See Jane Fall (5 page)

What grown woman walked around sucking on a
pink lollipop? And what red-blooded man was supposed to be able to
concentrate on anything she was saying when she kept taking that
pink lollipop in and out of her mouth, for crissakes?

It’s not like she was trying to be sexy with
it. He would have known if that was her game. It wasn’t. Most of
the time she had it wedged in the back of her cheek. But, she
couldn’t keep it in there indefinitely. It had to come out every
time she said something. In and out, in and out, and
incredibly
distracting.

As he made his way back to the small office
of Lindstrom & Sons, he considered Jane Mays. She
might
be pretty, but it was hard to tell under her baggy sweatshirt,
glasses and cap. She definitely wasn’t the kind of girl that caught
Lars’s eye. That didn’t change the fact that he was sort of
fascinated by her.

She was incredibly quirky, liking the same
obscure music genre he did, softly singing along to the songs all
the way to Gardiner. She wore that Red Sox cap low over her eyes
like she was shielding herself from the world, but then she made
all of these quick, witty, smart-ass comments that surprised him,
kept him on his toes, and made him chuckle genuinely, not just
politely. And just when he thought that was all there was to her,
she put her hand on his arm and assured him that she wasn’t the
snob that her boss was, showing him a womanly, softer side of
herself before popping that pink lollipop back in her mouth. His
breath came out in a
whoosh
, remembering. He definitely
didn’t have her figured out.

That, in itself, was new to Lars, because it
had never been tough for him to figure out women. He was good at
picking up on female body language, reading between the lines of
what they said and what they meant. He knew when a no meant maybe
and a maybe meant yes. Unlike many members of his sex who were
constantly stumped by women, Lars had always felt comfortable and
confident; he had cracked the secret code so long ago, he took it
for granted.

And it didn’t matter if the women were
pretty or plain, they all seemed to want to be with him, disarmed
by his easy manners and enticed by his hard body. So, Lucky Lars
had the pick of the litter and naturally he chose women that turned
his head: exceptionally pretty, above-average beauties who—after a
mild or overt flirtation—ended up in his bed.

Which is why it was out of character for him
to be spending so much time considering Jane Mays. Aside from a
mischievous smile and those twinkling, minx-y eyes, she was…well,
sort of plain next to the women he generally pursued. Unless she
was really hiding herself under those baggy clothes, she wasn’t
pretty enough to tempt him. So
why
was she getting under his
skin?

Most women didn’t joke with him; they
lowered their lashes and flirted. Most women would have taken off
the cap and the sweatshirt, run a hand through their hair and at
least
tried
to show off their assets, but she didn’t seem to
care how she looked. Most women wouldn’t have gushed over ’60s
music, softly singing along in the car next to him—they wouldn’t
have known any of the words, anyway. Most women wouldn’t have
admitted to eating a piece of sugary, fattening candy, and if they
did? They would have been suggestive with that stupid lollipop,
rather than just sucking on it like a good ol’ piece of hard candy
from a penny store.

Lars turned into a parking space in front of
the store front that read “Lindstrom & Sons: Yellowstone
Tours.”
Now wait a second here.
She didn’t flirt, she wasn’t
trying to impress him, she wasn’t putting on airs, and she wasn’t
trying to seduce him.
Huh.
It hit Lars like a ton of bricks
as he put the pieces together, and he sat back in his seat, a
little stunned, a little bemused, and maybe even a little
impressed.

She must not
want
me.

As he identified this reality, impressed
shifted quickly to bothered.
Wait.
She
doesn’t want
me
?

But bothered was swiftly followed by the
compulsory reaction of any confident man in the face of such an
ego-bruising realization:

Well, we’ll just see about that, Jane Mays.
We’ll just see.

CHAPTER 2

“Lars!” His father looked up from the desk
where he was sorting client files and grinned. “How’s the New
Yorker?”

“Fine,” Lars grumbled, plopping down in the
loveseat across from his father’s desk. “Kind of a smart-ass.”

