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Rachel had warned them about Kevin’s management style before they bought the agency. She’d loved him and his wife dearly, but had wondered if their constant handholding kept her from being as independent as she should have been.
With a sigh, Nicole started her car again and drove on, reminding herself that every job had its drawbacks. And while Ashley was a challenge, she’d just gotten a contract as the “face” of a huge car dealership chain. It was a three-year deal and maybe she wouldn’t want as much attention once she settled down and started seeing herself on TV.
For her first two months in Seattle Nicole had worked closely with Kevin McClaskey, and he still came around a lot. It was okay. His old clients missed him and he had volumes of knowledge about the talent business. She sometimes wondered if he regretted selling, but suspected his visits to the agency and other tenants in the building were primarily because he needed company with his wife gone.
Nicole turned into the hardware store parking lot. There was a woman at the paint counter with “Jo Beth” on her name tag. “Can I help you?” she asked, gazing at Nicole attentively.
“I’m told primer is an excellent idea when you’re covering bold colors,” Nicole said. “I suppose I didn’t ask the right questions when I was here before.” She held up the paint can. “I also need more of this to go over the primer.”
The clerk efficiently put together what was needed, gave her a discount and loaded everything into Nicole’s trunk.
“Ask for me whenever you come in.” Jo Beth handed her a business card.
Nicole drove home and trotted the cans of paint and primer into the living room. She looked at Toby who’d dashed in to see her. “Okay,” she announced, “we’re trying this again.”
The beagle seemed to whine a protest.
She reached down and petted the dog. “I know, buddy, you’re bored watching me paint. Maybe we could work in the garden for a while instead.”
Toby loved the backyard, but preferred having her out there with him. Perhaps it was from being a rescue dog—the trauma of having been abandoned on the Seattle docks must linger.
Grabbing a shovel, she went out to where a fence divided the yard. Before moving in she’d had the deck installed and the front section landscaped, leaving space for fruit trees and a vegetable plot in the undeveloped area at the end of the double lot. She’d discovered that digging was therapeutic.
Her original plan had been to buy a loft in downtown Seattle. In the interim she’d sold her condo down south, furniture included, and rented a studio while she searched for something permanent. But after deciding to adopt a dog she’d known having a yard would be best, and the whole thing had escalated. As soon as she’d walked into this place, it had felt like home.
Toby lay nearby, drowsing in the sunshine. Nicole figured he liked the outdoors so much because of having been cooped up for months waiting for adoption. He was a sweet animal, barely out of the puppy stage, and loved being able to go in and out through the doggy door whenever he wanted to sniff around the huge fenced yard, or needed to do his business.
The purchase of the talent agency had gone as smoothly as her house purchase. With four of them sharing the investment, no one would be in trouble, financially at least, if Moonlight Ventures fell apart. But they were anxious to make it a success for other reasons, which was why she’d agreed to work with a reporter from PostModern magazine. They all respected the publication, and the editor had told her the articles would be an unbiased look at how a supermodel was transitioning into a serious businesswoman.
Nicole sighed. She didn’t want to be the story, and she was no crazier about reporters now than she’d ever been, but the publicity would be good for the agency.
* * *
AFTER AN HOUR of yard work, Nicole went back inside, Toby at her heels, and contemplated the living room.
She wasn’t ready to start painting again.
“Want to go for a run?” she asked Toby encouragingly.
He’d promptly curled up on the floor for another nap. At the sound of her voice he opened his eyes briefly, then closed them again. So far running wasn’t his thing; he needed time to build his stamina after living in a kennel. A brisk walk was okay—brisk for his short legs, that is—but right now she needed to stretch her muscles in a way that working in the yard hadn’t accomplished.
