Chapter Four
“He’s perfect,” Nic exclaimed.
Riley smiled at her friend across the small table between the kitchen and living room of the house on the rise.
She liked Nic, a lot, and most of the time she was able to put out of her mind that she used to babysit her, when she was sixteen and Nic was barely beyond being a toddler.
She wondered vaguely when middle-aged started these days.
“I thought he would be,” she said after a sip of the lovely, creamy concoction Nic had manufactured in that fancy machine of hers on the counter in the kitchen. “He’s good with everyone, very sweet. And cute.”
Nic studied her for a moment. “Miles ain’t too bad, either.”
Riley blinked. “I…what?”
“I saw you looking at him.”
She scrambled for something to say. “Of course I looked. He’s a total stranger to me, but he’s a big part of your lives. I was curious.” That was a bit more explanation than was necessary, and she knew Nic had picked up on it.
“He’s also gorgeous. Those eyes of his, did you notice how they look green or gold depending on the light?”
“I thought you were partial to Jackson’s blue.”
“Oh, I am.” Nic grinned. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t…
appreciate.” The grin faded. “Plus we—I—owe him a great deal. He didn’t just make Jackson a star, he was there for them just like Tucker was, after Jeremy’s mom was killed.
And he’s the only one of the big brass on the show who seemed to understand, or even care, about why he came here and wouldn’t go back. ”
“So he’s really a friend, not just a big wheel who runs things.”
“Exactly.” Nic grimaced. “And Jackson could tell you that’s kind of rare in that world.”
“I’ll bet. Hard to stay a good guy when so many around you aren’t.”
“Helps that he’s got the magic touch. Stonewall was his third huge hit. He was also the driving force behind Eastside, and Far Gone.”
Riley blinked. Those were two of her favorite shows.
One because of its gritty truth, the other because of pure escapism.
That was quite a range, and she felt a little silly that she didn’t know who had been the powers behind them.
And that it had apparently been one person who had that range of vision…
well, she had to admit she was impressed.
“That’s quite a résumé,” she said. And then, before she could stop herself—something rare enough in itself to make her wary—she added, “Especially as young as he is.”
Nic smiled, as if something had been checked off on a list. Riley shifted uneasily. The last thing she wanted was Nicole Baylor’s attention fixed on her, not when it came to good-looking men.
Good-looking young men.
“He’s older than Jackson,” was all Nic said.
“By what,” Riley said dryly, “a couple of hours?”
“A couple of years, actually.” Nic studied her for a moment, making Riley even more twitchy. “I swear, Riley, sometimes you act like you think you’re a hundred years old.”
“Sometimes I feel like it,” she admitted. “Not physically, but…”
“I should hope not,” Nic said. “You work as hard as any ranch hand, even though you don’t have to.”
“Because I don’t want to feel like that hundred-year-old.”
“So it’s just your love life you’ve written off?”
She was glad this was Nic, because she could feel her cheeks heat. At the same time, she wished it wasn’t too-smart, too-observant Nic, who never missed a thing.
“With my track record, it seems the wisest thing to do.”
Nic waved a hand dismissively. “Please. If we went just by that I would have blown Jackson off completely.”
Riley saw an out and grabbed it. “But instead you made him work hard for it.”
“Well, yes,” Nic said, grinning again. But again the grin faded as she looked across the table at Riley. “You don’t really think you’re too old to fall in love again, do you?”
“To fall, no.” She lowered her gaze to the nearly empty mug. “To make it work, probably.”
“Why?”
“What’s the phrase? Too old and set in my ways?”
“Good grief, girl. You talk like hitting forty means shopping for burial sites.”
“Hitting and passing,” Riley pointed out, but she was laughing now.
“You’re in better shape than half the twenty-somethings I know.” Nic raised a brow as she added, “And I’m pretty sure Miles noticed.”
“Please. Why would he? He works with people who make a career out of looking good.”
“Should I not point out how often you are indirectly helping them look good, and just move on to asking if you’re saying Jackson shouldn’t have noticed me?”
Horrified, Riley exclaimed, “No! Of course not.”
Nic smiled. “Point made.”
“You’re as beautiful as anything he left behind.”
“And so are you, Riley Garrett. And don’t you forget it just because you had a couple of narrow escapes.” This time Nic wiggled her eyebrows at her. “What was his name, when you were seventeen?”
Riley groaned. “Oh, gag. Allan Bennett. You remember that? You were only five.”
“I remember Mom saying you were much too good for him. And she was right.”
“Your mom is priceless.” Riley was laughing now.
At least she was until Nic gave her that look again and said, “I’m younger than Miles—does that mean we can’t be friends?”
“Of course not.”
Nic left it there, but with one of those arch looks of hers that said she expected you to figure out the motive behind it.
Of course, in this case it was pretty darned obvious.
“Taking on a new career, Baylor?” she asked dryly. “Last Stand matchmaker?”
“I would never!” Nic exclaimed, in an exaggeratedly shocked tone.
“So if I go ask Tris, or Emily, they’ll say you never stuck your nose in at all, huh?”
“I can only be responsible for what I say, not what others understand,” she said in that same tone.
Riley laughed because she couldn’t help it. “Okay, now you’re stealing from the chief.”
She’d heard that locally famous Shane-ism from the man himself once, when he was herding a group of intoxicated tourists out of the proverbial china shop before they broke anything more. Right before he’d added to the noisy bunch, “You have the right to remain silent. Please exercise it.”
“Anyone better to…er, borrow from?” Nic asked, laughing herself now.
“Nope,” Riley agreed. And felt rather proud of herself that she’d managed to divert Nic from that leaping assumption she’d made.
That she’d been half right—after all, who could not react to the presence, in all senses of the word, of a man like Miles Flint?—was something Riley would have to deal with.
Nip it in the bud. You don’t have time for nonsense, and even thinking twice about some Hollywood power broker is worse than nonsense.
There. That was firm, decisive, and final.
Now all she had to do was live up to it.