She could do this. She could do this. Really, she could
do this.
Rhiannon Jenkins repeated the mantra that had gotten her
through so much in the past two years as she squared her
shoulders and climbed slowly out of her car. Despite the pep
talk she'd given herself all the way over here, she
couldn't help feeling like she was headed for the
guillotine. Which was ridiculous, she reminded herself
impatiently. It was just a business lunch, and she'd had
hundreds of them over the course of her career. One more
certainly wasn't going to do her in.
Of course, she'd told herself the same thing three years
before when she'd made the mistake of trusting a source
for her newspaper article. That meeting hadn't killed
her, but it had come damn closeand taken a huge amount
of her life with it. Including, she admitted with a grim
sigh, her ability to confidently meet a man in a packed
restauranteven for a lunch date that was strictly
business.
But she didn't have a choice. She had to do this. The
only other optionrunning back to her boss and best
friend, Logan, and telling him that she'd been too
chicken to even walk in the restaurant's doorwas
somehow a million times worse. He'd taken a chance on
her when she'd been all but paralyzed with grief and
fear. She wouldn't repay him by screwing up one of the
biggest responsibilities he'd given her.
So what if it was the first time she'd pitched a party
completely on her own since joining Logan's firm two
years before?
So what if the man she was supposed to have lunch with was
young and sexy and a little bit intimidating?
So what, even if she was so scared she was literally quaking
in the two-hundred-dollar boots she'd bought the night
before to give herself courage?
She could do this. She would do this
even if
it sent her careening over the edge of the sanity she clung
to with battered fingertips. She was never going to get
better, never going to get any sort of a life back, if she
didn't push herself. It was what she'd told Logan
when he'd asked if doing this first meeting alone was
really okay with her, and it was what she'd told herself
in the bathroom mirror a hundred times that morning as
she'd put on her makeup.
After gathering the briefcase and purse she'd almost
forgotten in the car, Rhiannon headed straight toward the
front door of the Mexican restaurant Shawnthe
clienthad chosen. As she walked, she did her best to
banish the nerves that continued to assault her.
She'd spent her life around menall kinds of
menso she felt ridiculous working herself up into this
state just because he'd called the office and
specifically requested her. Why wouldn't he have?
she asked herself viciously. She'd been
the one he'd met at the party she'd coordinated on
Saturday night, and it was her business card
she'd handed him when he'd asked what company she
was with. It only stood to reason that he would have asked
for her when he'd spoken to the receptionist two days
before.
Understanding the whys of how she'd gotten there
didn't make it any easier to open the restaurant's
door and walk inside. But then, nothing had been easy for
nearly three years now. That didn't mean she'd
stopped doing thingsit only meant that she had to go
through this ridiculous freak-out in anticipation of every
new or not-since-the-attack incident that came up. For a
woman who had once been known for her intrepid and
insightful newspaper articles, it was a hard thing for her
to admit. And even harder for her to accept.
She spotted Shawn almost as soon as her eyes adjusted to the
restaurant's dim interiorhe was sitting in a booth
about halfway across the room, and her first glimpse of him
had Rhiannon silently cursing like a sailor.
She'd wanted to get here first, had made sure to arrive
ten minutes early so that she'd have a chance to get
herself settled at the table before having to put on her
game face. The fact that her plans were now ruined flustered
her a lot more than it should have.
Telling herself to suck it up, she returned his welcoming
wave and made her way toward him. Even the best-laid plans
had to have some wiggle room, she reminded herself as she
stopped next to his table. Today, now, was no exception.
"Rhiannon." Shawn rose and extended his hand, his
blue eyes warm and his smile welcoming. "I'm so glad
you could make it today."
"Me, too. I've been excited about hearing the
details of this party you want to throw since you called the
office on Monday." It wasn't a lie, she told
herself, if she only told half the truth. She was
excited about planning the party, so it was perfectly
acceptable to leave out the fact that she'd been up half
the night worrying about seeing him again.
