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“No,” she admitted, although heaven knew both her parents could do with a little more humor in their lives, “but if you smile, you can get through anything.” She leaned forward and brushed a dutiful kiss against her mother’s cheek. “Smile once in a while, Mother. It keeps the lines at bay.” And then, straightening, Jenny took pity on her mother. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m chairing the annual bachelor auction again for the Parents Adoption Network. Some of your society ladies are bound to be there, drooling over the eligible studs who’ll be parading around.”
Elaine’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be vulgar, Jennifer. A lady doesn’t drool.”
Jenny held up an index finger, begging to differ. “A lady doesn’t let anyone see her drool,” she corrected with a grin.
In the face of undeniable defeat, Elaine squared her shoulders, a determined soldier to the end. “You are impossible.”
Jenny cocked her head. “Yes, but I love you and you’ve got another one at home to work your magic on.”
“Jordan doesn’t live at home, Jennifer. He hasn’t for years now. You know that.”
Her mother had always been a stickler for precision. “Figure of speech, Mother,” she said as she began to close the door.
Elaine stopped her for one last-minute order. “Eat something.”
Jenny held up her right hand, taking a solemn oath. “The moment they deliver it,” she promised, then closed the door quickly just in case her mother changed her mind and found something else to criticize. She leaned against it, looking out toward the living room and Cole. “That woman spreads joy whenever she goes.” She sighed, straightening, then walked into the living room. “She doesn’t mean anything by it, Cole. She’s really got a good heart. It’s just hard to find under all those layers of designer clothes and jewels.”
She glanced through the window. It faced the parking area and she could see her mother getting into her car, assisted by the chauffeur. Jenny tried to remember if she’d ever seen her mother actually driving a car, but couldn’t.
“It’s true what they say, you know, the rich are different from you and me.” She nodded as if the boy had responded. It was something she did each evening in the hopes that someday she could coax more than a word or two at a time out of him. A precocious little boy, he’d talked all day long—until his mother had died. “Right, I know what you’re thinking. That I’m one of them, but I’m not. You can’t hold the accident of birth against me, you know. I didn’t ask to be part of the elite and I got out as soon as I could.”
Which was true. She never felt as if she fit into her parents’ world, not really. The girls her mother wanted her to socialize with were so shallow, so vapid. She had more of an affinity for the people she was trying to help, but she didn’t quite fit in their world, either. Jenny sighed quietly. There were times that she felt like a fish with feet. She could swim in one world and walk in the other, but fit in neither.
“The privileged think just that—that it’s a privilege for anyone else to look upon them. They don’t realize that floating from cocktail party to cocktail party around the world doesn’t lead you to discover the true meaning of life.”
Cole merely went on playing with his imaginary friend as if she hadn’t said anything at all, but she tried to convince herself that the sound of her voice was comforting to him somehow. She remembered the boy he had been until six months ago, a bright, sunny child who laughed all the time. But he had been very attached to Rachel and her death had hit him very hard.
Almost right after the funeral, when the death had finally sunk in, he withdrew from the world. He hardly spoke at all, but he screamed in his nightmares, calling for Rachel, pitifully sobbing out “Mommy” over and over again.
She would rush into his room and hold him until he’d fallen back asleep again, her own heart breaking. Someday, Jenny promised herself, someday, she was going to reach him. Until then, she would go on being there for Cole.
Jenny glanced at the kitchen table where the file she’d brought home lay spread out, covering every square inch of surface. She was in the middle of a court battle on behalf of Miguel Ortiz. If she won, it would go a long way to easing the man’s life. It would never, barring a miracle, put him back on his feet again, or free him from the endless pain he’d been subjected to ever since a highly respected and highly inebriated surgeon had worked less than magic on his spine, but it would pay for Miguel’s bills and allow the man to regain some measure of self-respect.
They were getting closer to the end now. For the last five weeks, she’d done nothing but eat, sleep and breathe the case, but she needed to steal a little time for herself. And she could think of nothing better than creating a tiny island of time where she could share herself with the one person who truly mattered to her. Cole.
Bending over, she gathered the towhead into her arms and drew him close as she stood up again. Jenny kissed the top of the boy’s head.
