she said as though she’d been expecting him. “You’ve simply got to try it!”
He pressed his lips into a frown and looked all around. Clearly this was some kind of mistake.
“Well, sit down, silly.” She nudged his chair with her foot until he reluctantly lowered himself onto the seat. “Now seriously, try it.” She slid the glass before him. “I’m dying to hear what you think!”
He grabbed the glass by the stem and took a small sip. While he wouldn’t call it amazing, it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever tasted.
She leaned forward, looked at him expectantly.
He ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. “Amazing,” he mumbled, forcing a half grin and returning the glass. His mind was in a whirl, trying to determine how the heck he’d found himself sitting across from Heather Rollins.
He’d met her once before, the night he’d stopped by Jewel looking to surprise Layla at work. Only Heather had found him first, and she’d made a big show of hanging all over him. While she was undeniably pretty, she just wasn’t his type. Heather was all sugar and shine—the girl equivalent of cotton candy. Whereas Layla was equal parts snark and smarts—her sweet side revealed to only a few.
He remembered how surprised he’d been when he’d complained about Heather, only to listen in shock as Layla had defended her. At the time, Mateo had taken it as further proof of just how far Layla had fallen and how fast.
“You should order one.”
Mateo had been so lost in his thoughts it took a moment to realize she was referring to the wine and had motioned for the server.
“No, I’m good. Just . . . water, please.”
“You in AA?” Heather whispered the moment the waitress left, eyes widening as though she’d unwittingly uncovered a secret. Then, reading the perplexed look on his face, she said, “You ordered water.”
“No . . . just . . . trying to stay hydrated.” He rubbed a hand across his chin, wishing he could start over, or at the very least delete his response. This was not going at all the way he’d envisioned.
“So that’s how you stay so fit. Who do you train with?” At the word fit, she reached across the table, past the ceramic pitcher of multicolored roses, and squeezed his forearm. Though he was tempted to shrug away from her touch, he was surprised to find her hand cool, soft, and strangely comforting.
“No trainer. Mostly just . . . surfing.”
Heather cocked her head, causing her long blond curls to cascade across her cheek as she mercifully settled her hand back on the stem of her wineglass where it belonged.
“You seem really nervous.” She looked pleased when she said it.
He ran a hand through his hair again—he really needed to stop that. “I’m—I think there’s been a mistake. I’m supposed to be meeting with—”
“With Heidi Berenkuil. I know.” Heather shot him a long, considering look. “She’s outside on a call. You didn’t see her?”
Mateo shifted uncomfortably and looked to the untouched place setting beside her. He definitely hadn’t seen her, and he was beginning to wonder if he was being punked.
“She wants to get some test shots. Of us. Together.” She flashed him an amused look. “What did you think this was?”
“I’m not sure.” His voice betrayed his confusion. He felt way out of his league. “I met Heidi a while back. She shoots for some of the surf magazines and does the ads for the surf brand that sponsors me. She told me to let her know if I ever wanted to get into modeling.”
“So why now?”
Mateo squinted.
Heather smiled gamely and tipped her glass so the wine swirled up and down the sides. “Surely it wasn’t the first time someone’s approached you about modeling?”
He shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to share his long list of family tragedies and missed opportunities.
The way she regarded him left him convinced she’d gleaned more by what he didn’t say than by what he did. And just when he was sure he couldn’t feel any more uncomfortable, she smiled warmly and said, “Sorry if I come off as nosy. I don’t mean to pry. Or maybe I do. But anyway, good for you for having boundaries. My therapist is helping me work on mine.” She stopped and made a face. “And the fact that I just told you that shows just how far I have to go.” She laughed and shook her head. “So here’s the deal. Heidi has been hired to shoot an editorial for InStyle magazine. I managed to clinch the cover, which means I’ll get an interview as well. But for the shoot they want to capture a casual, romantic, beachy California vibe, which is where you come in. If you’re nervous, don’t be. They want you as is. Just be your usual hot surfer self and it’s all good. I hope you’re okay with all this? Heidi thinks you’ll lend an air of authenticity, and I happen to agree. But if you don’t like the sound of this, or you don’t like me, then you can always bail now and I’ll tell Heidi it just isn’t your thing.”
Mateo rubbed his lips together, needing a moment to absorb what she’d said. Was it his thing? Not even close. But if all he had to do to collect a paycheck was hang on a beach with his board and a pretty girl—well, how bad could it be?
“So, what do you think?”
Mateo lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Tell Heidi I’m in,” he said.
Heather grinned in a blur of bouncing curls, flashing brown eyes, and teeth that were whiter and straighter than the Hollywood sign. “You can tell her yourself,” she said, waving to someone just past his shoulder, and Mateo turned to find a pretty woman with long brown hair heading right toward them.
“The light is perfect,” Heidi said. “And I’ve already settled the tab, so what do you say we head out now and get a few quick test shots before it gets dark?”
Immediately, Heather reached into her purse and retrieved her lip gloss, but Heidi waved it away. “Not necessary. I want you as unadorned as possible. I’m thinking Kate Moss on the beach in those early Calvin Klein Obsession commercials.”
“Um, except she was naked.” Heather frowned. “I’m pretty sure InStyle wants me fully clothed.”
“So, we’ll put you in a slip dress or a bikini. I’m thinking retro, but fresh. Beautiful but in a natural way. But first—” Heidi turned to study Mateo in a way that left him feeling so self-conscious he struggled to hold her gaze. “I need to see how you two photograph together so I can check out your on-camera chemistry. Sound good?”
“Perfect,” Heather said. “And I have some ideas. . . .”
The next thing Mateo knew, Heidi and Heather were leaving the restaurant deep in conversation and fully expecting him to follow.
He did.
Tommy Phillips sat on the stool with his cherished electric twelve-string guitar strapped across his chest and adjusted the mic stand before him. He gazed out at the audience (a term he used loosely, considering how he was basically being paid to serenade a bunch of largely disinterested female shoppers) and mumbled the name of the next song from the approved list of soft hits he’d been hired to play.
The venue was a small, high-end boutique on Robertson Boulevard, and while it certainly wasn’t the sort of life-changing gig he’d envisioned when he first arrived in LA, he was in no position to complain.
Initially he assumed the fifteen minutes of fame he’d gained over Madison’s disappearance might really