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Moonlight Over Seattle
Callie Endicott
Can people really change? She's about to find out!Supermodel Nicole George is giving up her glamorous career to become an agent. And, even though she’d rather stay private, she’s agreed to an exclusive magazine profile—anything to help her new business. But that was before Nicole realized that the journalist is her high school nemesis, Jordan Masters. How balanced can this story be when she and Jordan have such a murky past? But as they grow closer, Nicole can’t believe this is the same guy. This Jordan is even more handsome than she remembers and his opinions now seem intriguing rather than arrogant. Just as she starts to believe they might have something, though, Jordan lets her in on a family secret that could change everything.
Can people really change? She’s about to find out!
Supermodel Nicole George is giving up her glamorous career to become an agent. And even though she’d rather stay private, she’s agreed to an exclusive magazine profile—anything to help her new business. But that was before Nicole realized that the journalist is her high school nemesis, Jordan Masters. How balanced can this story be when she and Jordan have such a murky past? But as they grow closer, Nicole can’t believe this is the same guy. This Jordan is even more handsome than she remembers, and his opinions now seem intriguing rather than arrogant. Just as she starts to believe they might have something, though, Jordan lets her in on a family secret that could change everything.
“Jordan, stop being an interviewer for five minutes and just watch the northern lights.”
He made mental notes, trying not to think of Nicole standing there in the close, intimate darkness, or the heated imprint of her body against his. A cool breeze across the park did little to dispel it.
Focus, he ordered silently. For example, he should ask why she and her partners had chosen Seattle when there was such an active fashion industry in Southern California. Hollywood was there, too. Since Moonlight Ventures was obviously interested in areas beyond modeling, they were a significant distance from some of the most lucrative markets to place their clients.
“You can’t do it, can you?” Nicole asked. “I can practically feel the tension emanating from your body, as if the questions are charging through every cell.”
Actually, it was hormones charging through his system. The questions as a journalist were the only things keeping him sane.
Dear Reader (#u9c86c194-2932-5459-a77e-0431c154d25e),
If you’ve read my book At Wild Rose Cottage, you may remember that the heroine had a sister, supermodel Nicole George. In the beginning I didn’t plan to tell Nicole’s story, but then she decided to take a big risk in changing her career to become a talent agent in partnership with her friends.
As the idea grew, Nicole’s story became more and more irresistible to me. Besides, I moved her to Seattle, a beautiful city in which to spend time, whether for real or in a book. In Nicole’s new home she soon runs into someone from her past, Jordan Masters, who isn’t exactly a childhood friend—more a thorn in her side. I enjoyed spending time with Nicole and Jordan in Seattle, and hope you will, too.
I love hearing from readers and can be contacted at: c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, ON M3B 3K9, Canada. Please also check out my Facebook page at Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author (https://www.Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author).
Best wishes,
Callie Endicott
Moonlight Over Seattle
Callie Endicott
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
As a kid CALLIE ENDICOTT had her nose stuck in a book so often it frequently got her in trouble. The trouble hasn’t stopped—she keeps having to buy new bookshelves. Luckily ebooks don’t take much space. Writing has been another help, since she’s usually on the computer creating stories instead of buying them. Callie loves bringing characters to life and never knows what will prompt an idea. So she still travels, hikes, explores and pursues her other passions, knowing a novel may be just around the corner.
For all the people who pursue their dreams, even when someone else calls those dreams impossible. The grandest things have happened when the impossible is turned into possible.
Contents
Cover (#uc1cbc75a-ccea-59d9-ba6b-3d1d1867edbe)
Back Cover Text (#u28c8de95-3e43-5d03-8736-7e4fff77999a)
Introduction (#u956b300a-51de-5c35-bb7a-6ceb73ebd42c)
Dear Reader (#ua66d4bd3-eceb-5b0c-80e4-6b09cc995607)
Title Page (#u72fd17c6-192a-5939-ae1b-7792efca73be)
About the Author (#u5bca834b-814f-5093-b065-9a58673021e6)
Dedication (#u58d78fd5-3869-55d4-abb9-67ab5e1677e4)
Prologue (#ub4b637dd-6e57-5f6d-a051-f45b1814ae89)
Chapter One (#uc5fdff7f-d1de-5bd3-9baa-48db9e1490dc)
Chapter Two (#u2c3c522a-4a3a-533b-866f-82efbcce9220)
Chapter Three (#ubf6d421f-e72c-5dbd-b0aa-1dd102d56ea9)
Chapter Four (#u9ba0cab9-dda2-5d0e-91a7-da137f5dae59)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u9c86c194-2932-5459-a77e-0431c154d25e)
NICOLE GEORGE TURNED and lifted her arms, pushing up against the beach ball hanging from the boom. She tried to project the same energy she would have if she was actually playing a game in the sand rather than modeling a swimsuit.
A sense of déjà vu came over her.
How often had she done this? How often had a photographer’s camera captured her image for a magazine or billboard? A pang hit her at the thought that this was one of her last days as a model. After all, she’d been modeling for thirty years. It was what she knew best.
Although there were a few tedious moments, inevitable in any career, she enjoyed her work. All the same, for the past six months she’d been turning down contracts and only had a few more commitments left. It was time to get started on the other things she wanted to do in her life. Besides, sooner or later, modeling jobs would become less plentiful and she liked the thought of leaving the business while she was at the top.
“Rachel, there’s a shine on her collarbone,” Logan called, and Nicole’s friend, Rachel Clarion, stepped forward with a powder puff to dab it away.
