Chapter Three

      “Cupcake!”

      Shea looked up from her computer when she heard her editor bellow from his glass-walled office. She saved the article she was writing—a light-hearted piece about a duck that was making his home in an elementary school fountain—and went into his office just as Stu, the most senior member of their team, was coming out.

      It was Saturday and half the crew was there working because their computers had crashed yet again the day before.

      “Got an event I want you to cover,” Harvey said.

      “Political scandal? Corporate malfeasance?” She smiled facetiously because the man never put her on any such hot topics. “Since Cooper’s been out sick, I could do the background at least on that helicopter crash—”

      “No.” He looked at her over his glasses. “It’s a fundraiser for some place called Fresh Grounds.” He was obviously hunting for something on his messy desk. “A nonprofit located downtown. Merrick & Sullivan are sponsoring the shindig.”

      Shea’s stomach tightened. She should have known she wouldn’t get a break just because she’d come in to work on what was supposed to be her day off. She was being punished for not telling Pax her secret the night before. “When is it?”

      “Tonight.”

      “What if I had plans for tonight? I do have a life, you know.”

      “No, you don’t. No more ’n I do.” Harvey finally unearthed the paper he’d been hunting and pushed it across his cluttered desk toward her. “Dressy, so see if you can’t beg, borrow or steal something appropriate.”

      She flushed and picked up the press release. The dress code around the Tub’s offices was decidedly casual, and her usual jacket and jeans was more professional than some. “How dressy?” If it was black tie, she’d be in trouble.

      “I don’t know. Just don’t embarrass me, all right?” He looked even more cranky than usual, his bristle-brush gray hair standing out from his head.

      “Maybe you should send someone else,” Shea suggested tartly. “Someone you pay enough to actually own a wardrobe that wouldn’t embarrass you.”

      “Social scene and human interest,” he snapped. “Take it or walk, cupcake.”

      Since she wasn’t entirely sure he was joking, she sighed and took the press release with her back to her desk.

      “And get plenty of shots this time,” he yelled after her. “Readers love the photos.”

      She just waved her hand in response. He was always complaining that she didn’t get enough photographs when she went out. She wanted to remind him that she was a writer, not a photographer. But considering their meager budget, everyone pulled dual duty.

      According to the release, the fundraiser was a silent auction, with the proceeds benefiting Fresh Grounds, an agency that provided affordable housing for low-income families. And it was, indeed, being sponsored by Merrick & Sullivan Yachting.

      She traced her fingertip over the edge of the page. The kinds of photos that Harvey would want, she knew, would heavily feature Pax or his partner, Erik. Every time they printed either one’s image in the Tub, the free paper’s advertising spiked and their Internet traffic doubled. For Harvey, the two men behind Merrick & Sullivan were golden.

      But just thinking about seeing Pax again made Shea break out in a cold sweat. And wouldn’t that be an attractive look?

      She quickly finished the duck article and submitted it, then shut down her computer and gathered up her belongings. The auction was being held at the Olympic Hotel, and that alone was enough to tell her that the dress was definitely more black-tie than not. Which meant she had to go see her mother.

      No way could Shea afford a fancy gown. She was still paying off the repairs to her car from December.

      Her mother, however, was presently married to a cosmetic surgeon and had a closet full of fancy clothing.

      “Get those shots,” Harvey barked as she walked past his office on her way out.

      If there’d only been a shot to ward off Pax’s appeal, Shea wouldn’t be in the fix that she was in now.

      She dumped her stuff in the passenger seat of her car and drove out to Magnolia, the neighborhood where her mother lived with Jonathan Jones, hubby number seven. The sporty little BMW that Jon had given Gloria for her forty-eighth birthday was parked in the four-car driveway, telling Shea there was no hope of her being able to sneak in and raid her mother’s closet without having to actually see her.

      She blew out a breath, wondering if it was worth chancing her job and showing up at the event wearing her one and only black dress and deciding that it wasn’t. She went to the front door and rang the bell, nervously tapping the toe of her boot in time to the chiming she could hear from inside the house.

      Two more rings and the door swung open and Gloria Weatherby Garcia Monroe Nelson Garcia Frasier Jones stood there. Surprise filled her blue eyes, though there was no hope of it showing otherwise in her expression because Botox had been her best friend since Shea was sixteen.

      “Shea!” Gloria stepped back, pulling the door wide. “You know you don’t have to ring the bell,” she chided.

      Shea stepped inside and gave her mother a quick kiss on her perfectly smooth cheek. “Last time I didn’t ring the bell, I walked in on you and the pool boy doing it on the living room rug,” she reminded.

      Gloria waved her bejeweled hand in dismissal. “That was years ago. Jonathan keeps me interested enough that I don’t need a pool boy anymore.” She pushed the door shut and padded barefoot into the living room, leaving Shea to follow. “You just missed your brother.” She grabbed two empty glasses from an ornate marble-topped cocktail table and carried them into the kitchen. “He stopped by to get my signature on a few things.”

      “I don’t have a brother.” But she knew her mother was referring to her former stepbrother Marco Garcia, who still acted as Gloria’s attorney even though she and his father, Ruben, hadn’t been together for more than a decade. In fact, they’d been married and divorced twice, but Marco hadn’t lived with them during either marriage period. Shea’s contact with Marco had been limited to a handful of holidays that had always been short on celebration and long on awkwardness. It was the same with the rest of her stepsiblings, too. Seventeen of them in all, and that was just from her mother’s revolving door of husbands. “You’re not even married to Ruben anymore.”

      Gloria huffed. “Details,” she dismissed. Then she narrowed her eyes and studied Shea. “You look terrible,” she said bluntly. “Jonathan could take care of those lines you’re getting around the eyes. All you have to do is say the word.”

      Shea ignored her and dumped her purse on the overstuffed white couch. Her mother loved all things white because it left her to provide the only color around. “I came to borrow a dress. I’m covering a deal at the Olympic tonight. It’s black tie.”

      “Work?” Gloria pouted her bee-stung lips. “That’s disappointing. You’re never going to find yourself a husband if you’re always working. Didn’t you learn anything from that mess with Bruce?”

      “I’m not looking for a husband!” She clamped down on the pang inside her chest. “Just a dress suitable for tonight,”