“Don’t you worry about what the Wicked Witch of the West said. I’ll always be here to take care of you. You and me against the world, kid, right?” He raised his head to look at her with Rachel’s soft green eyes, his expression never changing. “Of course right,” she murmured softly. “C’mon, we’ll order that pizza and then I’ll read you a story. I think we both need to unwind after that surprise visit.”
In her heart, she knew her mother meant well. For that matter, both of her parents did. But there was no way she was going to give up any part of her life. She loved being a champion for people who had all but lost hope. And she loved Cole. More than anything, she wanted to be a mother to him.
If there was a part of her life that didn’t feel quite right, that felt as if there was something missing, like a supportive prince to turn to in times when her spirits flagged and she desperately needed bolstering, well, whose life was perfect anyway? Hers was close to it as far as she was concerned, and that was enough.
Juggling the child and the phone, she placed her call to the local pizza parlor. On a first-name basis with most of the people who worked there, she asked Angelo for an extra large pizza with extra cheese and three kinds of meat. He promised to deliver it within the half hour.
“There,” she told Cole, hanging up, “that should hold us.”
Going to the small bookcase in the corner, she selected a book she knew was a favorite of Cole’s and sat down in the oversized recliner. She took a moment to nestle Cole on her lap and then started reading.
Slowly, the tension began to drain out of her.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Jordan Hall urged his best friend, Eric Logan.
He had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the rhythmic whack of the handball as it bounced against the far wall in the exclusive gym where they both had a membership. He and Eric were evenly matched and he had to concentrate in order not to lose the game. Not an easy feat when he was preoccupied with subtly laying the foundations of a plan.
He’d come up with the plan after getting off the phone with his mother. Elaine Hall had been bewailing the fact that, when Jennifer finally ventured out into the arena to which she had been born, it had to be for a deplorable bachelor auction.
“Of course it’s for charity and that’s all well and good,” his mother had said to him, “but when is that sister of yours ever going to think about finding a suitable match for herself and finally settle down the way she’s supposed to?”
It was the same refrain that his mother harassed him with. The same one, he knew, that Eric’s mother, Leslie, occasionally played for him. Ordinarily, it would have gone in one ear and out the other, like a good many of the other one-way conversations his mother had had with him, except that this one had struck a chord. It had melded with one other piece of information in his brain that he was fairly certain no one else was privy to. He knew for a fact that Jenny had once had a major crush on Eric.
For all he knew, she still might.
In any event, the thought of the upcoming bachelor auction had led him to formulate an idea. Jenny was always about work and had completely forgotten how to play. In his less than humble opinion, his sister was in serious need of play. And he wanted to deliver it to her.
This was phase one.
“Fun,” Eric snorted as he returned the serve, sending the ball slamming against the wall and then directly at Jordan. “Being paraded like a piece of meat in front of a room full of bored, aging society matrons with checkbooks is your idea of fun?”
“No, being paraded in front of the daughters of bored, aging society matrons with checkbooks of their own is fun,” Jordan corrected, leaping up to reach the ball and send it shooting back toward the wall. “I’ve taken part in one of these auctions before. Trust me, it’s for a very good cause and it fulfills your charity quota for at least six months.”
A charity quota was the last thing Eric felt he needed to fill. “I gave at the office,” he quipped, returning the serve. Despite the glove, his palm stung as he made contact.
They both knew his comeback was true. Everyone in Eric’s family was dedicated, in varying degrees, to the concept of charity. Although Eric himself was seen as the carefree one in the family, a charming, desirable, eligible bachelor who was part of the vast Logan Corporation, a company that had long been near the top of the computer empire thanks to certain innovations and technology they’d developed, he was as serious about doing his part for charity as the rest, just not as visible about it. But Jordan knew that his friend had an affinity for the underdog and secretly did what he could to help things along.
That gave his best friend something in common with Jenny, Jordan thought. And he was counting on that to pave the way for an evening his little sister both deserved and wouldn’t soon forget.
First, however, he needed to get Eric there.
“Give a little more,” Jordan coaxed, his voice straining. He’d almost lost that last serve and struggled to recover it.
Sweat was pouring into Eric’s sweatband. The terry cloth fabric felt as if it was glued to his forehead. He went long, captured the ball and sent it hurtling back to the wall.
“Why the sudden interest in my participation in this beefcake extravaganza?”