Obviously, this was stupid, as he wasn't looking at her
with anything more than polite interestthe same
interest he would show any woman charged with creating a
fantastic party so that he could impress a bunch of
Hollywood types. She must have imagined the way he'd
looked at her the other nightwhich wasn't much of
a surprise. Her radar was way off when it came to men these
days, and had been for much too long.
"I'm glad. I need someone who's excited about
this thing, since I'm still trying to figure out how I
feel about throwing a formal party."
She pulled out her laptop and booted it up so that she could
take notes while they talked. "You don't like formal
parties?" she asked, culling about half of the options
she'd come up with that morning from the mental list she
wanted to run by him.
"I'm more a beer-and-nachos kind of guy. But I
figure if I'm going to do this, I need to do it
right formal, sit-down dinner, monkey suit, the
works."
As if his way with words wasn't enough to clue her in,
just looking at him gave her a good idea as to why the
formal approach probably wasn't the way to go. With his
shaggy brown hair and easy smile, Shawn Emerson looked like
every footloose, slacker guy she'd ever run
acrossthe kind who was more comfortable with a bat in
one hand and a beer in the other than he ever would be in an
office or behind a desk.
Even his meeting attirea football jersey and a worn
pair of jeansscreamed immature male out for a good
time. It was just one of the many reasons she hated that her
hand was still warm from where his had clasped it.
But then, she was an idiot when it came to men. Life had
certainly proven that in the past three years.
"So, your usual party style is ultra-casual yet
you're thinking about throwing a completely formal
gathering?"
"It's actually my agent's idea. He thinks I
should have a really impressive gathering, kind of knock
those Hollywood types' socks off. I'm just trying to
follow along with his suggestions."
"What's the occasion?" she asked, trying to
gauge which direction he really wanted to go in. For some
people, formal meant black tie, while for others, it was
just a step or two above beach attire. She had him pegged
for the latter.
"Endeavor Studios just optioned the rights to my graphic
novels. They're rushing to write a script based on the
first two with hopes of starting filming in about eighteen
months if everything goes as planned. A bunch of the guys
involved in buying my project are going to be here in Austin
for the film festival in March, debuting a new movie and
Anthony thinks I should have a no-holds-barred party to
welcome them to Austin and show my appreciation. It's
not every day a guy's told his character is going to be
made into a major motion-picture franchise, after all."
So much for a step above bathing suitsshe'd been
wrong again. Big surprise. This guy was definitely in need
of a party with a big wow factor.
But a huge Hollywood-style party meant pulling out all the
stops and the film festival was onlyshe pulled the
website up on her computersix weeks away. He wanted
her to do a major party like this in six weeks? Was
he kidding?
Trying to get her thoughts straight, Rhiannon pulled up a
list of questions she needed to ask, then turned to him with
the first one. "Who is Shadeslayer?"
Shawn grinned, an excited, happy smile lighting up his whole
face and causing a weird flip-flopping in the pit of her
stomach. Rhiannon did her best to ignore the
feelingthe guy was at least ten years younger than
herprobably closer to fifteen. Just the idea that his
smile was directed at her specifically was absurd, not to
mention pathetic.
"I was hoping you'd ask." He reached down to the
seat beside him and picked up a few thick comicbook-style
novels that he slapped on the table between them.
"He's the superhero I created when I was in college.
Now, he's the star of my twice-yearly graphic novels."
She blinked at the garish covers staring up at her. All
three had a strong, muscle-bound guy in a gray-and-black
superhero suit looking out of them, although he was in a
different kind of peril on each cover. The artwork was
absolutely gorgeous, but "You write comic books
for a living?"
"Graphic novels. It's not quite the same thing."
"Right, of course." She couldn't help wondering
what the difference was, but didn't want to ask, in case
the question offended him. He had made a point of correcting
her when she'd called them comic books, after all.
"What does Shadeslayer do? "
"All kinds of things, but mainly he keeps shades
dead people who are trapped on Earthfrom using their
powers to enslave humans." He held the books out to her.
"Here, take them. They're for you. I figured
they'd give you a sense of who I am, what the deal was
about."
