a class to teach Friday in Santa Raquel...”
At the Lemonade Stand.
She frowned. “Of course I can. I just don’t want to. The class is important to me, Bo.” Her lower lip got that pouty look—the one that had made her famous on The Rich and Loyal. “You know that.”
Mike lowered his gaze and ran straight into the ample cleavage showing above her skintight cotton top. It wasn’t that she was an exhibitionist, she’d just spent her life in front of a camera and was used to making the most of her assets.
That cleavage made him uncomfortable. He might value the friendship between them—and know that he wouldn’t change things for anything—but he was still a guy. A healthy guy.
In the prime of life.
Feeling like a creep when his body reacted to the eyeful he’d helped himself to, Mike glanced out the window. There wasn’t much to see. A bit of cracked asphalt, two commercial-size Dumpsters, one brown and one blue, side by side, and the chipping brick of the building next door. The old diner was...off the beaten path.
The owner was a decent chef, and left them alone—which was why Little’s Diner had become Mike and Kacey’s hangout, if you could call it that. Partway between LA and Santa Raquel—in a small inland town that had seen better days—Little’s had become the place they met when she was in LA and needed a friend fix.
He was the one who’d suggested the place. He’d found it by accident several years before when he’d needed to get out of the house but had had enough compassion for other diners not to expose them to his grotesque face. He’d been driving aimlessly on roads less traveled, and the diner’s half-broken sign had caught his attention, along with the Open sign and the lack of cars in the lot. He soon learned that the diner packed in folks during shift changes at a local manufacturing plant. After a “Wow, you look gross, man,” Lou Fancy, Little’s owner, had shrugged and shown Mike to a seat in a narrow alcove, facing away from the room.
He’d been coming back ever since.
“Of course you matter. And I want to meet your family. It’s just...”
She’d turned away from the table, but not before he’d seen her stricken expression.
“I know, you’re right,” she said next. And then, “Yes, of course. I’ll be there.”
Mike could hear the other man’s voice but couldn’t make out the words as Kacey sat forward in her seat again. She was smiling. And hung up shortly afterward.
He raised an eyebrow at her. She could talk. Or not.
He was good either way.
“His parents and little brother are in town Thursday night, just for the night. He wants me to meet them.”
He’d known that she couldn’t continue living two lives. They’d talked about it. If she wanted to work in LA and have a room in her sister’s home in Santa Raquel, she could probably pull it off. But this living two parallel lives—work, friends, social life—in both places just wasn’t healthy.
Or natural.
“You’re a volunteer at the Stand, Kace,” he reminded her. Not because he wanted her to choose LA, but because he believed that enough of her heart was there that she should pursue what a Beverly Hills life without the drinking would be like. “You don’t have to be there every week...”
The women she helped—all victims of domestic violence—benefited from the gentle way she showed them how to enhance their outer beauty with fashion and makeup advice, makeovers and impromptu fashion shows. But they’d been surviving and healing for years without her.
And there were others who knew about fashion. And makeup. Maybe none as famous as Kacey, but he’d learned one thing a long time ago—life went on.
“Of course I’m going to be there,” she said, frowning at him as she took another bite of her cranberry-something salad. “I’m helping. I’m just going to have to get up early Friday morning and drive up. It means I won’t get to spend the night with Lacey and Jem, get my Levi fix, or my walk on the beach...”
Because she had a thing to attend in Beverly Hills Friday night—something for the show, something to which Bo would be escorting her—and would have to drive back to the city after her class at the Lemonade Stand. She’d already told him as much.
“You coming back Saturday?” he asked her now, more for reference than anything else. He didn’t expect to see her.
“I hope so.”
With such an innocuous response, he didn’t think so. It wasn’t like she spent every weekend in Santa Raquel. But more often than not she stayed from Thursday night until at least Saturday. Sometimes she even made it through Sunday.
“You said you had a favor to ask,” he reminded her. It wasn’t all that unusual for them to meet like this, but when she’d called that morning, just three days since he’d seen her at the Lemonade Stand, she’d said that she wanted to talk to him in person.
She’d sounded...wary.
So unlike the Kacey who charged into life with a smile on her face and all lights blazing. Full of energy and ready to spend it.
He’d been much the same back when he’d taken life—and everything he had—for granted.
“Someone’s posting stuff about me on the internet,” she said, leaning forward. “I need you to help me figure out who it is.”
Right up his alley. He sat forward, too, his hands resting on the table beside a half plate of French fries. The Philly steak sandwich he’d ordered was long gone. When he visited the place alone—for old times’ sake—he finished the fries. But when Kacey was there...
She picked one up. Put it to her lips. Took the tiniest bite. And dropped it on top of what was left of her salad. She had to work that afternoon, her call was at two, she’d said, and she was a bit fanatic about not having a potbelly show on camera.
Her words.
She’d have to have one to have it show.
Even if the camera did add pounds. She’d still have to have one to have it show...
While Mike was busy trying not to think of the numerous glimpses he’d had of Kacey’s tanned, completely flat stomach over the year he’d known her—a result of the short shirts she wore with low-waisted jeans and shorts—she was busy flipping through something on her phone.
“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “My agency sent this over this morning.”
Her sudden frown got his complete attention. He’d thought they were dealing with a minor issue—an excuse for them to have lunch together since she had a late-call day.
As owner of MV Cyber Solutions, a successful-beyond-his-imaginings private IT investigative firm with clients in law enforcement—meaning they offered investigative work involving computers and the internet to law enforcement and lawyers—Mike was his own boss with trusted employees. And he could pretty much always squeeze an hour out of his day for Kacey.
He