“My sister’s chairing it.” Jordan sneaked a side glance at Eric, but the latter’s expression gave no indication that he even remembered Jenny. That could have just been his involvement in the game, since Eric always played to win. “And I thought I’d be a good big brother and recruit a few men for her. Besides,” he said with a grin, “misery loves company.”
With one mighty whack, Eric sent the ball flying over Jordan’s shoulder. Triumph surged through his veins. The point was his.
Sports was the only field in which he allowed his natural sense of competition to emerge. God knew it wasn’t at work. There his older brother Peter was the fair-haired boy, the company CEO to his department VP now that their father had retired. He’d become thoroughly convinced that Peter never slept. His older brother was there in the morning when Eric arrived at the office and remained there long after he went home.
Eric supposed that part of the deal was that Peter felt that he had to try twice as hard because he was adopted. The bottom line was that Peter achieved a tremendous amount and consequently left him looking as if he were standing still. If he was the insecure kind, this would have sent him running to the nearest therapist’s couch, but he had a healthy sense of self that allowed him to view Peter’s efforts as being good for the family, not reflecting badly on him.
If anything, it made him worry about his older brother. He felt as if Peter was allowing life to pass him by.
“Okay, I’ll sign on. On one condition.” He served the ball, then immediately braced himself for its return. “You talk Peter into it, too. He’s the one who needs to get out, to unwind.”
There was no hesitation on Jordan’s part. “Sure, Peter’d be a great addition to the stable.” Jordan grinned, thinking of the serious man as he sent the ball flying. “Why don’t you broach it with him first, though?”
“Me?” Eric echoed. Missing the ball, he muttered a curse under his breath. Then, with the ball out of play, he stopped for a second to catch his breath. “You’re the pimp.”
Picking up a bottle of water, Jordan stopped to drink before answering. “This isn’t pimping.” He wiped his forehead. “This is strictly aboveboard. You take the lady—”
“Who paid for my services,” Eric was quick to point out.
“Who donated a great deal of money to a worthy charity for the pleasure of your company,” Jordan corrected. Then he started again. “You take the lady out for the evening and show her a good time. That doesn’t include warming any sheets.” Jordan paused, knowing he couldn’t come across like a choirboy without raising Eric’s suspicions. “Unless, of course, you want to.”
“What I want is never an issue. It’s what the lady wants that counts,” Eric told him with a touch of innocence that was a tad less than convincing.
Jordan was well aware of Eric’s reputation as a heartthrob. “And you always make them want exactly what you want,” he finished.
Eric took a deep breath, getting ready for another set. “Whatever you say.”
Jordan bounced the ball once on the gym floor, then looked at Eric. “Then it’s a yes?”
Eric shrugged. “Sure, why not? And I’ll see about Peter.” He gave Jordan a penetrating look. “You are in on this, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” With that, Jordan served the ball with enthusiasm.
Phase one was complete, he thought. Now he needed to go on to phase two.
Two
J enny threw back two extra-strength aspirins, washed them down with water and fervently hoped that they would live up to at least half of their advertising hype. Otherwise, she was ready to surrender now. Death by headache.
It was the kind of morning created by tiny devils gleefully working overtime in the bowels of hell. As far as she saw, there was no other plausible explanation why, when she was such a good person, everything that could go wrong today had. One right after the other.
Her alarm failed to go off, and for one of the few rare mornings of her life, she’d overslept. Then the toaster emitted flames instead of toast. That, luckily, had been handled by the fire extinguisher she’d had the presence of mind to keep in her cupboard. Cole’s baby-sitter, a woman who thrived on punctuality and took pride in being early, was late. To top it off, her less than reliable car decided that it’d had enough of the distributor cap—the one her mechanic had put in just last month—and burned a hole through it.
Needless to say, that left her without a means of transportation to use in order to get to her downtown office. There wasn’t even time to see about getting the evil car towed to her mechanic’s shop. Telling herself she wasn’t going to have a nervous breakdown, she just left the vehicle parked in the carport and hurried back to her apartment to call a taxi.
When she’d arrived at her office, there were a pile of messages already on her desk, threatening to breed if left unread. And her appointments were backing up.
On mornings like this that life of leisure her mother kept advocating began to sound awfully tempting.
Still waiting for the aspirins to kick in and do their magic, Jenny was only one third through her pile of messages and in between the battalion of clients when the secretary she shared with the other attorneys who made up Advocate Aid, Inc.—a title she’d come up with because it was short and to the point, unlike her life—called out across the communal space they all shared.