Because she put so much energy into her job, Nicole always perspired when working, even when it was cold. Logan winked and she grinned at him. Another close friend, Logan Kensington was a great fashion photographer—one of the best in the business—and had his own way of keeping things light on the set.
“So,” he said, “why did the chicken cross the road? Because she wanted to show the possum it could be done,” he answered before Nicole could open her mouth. “Why did the punk rocker cross the road? Because he was stapled to a chicken.”
Nicole groaned. “Those jokes weren’t funny the first time someone told them, at least two generations ago.”
“There you go again, suggesting I’m using dated material.”
“Suggesting? I’m saying it outright.”
Unfazed, Logan continued shooting. They hoped to finish photographing the summer clothing line that afternoon.
“It’s time for you, Adam,” Logan called finally. “I want to finish with the romantic shots.”
Adam Wilding came over, dressed in what the designer hoped would be the hottest men’s swimsuit of the coming year. With dark wavy hair, blue eyes and a firm chin, he looked like a dashing Irish buccaneer...or he would have if not for the swimsuit.
Trying to hurry, but not look as if they were hurrying, she and Adam posed together in different positions. Rain was predicted and summer wear didn’t advertise well with storm clouds in the background.
“Okay,” Logan finally called. “That ought to do it.”
A family had stopped to watch and their adolescent son was staring at Nicole with wide eyes. His sister, on the other hand, seemed entranced by Adam, though she ran over to Nicole after he’d headed for the dressing trailer on the parking lot.
“Aren’t you Nicole George?” the girl asked.
Nicole smiled and put on a terry robe. “Yes.”
“Jeez. I’ve seen your picture, like, a gazillion times. Can I have your autograph?”
“I’d be happy to sign something for you.” Nicole took the pen and postcard being held out. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Tamara.”
To Tamara, Nicole wrote on the back. Hope you have an amazing life! Nicole George.
The teenager stared at the message in delight. “Awesome. Uh, I was, uh, wondering, is it hard to become a model?”
It was a common question from kids Tamara’s age.
In the past two years, Nicole and three of her friends had grown interested in becoming talent agents. So she studied Tamara the way she would a prospective client. The girl was pretty, had nice bone structure and her face was surrounded by a cloud of shiny brown hair.
“Some of being a model happens through persistence, but I’d say quite a bit of it is luck and timing,” she said honestly.
Being an agent wasn’t going to be easy—there were plenty of pretty girls with good bone structure and high hopes. You had to have the right look, at the right time, with the right people to make it happen. The question was whether she would be the right person to aid clients in reaching their potential. Sometimes she felt nervous about it; she took influencing people’s lives seriously.
Tamara bit her lip. “How did you start?”
“I had parents in the fashion industry, which helped. I’ve been modeling since before I can remember.”
“But do I have a chance? I could diet and color my hair. I could even get my nose fixed or do anything else that’s needed.”
This was an area in which Nicole had particularly strong opinions, something she planned to act on as an agent.
“You’re healthy and attractive the way you are,” she answered firmly, but she had a feeling the kid wasn’t listening.
“I’d do anything to look like you,” Tamara breathed.
“Don’t turn into a clone of someone else. Be yourself. There’s nothing better than that.”
“But I bet guys just look at you and fall in love.”
Sure, Nicole thought to herself, they look at me and fall in love, but they just want the surface. Through bitter experience she’d learned that too many men saw only the image on the magazine cover...the fantasy. Either that, or they couldn’t handle the notoriety that came from being involved with a supermodel. She’d believed her ex-fiancé, Paulo, was different. Instead, he’d wanted perfection—the ultimate trophy wife. Paulo was a nice person and had loved her in his own way, but that hadn’t been enough for her.
Adam’s voice intruded. “Nicole, are you coming?”
“On my way,” she called back. “Bye, Tamara. I hope this helps. Sorry I have to go now, but I’m freezing. Good luck with whatever career you choose.” Turning, she swiftly walked to the dressing trailer.
She was shivering harder now, despite the terry robe, and it was a relief to put on jeans, a T-shirt and jacket.
“See you later,” she called to Rachel as she ran to her car. They were all having dinner together and she wanted a hot shower first.
The warm water felt wonderful after a cold day in skimpy swimsuits and shorts, yet a part of her mind was preoccupied with what Tamara had said, I bet guys just look at you and fall in love. Nicole hadn’t wanted to get into a discussion about the difference between love and lust with a teenager, but it was something she’d learned the hard way.
It might be different if she’d ever gotten involved with Logan or Adam—they were terrific guys—but they’d remained friends, not lovers. And after multiple broken hearts and betrayals from men more interested in hitching a ride with a well-known face than genuine love, she’d decided friendship was far more satisfying.
Nicole dressed quickly and in less than an hour, rang Rachel’s bell.
“Hey,” Rachel greeted her at the door. “Adam and Logan are already here. Hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starved. I know you said not to bring anything, but I ordered a super-sized pizza to be delivered.”
Rachel staggered backward and clasped a hand over her heart. “Pizza? That’s treason.” She laughed.
“Just call me Benedict Pepperoni.”
“You never gain weight, anyhow. But what about the healthy glow that fruits and vegetables are supposed to provide? ‘The camera can tell you eat crap,’” she said haughtily, quoting one of the fussier photographers they’d worked with.
Nicole shook her head. “I’ve only got a few more jobs left, so I’m not worried about it.”
