Page 5 of Second Chance Baby

I laughed. “You offering me a job?”

“Murphy has been too busy for many of my jobs lately. If you’re looking for one, I’d be happy to have you on the team seasonally. Or part-time or whatever the hell you’re looking for, Masterson.”

“Hell if I know. Today monster playpens, tomorrow the world.” Grinning, I bumped fists with him. “I gotta go play model for an afternoon right now.”

“Good deal. Maybe you can drag Murphy back on the crew,” he added over his shoulder as I crossed the lawn to my truck.

“Yeah. It’ll be just like old times,” I called back to him, climbing into the truck and slamming the door behind me.

I was officially seriously late.

TWO

What had I done?

Better yet, what was I doing?

Was it too late to ditch this scene and flat out run, even in these insane Louboutins? I still could run in them with enough provocation. And I certainly had it right now.

Trying not to hyperventilate, I looked around at the other faces in my midst. The hair person who had immediately dragged me into the en suite bathroom to attack my hair with sprays, curling iron, flat iron, and a scary comb that was teasing each strand within an inch of its life. Then there was the makeup girl—emphasis ongirl.

God, what was she? Eighteen?

Suddenly, I felt incredibly old and very tired. I didn’t know any of these people.

Then I spotted the photographer through the doorway and the tangle of nerves lessened a bit. Drake Dobson had been my photographer for dozens of shoots over the years.

Seeing a certain name on the roster of this reshoot had been the clincher to do this job. Hell, to basically insert myself into it.

The initial reason had been the head of Saving Hearts Autism Foundation who’d contacted my agent, since she was a friendof a friend. When I saw the rest of the call sheet, there had been no doubt about saying yes. I’d offered myself up for this project even before Stacy, the director, had begged me to come on board.

She’d explained the situation with the previous model who’d been featured in December. The woman had started spewing all kinds of hateful views at a major writer and reader’s convention. Obviously, they no longer wanted to use her.

Could I come on board and reshoot the image? And for my trouble, I’d get to be on the cover too, not to mention I would garner a hefty percentage of profits.

Which I had no intention of taking. I’d be donating my fee in honor of my smart, sweet niece, Amerie. Autism needed more funds for research and support, since more and more kids—and adults—were being diagnosed every day. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t enough money going to such things as it was.

My older sister, Lacey, had a little girl, Amerie, and she’d been recently diagnosed. She was in a program that was helping with one-on-one support in the classroom and in her special music classes, but it just wasn’t enough. The need was far greater than the available resources.

The fact that this shoot was in my hometown, near the autism foundation’s headquarters, had been a bonus for Stacy and Saving Hearts.

I mean, it was one to me too, so I could spend some time with my little girl, along with Lacey and Amerie.

But the real reason I’d jumped on this shoot was what had my stomach truly in knots. Travis Masterson, the man I’d loved since oh, seventh grade or so, was the original male model for this particular part of the project. I couldn’t resist getting a chance to be near him again.

And Carrington.

I closed my eyes as the makeup girl did her thing while chatting with others on the crew. It was soothing to have professional people around me, but it also gave me far too much time to think. My not-so-little girl was now almost eleven years old. How had that happened? And how had I let work keep me away?

Though it wasn’t all work. Not by a long shot. I kept my calendar as jam-packed as possible to run from the long days and nights filled with loneliness from missing my daughter. Staying away from Crescent Cove also meant I also didn’t get to see my sister and her little girl nearly enough, either.

In the darkest part of the night, I missed Travis the most.

In the latter years of our relationship, we’d only worked in one place—between the sheets. Whoa, boy, had we worked there.

At first, being together had been so easy and so natural. We’d stayed together all through high school, the school’s sweethearts. The couple everyone adored. Most popular.

Most everything.