranger was there, a woman who looked vaguely familiar but was still a stranger. She sat on the floor by the coffee table, while Livvie fussed over the tiny bone china tea set that had been one of her birthday presents when she turned seven. Quickly he glanced around and was relieved to see Gemma seated in the corner with a book. He would have been upset if he’d found Livvie alone with someone they didn’t know.
“Daddy,” Livvie exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Have tea with us. Pleeeeze? Gemma has to study and it’s a much better party with more people.”
He couldn’t resist her big brown eyes pleading with him.
“You talked me into it.” Simon chose the opposite side of the coffee table, preferring not to sit close to the woman. The spot was awkward since the huge redwood burl table was low and he had to arrange his legs around the bulky base.
“Who is your other guest?” he asked.
“This is Rachel C-Clarion. Rachel, this is my daddy.”
The woman smiled and nodded as Livvie continued talking.
“Rachel lives downstairs. We went to the lake with her this morning and I asked if she could come for tea.” Livvie trotted toward the kitchen and Gemma set her book aside to follow, no doubt to help with preparations.
Being a resident in the Carthage might be why Rachel seemed familiar, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted her around his daughter.
He’d talk about it with Gemma. She had good instincts, but might have been too shy to turn away their neighbor. Her lack of confidence at times had been his biggest concern about hiring her to care for his newborn daughter. But Olivia had liked her and the way she’d handled Livvie, so he’d agreed. Now, with his wife’s death two years ago, he couldn’t contemplate removing Gemma from Livvie’s life; his daughter had already lost too much. It would still happen at some point... Gemma was nearly twenty-six now and couldn’t stay forever.
Forcing his thoughts to the present moment, Simon nodded at Rachel and she nodded back. He regarded her dispassionately. Her eyes were almost turquoise, he thought idly, making him wonder if she wore colored contacts. She was stunningly beautiful with a cloud of long, dark hair. But he wasn’t a kid, ready to fall for a pretty face.
Friends sometimes claimed that he needed a wife and a mother for his daughter. But while he’d dated casually over the past year, he was always clear that he didn’t want anything permanent; he and Livvie were doing fine on their own. Unfortunately, the woman he’d seen most often in New York had begun hinting for more. Sandra, a well-known socialite, had been furious when she discovered he was moving away without offering a marriage proposal.
He carefully returned Rachel’s smile to show neither openness nor caution. “Hello, I’m Simon Kessler.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve seen you at the Java Train Shop next door.”
“They serve decent coffee,” he said.
“Yeah. I used to have one of those fancy machines that practically dances a cup over to the table. But I got rid of the contraption when I moved home. Since I was returning to one of the coffee capitals of the world, why bother making my own brew?”
“I see. What brought you back to the Northwest?” he asked, knowing he was doomed to a period of polite conversation. It was frustrating. He’d come home for quality time with Livvie and had to share it with a stranger.
“Business. My partners and I bought a talent agency.”
“I’ve never known anyone in the talent industry.”
Her lips curved again. They were full and sweetly shaped, with just a hint of gloss over a natural rosy color. “I’ve worked in the modeling field since I was fourteen, so except for childhood friends, I hardly know anyone outside it. What line are you in?”
“My business covers multiple areas, but these days I mostly focus on textiles for home furnishings.”
It was a dismissive description of his varied enterprises, but he didn’t see the need to go into detail. Through the years Simon had acquired and sold several companies, but he no longer did corporate takeovers; it required time and a callousness that didn’t match the man he wanted to be as Livvie’s father.
Livvie returned with a small tray, her upper lip caught between her teeth in concentration. Rachel reached up to help lower the tray to the table, and he wasn’t thrilled to see her seeming willingness to connect with his child; it reminded him of the way Sandra had started dropping by, hoping to become cozy with his daughter. Her motives had been transparent and if he hadn’t decided to leave New York, he would have bluntly told her that Livvie was off-limits. Even at his worst he’d never used a child to advance his personal or business goals and didn’t appreciate anyone who did.
“Livvie didn’t think you’d be home so early,” Rachel said, breaking into his thoughts.
Was she trying to suggest she’d come to the tea party without expecting to see him? For pity’s sake, he’d turned into both a cynic and an egotist. A woman could respond to a child’s invitation without having ulterior motives. And if Rachel had anything else in mind, he’d figure it out soon enough.
“I had a couple of meetings with people who weren’t available during the week. I expected to stay at the office longer to finish some work,” he told her, “but changed my mind after the earthquake.”
“Daddy works almost every day,” Livvie said sadly.
Guilt struck Simon. His hours hadn’t mattered as much when Olivia was there and they both could spend time with her outside their demanding careers. “I know about mommies and daddies who have to work a lot,” Rachel said as she accepted the miniature cup Livvie handed to her. “My parents run a catering business.”
