Evening Hours

“My suggestion is that the three of you go for pizza—”

Gwen gasped. “Did you say what I think you said?”

It was all Kaylee could do to keep a straight face. “If you’re referring to the word pizza, yes.”

“You’re telling me that we can have pizza?”

“If that’s what it takes to settle this mess between you three, then I’ll even spring for it.”

Gwen’s features broke into a smile, but for only a second. Her solemn, troubled look quickly returned, and she shifted her gaze.

Kaylee smothered a sigh before motioning toward the door. “Go on, get out of here and get back to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gwen muttered, then fled as if her backside was on fire.

Feeling as if all the energy had been sucked out of her, Kaylee stayed put. Her leg was also throbbing, which meant she should’ve strapped on her brace before leaving that morning.

But she hadn’t. On purpose. Some days she simply couldn’t deal with that piece of steel, and today was one of them. Kaylee’s conversation with Gwen, or rather the lack of one, had frustrated her, a rare condition since most of the time she could reason through any problem.

She considered herself to be one tough cookie who could overcome any obstacle thrown in her path. From age sixteen on, she had borne more than most, but it had given her character depth and strength, both traits she needed to run a successful business, though it still wasn’t as prosperous as she wanted it to be.

Only when she reimbursed her godfather and mentor, Drew Rush, for the money he had lent her to start the agency would she feel completely successful. Although he hadn’t been sure this business would take off in Houston, he’d told her to go for it, that he would back her 100 percent.

If the agency continued on its present course, Kaylee would have Drew paid off sooner rather than later. Diversity was the key to her success, or so she’d been told by a friend at the Ford Modeling Agency in New York. She had visited with Emily Austin many times before making the decision to open her agency.

Emily’s advice had been to lean heavily toward the commercial side of the business rather than the live fashion side, though Kaylee was proud that her models did fashion as well, catering to the large upscale stores in the city such as Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue and Macy’s.

Yet her agency’s focus was on jobs for clients who promoted household items, vehicles of all sizes and shapes, hardware, baby goods, cosmetics and the many essentials people used daily.

Print modeling, which catered to catalogs, high-fashion magazines, billboards and so on was gaining popularity and momentum in her agency, and as a result, Kaylee had gotten nationwide recognition.

“How did it go?”

Shaking her head, Kaylee smiled, then gestured for Sandy to come in and sit down. “It didn’t.”

“Ah, so they took the Fifth.”

“That’s about the size of it, even though I spoke to them separately.”

“Good move,” Sandy said, sitting down, then neatly arranging a stack of folders on her lap. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

“None of the three would budge.” Kaylee shook her head. “I just don’t get it.”

“Neither do I.”

A silence ensued during which Kaylee absently rubbed her quad on the bad leg, feeling a bit of relief in that sore muscle. She longed to be home soaking in a hot tub of water with bubbles up to her neck.

Suddenly the image of Cutler McFarland joining her, naked, popped into her mind.

Where had that come from?

Feeling her face turn crimson, Kaylee ducked her head before Sandy noticed anything amiss.

“So how do you want to play this?” Sandy asked.

“I’m open for suggestions.”

Sandy shrugged. “Continue to ignore it.”

“That’s what I’m leaning toward, but—” Kaylee broke off, her mind getting ahead of her words.

“But what?” Sandy pressed.

“What if it, whatever this is, continues to simmer until it blows up?”

“Then we’re screwed.”

“My thought exactly.”

“So tell me what you want me to do,” Sandy said. “If anything.”

Kaylee thought for another long moment. “Talk to the other girls, see if any of them knows what’s going on.”

“Do you think they’ll rat?”

“No,” Kaylee said, “but it’s worth a try, especially since this group seems to be so competitive.”

“If that fails?” Sandy left her sentence open-ended.

“We’ll have to go to plan B?”

Sandy leaned her head sideways. “And that is?”

“Let’s just say I’ll know when the time comes.”

Sandy gave the thumbs-up sign. “Works for me.”

“Meanwhile, just keep your eyes and ears open.” Kaylee’s features turned grim. “If they have done anything to hurt this agency’s reputation, then I won’t hesitate to give them their walking papers.”

Cutler took another sip of his coffee, then looked at his watch. He should’ve already been in his office preparing for his first court appearance of the day. He was dead tired and had needed some down time, so he’d indulged himself and was out on the balcony of his River Oaks high-rise apartment with his feet propped up, a full cup of freshly dripped coffee in hand.

He deserved this moment of respite, didn’t he?

Not when he had more to do than was possible to get done, he told himself with a smirk. He’d been in tight situations before—in fact, he performed better when he was under the gun. But with the upcoming election, fast turning nasty, and his high-profile caseload, he felt as if his insides were in a meat grinder.

Even sitting there with a bee buzzing around his head, he couldn’t unwind. He figured that if he didn’t win a second term, perhaps he could get used to lollygagging, but he knew with a deepening smirk that would never happen. He had far too much energy. Hyperactive had been his mother’s term for his inability to stop moving.

Mary McFarland, unlike her son, had the patience of Job. He bet he’d almost driven her over the edge more times than she would care to count. Not only had he always been on the move, both physically and mentally, but he’d been inquisitive and had always demanded answers. He never stopped until he had them.