"EXCUSE ME, JACK, but there's a Madison Tate on line two
for you." Lana stood expectantly at his office door,
pushing the mass of shiny black hair away from her
face. "She says you're expecting her call."
Jack Logan hesitated. He should talk to her and get it
over with. The sooner he got the eager Ms. Tate off his
back the better. "Take a message, will you, Lana?"
"Sure." She smiled, first at him and then at Larry before
turning to leave, her short skirt showing off a pair of
dynamite legs.
Shaking his graying head, Larry exhaled sharply as he
tapped the edge of Jack's desk. "I don't think my heart
could take having a secretary who looked like that."
Jack smiled at his longtime agent. "She has a husband and
twin toddlers she adores."
"With those eyes and that smile she should be working in
front of the camera. Maybe I ought to try and sign her up —
"
"She's not interested. She's just a nice kid from Nebraska
who can't wait to get home to her kids every day." Jack
loosened his tie and motioned with his chin to the
briefcase on Larry's lap. "You have papers for me to
review?"
Larry stared back, his weathered face creasing into a
frown. Years of golf without sun protection had added ten
years to him. He suddenly looked grim. "You're not going
to like the new contract."
"That's a given. Let me see it."
"Not to say it's not a good deal. It's entirely favorable
to you. Any other morning-show host would give his right
arm for the concessions they're willing to make. I heard
that Matt Lauer couldn't even —"
"Larry, just give me the contract."
The older man sighed and took the leather folder out of
his briefcase. "Don't be rash. Think about how much you
have to lose."
"Jack?"
They both looked toward Lana standing in the doorway. She
made an apologetic face.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you again," she said with a
helpless wave of her hand, "but this Madison Tate says
she's already left two messages and that it's important."
Jack sighed. Right. An important beefcake magazine spread.
Talk about an oxymoron. Pictures of insurgents' victims in
the Middle East, earthquake victims in India — now, that
defined the word important.
"You haven't returned her calls?" Larry gave him a stern
look. "If you want to leave room for negotiation, don't
piss off the network."
Jack's jaw clenched. Of course he knew Larry was right.
Didn't mean he had to like the idea. "I'll take it, Lana.
Thanks."
She glanced at Larry, nodded and then left. "Consider this
a trade-off," Larry said, as Jack reached for the
phone. "The network wants this exposure."
"I don't need the sales pitch. I already agreed." Jack
started to use his speakerphone and quickly changed his
mind. He wanted some illusion of control over this
ridiculous publicity stunt his producer and Larry had
arranged. He brought the receiver to his ear and depressed
the blinking red button. "Jack Logan."
At his brusque tone, Larry shook his head in
disgust. "Madison Tate here," the woman responded equally
businesslike. "We haven't talked before, Mr. Logan, so
I'll take this opportunity to thank you for agreeing to
this photo shoot. Now, let's talk about a time and place."
Jack half smiled. She knew how to get to the point. "I
assume you already have a place in mind."
"At Hush. It's that hot new boutique hotel located in
midtown owned by Piper Devon. I'm sure you've heard of it."
His smile faded. "Yes, I have."
"You sound annoyed."
"Why there?"
"It's not only the hippest place in Manhattan right now,
but the decor is gorgeous."
He briefly closed his eyes. Yeah, he knew the place. He
knew Piper, too. Nice lady. But from the day it opened,
the hotel had attracted its share of scandal, a field day
for the press, who'd labeled it the sex hotel.
"Mr. Logan?"
"Yeah, I'm here." He glanced at Larry, who listened with
far too much interest. "Let's talk about that further.
Maybe we could meet for a drink."
"Okay," she said slowly, "but we'll have to start shooting
soon. I'm sure you can appreciate that I have a deadline."
"Of course." He opened the jar of jellybeans he kept on
his desk. "I'll check my schedule and —"
"How about this evening?"
He paused, his hand halfway into the jar. For a moment he
thought about blowing her off. Telling her he'd call back
tomorrow, but his grudging appreciation of her no-nonsense
approach stopped him. "What time?"
"Your call."
"Six."
"Perfect."
"Where?"
"Hush. At the bar. I look forward to it, Mr. Logan." She
hung up before he could say a word.
He shook his head as he replaced the phone. "What?" Larry
leaned forward, his brows drawn together. Made Jack wonder
if the man was born with a frown. Even when the guy smiled
he still looked as if he were troubled about something.
He was a good agent, though, and always frank. Didn't
mouth what Jack wanted to hear. Just told it like it was.
No behind-the-back deals. No back stabbing. He'd been with
Jack from the beginning and was loyal to a fault.
Many of Jack's peers had advised him to change agents.
Claimed Larry was a dinosaur. Even a couple of Jack's
producers thought he should have a new hip young agent.
But he had little use for the brash, flashy upstarts who
thought schmoozing was more important than good reporting.
Besides, loyalty went both ways.
"You've met her, right? After you and Ernie were
approached by Today's Man?"
"Madison Tate's not with Today's Man. She's a free-lancer.
And yeah, I met her."