"Oh, okay. That's very nice of you." She reached
out to take the books, her hand trembling just a little as
it brushed against his.
She had no idea what she was supposed to do with three comic
books, but it was a sweet gesture. She opened the cover of
the first one, began to flip through it and was shocked when
she came to the title page. Scrawled between the title and
his name, were the words, "To Rhiannon, because a party
is so often just the beginning. Shawn Emerson."
She stared at the inscription a moment, unsure what to make
of it. Were the words a threat? A promise? A suggestion? Her
back stiffened and she closed the books without comment,
even as she tried desperately to figure out Shawn's agenda.
"Do you like them?" he asked, and she looked up to
find him watching her closely.
"Of course I do," she answered, ignoring the
confusion inside that told her very clearly that she
wasn't sure how she felt about the booksor about
the man who had given them to her. "They're an
interesting gift."
Interesting?Nice? Shawn barely suppressed a
shudder. Obviously, he'd struck out big time with his
gifthe'd been an idiot to think Rhiannon would be
interested in his graphic novels. He almost hadn't
brought themhe didn't give them away very often
anymore, and rarely signed them now that he was no longer
busting his ass on self-sponsored book tours to promote the
things but this morning he'd been struck by a
sudden desire to show her what he did. To give her a glimpse
of himself, and of Shadeslayer, the greatest character
he'd ever created.
But from the way she placed the books on the table like they
were a cross between poison ivy and rotting meat, he figured
he probably should have gone with flowers insteadfor
some reason, women always seemed to like those more. Leaning
back in his chair, he studied Rhiannon and tried to decide
what kind of flower she was.
Not a rose, though she was long-stemmed, beautiful and
surprisingly fragile, if the delicate hand she'd put in
his was any indication.
Not a daisy, because she was much too quiet and
self-possessed for the cheerful white-and-yellow flowers.
Carnations were boring, and while she was doing her best to
blend into the woodwork in her bland gray suit and white
blouse, he had a feeling she was anything but boring
underneath. Not with those intense coffee-colored eyes and
that fiery red hair.
No, carnations would never doand neither would
orchids. They were too temperamental. Which left him drawing
a blank. He shoved the dilemma to the back of his mind, with
a quick reminder to get back to it later after they'd
talked more. Because he'd meant what he'd said when
he'd signed those booksthis party was just the
beginning. He'd been thinking about her since they'd
met Saturday night and couldn't wait for a chance to get
to know her.
The waitress chose that moment to come up for their orders,
and he watched as Rhiannon smoothed a self-conscious hand
over the tight bun of her hair. He wondered if she ever let
it down.
"You know, they make a killer margarita here. I'm
partial to their plain ones, but Lissa swears by their
sangria margaritas." He deliberately brought up the name
of his best friend Robert's wife to put her at
easeLissa was the one who had introduced them at the
party the other night, and it had been obvious she and
Rhiannon liked each other very much. "I swear, she can
drink three or four of those in a sitting."
She stared at him. "It's one o'clock in the
afternoon."
"One-fifteen, actually," he corrected her, reaching
for a chip.
"Either way." Her voice was drier than the martinis
his mother used to makeand gulp down by the half
dozen. "I try not to drink during business hours."
"Right. Business. I can see that about you."
That got her attention. She looked away from the waitress,
eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled into a deep frown.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Just that you seem like a really
responsible person." He barely succeeded in
hiding his grin as Rhiannon's teeth snapped together
with an all but audible click.
"Well, we can't all have the intellectual and
emotional makeup of a thirteen-year-old boy. More's the
pity."
"Touche." He inclined his head, offering her the
verbal point. As he did, he let his eyes linger on her full
upper lip and the dimple that kept flirting with her left
cheek. He'd been fascinated with both from the first
time he'd seen herand the story they told.
Even at the party, she'd looked so prim and proper. Long
sleeves, long skirt, blouse buttoned up to her throat.
He'd wondered at first if she was channeling
someone's maiden aunt. But then she'd opened her
mouth and that voicelow and smoky and incredibly
sexyhad curled around him. And he'd wondered how
he could have ever failed to see the fire.