“Line three’s for you, Jenny.”
Jenny cringed. She felt as if an anvil had just been dropped on top of her head. There was such a thing as physically and mentally reaching a limit and she had well surpassed hers. She’d stayed up last night to work on the Ortiz case, but then one of Cole’s nightmares had brought her rushing to his side. She’d remained there, consoling him, until he’d fallen asleep.
Unfortunately, so had she.
Slumbering in Cole’s undersized junior bed while assuming a position made popular by early Christian martyrs had given her a phenomenal crick in her neck. One that refused to go away even when bombarded with an extra three minutes worth of hot water in the shower.
She rubbed it now, telling herself that this, too, shall pass, as she called back, “Tell them I died.”
“Really?”
She’d forgotten that Betty was a woman who took you at your word. Literally. She was completely devoid of any sense of humor, droll or otherwise.
“No,” Jenny sighed, “not really.”
Rotating her neck from side to side, she picked up the receiver. As she placed it to her ear, Jenny struggled with the sinking feeling that she was going to regret not sticking to her original instruction.
Trying to sound as cheerful as she could under the circumstances, she said, “Hello, this is Jennifer Hall.”
“Mother called me last night.”
Tension temporarily slid out of her body as she recognized her brother’s voice. Jordan represented a moment’s respite from her otherwise miserable day. “My condolences.”
She heard him chuckle before he continued. “She said that you were chairing that fund-raising bachelor auction again.”
Undoubtedly her mother had probably said a lot of other things, as well, about the situation, bemoaning the fact that once again, the daughter she’d raised for great things and adoring men was once more on the sidelines. Camille in her deathbed scene definitely had nothing on her mother. Mingling amid men had always come easy for her mother. The woman didn’t understand that not everyone was granted that gift.
“Those that can, do. Those that can’t, auction,” Jenny replied glibly.
Her brother surprised her with the serious note in his voice. “Don’t knock yourself down, Jenny. The only reason you’re not out there every night is because you choose not to be.”
“Right.” Never mind the fact that she was plain, she thought, and that no one without some grievance to file would give her the time of day, much less the time of her life.
The natives along the wall were getting restless and she had several people to see before she could leave for court. “Listen, Jordy, I’d love to talk, but—”
He got to the crux of his call, or at least, the beginning of it. “I’ve called to volunteer my services for the auction.”
Again she was surprised. She scribbled her brother’s name on the side of her blotter with a note about the bachelor auction. One thing that went right today. Maybe it would start a trend.
“Fantastic, Jordy. This means I don’t have to badger you.” Although she was only going to turn to him if she couldn’t get anyone else. She knew that this was not high on Jordan’s list of favorite things to do.
“No, but you might have to do a little persuading with the two other candidates I lined up for you.”
That stopped her cold. “Oh?”
Intrigued, she turned her swivel chair away from the lineup against the far wall. She didn’t exactly have time for this now, but she was going to have to make time later. The auction was less than two weeks away and she still needed more bodies to fill the quota. Especially since Emerson Davis just dropped out due to a sudden marriage that no one but the bartender who’d kept refilling Emerson’s glass in the Vegas club saw coming.
Still, she knew when to be cautious. “Exactly who did you ‘line up’ for me?”
“Peter Logan and his brother.” Peter Logan had two brothers as well as two sisters. Jordan paused significantly, as if waiting for a drumroll, before he finally said, “Eric.”
Eric.
Beautiful Eric.
Eric with the soulful brown eyes and thick, luscious brown hair. Eric who still, after all these years, popped up in her dreams just often enough to remind her that she had never quite gotten over that crush she’d had on him all those years ago.
Everyone had an impossible dream. Eric was hers. But dreams, Jenny had learned, did not arbitrarily come true, especially if you did nothing to make them come true. And she, un-swanlike as she was, had kept her distance from Eric Logan. The man was accustomed to drop-dead gorgeous women, a label she knew in her heart would never be applied to her, not even by a myopic, tender-hearted man.
She felt herself growing warm at the mere sound of Eric’s name. She really hoped that a blush wasn’t working its way up her neck to her face, although it probably was, if that look from the man seated against the wall, waiting to speak to her, was any indication.