"A freelancer? You've got to be kidding." He stared at
Larry, wanting to seriously strangle the guy. The major
magazine had astronomical circulation numbers that
couldn't be ignored. He could see why the network had
twisted his arm to do the layout, but... "You sold me out
to a damn freelancer?"
"Number one, I did not sell you out. This is a good career
move. Number two, the agreement is for Today's Man"s
sexiest man article only." Larry shrugged. "Besides, hard
to say no to a woman like that."
Jack leaned back, testing the limit of his leather chair,
and scrubbed at his jaw. Sighing, he came back to face
Larry, shaking his head. "I never thought I'd see the day
a pretty face could influence your business decisions."
Larry scoffed. "You never will. This Tate is all right in
the looks department, tall, thin, short dirty-blond hair,
nothing special, but she's got grit, one of those real go-
getters, doesn't understand the word no. But she doesn't
cross the line, either. Reminds me of you when you were
younger."
When he was younger... Jack stiffened. Larry had struck a
raw nerve. Nothing to do with age. Jack was only thirty-
six. But his recent complacency was starting to bother
him. He'd let celebrity and money take center stage. He'd
been ambitious once, single-mind-edly chasing after the
story of the century. Nothing could have stopped him in
those days. Not even a multi-million-dollar contract.
"So where does she want the shoot to take place?" Larry
got to his feet and predictably pinched the crease down
the front of his slacks. "She hadn't chosen a location
when Ernie and I spoke to her. We left it open but that
you'd have final say."
"Hush."
Larry's eyes gleamed. "Brilliant choice. See? The woman's
got savvy."
"Yeah, just what my image needs." Bad enough he was
considered the pretty boy of the network, of the morning
infotainment show no less, a bona fide heart-throb
according to the media. He hated it.
With a hint of a smile on his face, Larry laid the leather
folders on Jack's desk. "Talk to her and let me know what
happens."
"I can tell you right now what'll happen."
Larry sighed. "Read the contract later. You don't need to
meet Tate with an attitude."
Jack watched the older man leave. He walked with a slight
stoop Jack hadn't noticed before. The guy had never
mentioned his age but he had to be in his mid-sixties, and
he still worked just as hard as he had when he took Jack
on as a client fourteen years ago. He clearly loved his
job and gave it a hundred and fifty percent.
Jack's gaze went to the leather folder. Would he be able
to say the same in thirty years?
AS SOON AS MADISON HUNG UP the phone, she let out a yowl.
She stomped her feet a few times, going in a circle, doing
the happy dance and then sank into the swivel chair she'd
nearly sent flying across the small office.
Nearby, Talia looked up from the article she'd been
editing and peered over her thick, black-rimmed
glasses. "You arranged a meet," she said in her usual
monotone voice. "Just a guess."
Out of breath, Madison nodded. Talia was good people, in
spite of her odd sense of humor and even odder taste in
clothes, and she did let Madison use her office sometimes,
but, man, Madison wished Karrie were here.
Madison missed her like crazy on a normal basis but at a
time like this it was really hard to have her best friend
living all the way across the country. Not that she wasn't
happy that Karrie had found Rob, but jeez... It had been
months since Karrie had moved west to be with her guy.
She glanced at her watch. Two-fifteen, which made it
eleven-fifteen Las Vegas time. She wouldn't call yet.
She'd wait until after she met with him. The Jack Logan.
She still couldn't quite wrap her brain around the
magnitude of snaring someone like the heart-stopping Logan.
Talia snorted. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I
wouldn't have believed it."
"What?"
"You acting like a star-struck teenager."
Madison laughed. "He's only the sexiest man in the western
hemisphere."
Talia shook her head. "I still don't believe it."
"The only thing Jack Logan means to me is the cover of
your magazine." Madison locked her hands behind her head,
leaned back and stretched her legs out. Wait until the
other photographers found out whom she'd snagged. They'd
drool like babies. Cry their eyes out. Or want to scratch
hers out. An ugly thought struck her, and she looked at
Talia. "Heard anything about who the other men are?"
"Nope. Nothing. Oh, wait, I did hear that Sheila Higgins
might have Brad Pitt on the hook."
Madison shot upright. "No way."
Talia just shrugged. "Big deal. He's been on so many
covers. Old news. I'm not worried."
Talia smiled. "Yeah, I can tell by the way you nearly hit
the ceiling. Relax, kid. I was kidding. I haven't heard a
word."
"Go ahead, make fun." Madison stood and tucked the
loosened white T-shirt into her jeans. "Some day you'll
say 'I knew her when."
Talia put down her pencil and cocked her head to the
side. "Say you get the cover. Then what?"
Madison stared in disbelief. "No more begging for
assignments, or sitting at the bottom of slush piles. I
get to write my own ticket. I mean, getting to shoot the
cover is a pretty damn big deal."
"Oh, yeah. Definitely a major career coup." Talia's dark
eyes bore into hers. "My question is, what does writing
your own ticket mean?"
Madison looked blankly at her and then shrugged. "More
freedom."
"To do what?"
"Pay my bills, for one." Madison snorted. "Get to choose
my own assignments. Why?"
"No reason." Talia gave her a small mysterious smile, her
dark red lips barely curving.