The offices of Lindstrom & Sons were
simple and serviceable; in front of the left sidewalk window was a
small table with six chairs for client meetings, and in front of
the right window, there was a simple khaki loveseat and glass
coffee table on which a handsome leather album sat with the words
Lindstrom & Sons: Adventures
embossed on the cover. The
rear half of the office had two prominent desks and several file
cabinets lining the walls over which hung photos of Pop, Nils, Lars
and Erik leading various tours of Yellowstone. Two doors in the
back led to a washroom and a small kitchen that had a table for
two, a small refrigerator and a coffeemaker that made the worst
coffee in Gardiner.

His brother Nils came from the back room
stirring a cup of coffee, and took a seat at the desk behind their
father. “Immune to Lars’s famous charm? Wonders never cease!”

Nils plunked down at his desk and picked up
a Nerf football, throwing it over their father’s head in Lars’s
direction. Lars caught it easily and tossed it back. He didn’t have
his own desk, which grated on him most days. If he needed to handle
paperwork, he was left sitting at the conference table in the front
window which, more or less, broadcasted to the world:
There’s
Lars Lindstrom, not important enough to have his own damn
desk.

“She’s here for work, Nils, not pleasure,”
Pop said without looking up. “I’m sure she has more important
things to do than make eyes at Lars here.”

He winked at Lars over his glasses then went
back to sorting the files. “Mess of work getting all these magazine
people sorted out.”

“Can I help?” Lars asked, leaning
forward.

“Nah,
Midten
. Me and Nils’ll handle
the business. You’re our face man. You handle the talent and the
locations.”

Face man.
Lars chose to ignore the
unintentional jibe.
I can be more than that.
“Yeah. I’ll
drive out with her tomorrow. They chose Sheepeaters, Old Faithful
and Yellowstone Lake. Had to convince ’em of that one. They
considered Hayden, but I told ’em I couldn’t guarantee sightings.”
Hayden Valley was home to a good number of Yellowstone wildlife,
but Lars didn’t like it for a photo shoot. Without animals grazing
it was unimpressive, and the animals were too unpredictable.

“Have to go pick up Jane at five,” he said,
wondering if she’d wear her baseball cap at dinner. “Take her to a
restaurant for supper and then to the Best. She had fifteen bags to
unpack for the model. Can you imagine?”

His father looked at him over his glasses
again. “Fifteen bags? For a week? I will never understand these
city people. All you need is a backpack and a duffel. Don’t even
need the duffel for less than a week.”

Lars smiled to himself, thinking of Jane’s
leather backpack and beat-up leather bag. His father would probably
like Jane.

“But don’t call her the
model
…call
’em the
talent
, son. They like it better.”

Lars rolled his eyes. He knew to call them
the
talent.
He didn’t need a reminder. He changed the
subject.

“When’re Erik and Kat getting to town?”

“Week from today. Erik said they’d leave at
dawn, so probably here by Saturday lunchtime. Same with Jenny-girl
and hers. Magazine people leave for the airport on Friday night and
the talent’s headed down to the resort in Jackson Hole for Saturday
and Sunday.”

Lars’s little brother Erik and his wife
Katrin were having their twin daughters, Dagmar and Heidi, baptized
at Grace Church in Gardiner next Sunday, which meant that next
weekend would be packed to the gills with family time while Samara
Amaya and Jane Mays enjoyed the delights of the five-star Amangani
Yellowstone.

Not that Lars minded. He loved his family
and was mostly proud of his Scandinavian heritage. Only once in a
while, although he would never admit it aloud, it felt slightly
embarrassing to be so overtly ethnic. It made him feel protective
and defensive at once. If Miss Smart-Mouth thought that the cottage
all trussed up like the suite at a grand hotel was provincial, just
wait ’til she heard his father’s outdated style of speech. Then
again, she didn’t seem snotty like that, and Lars liked it that she
was with famous people all the time but somehow managed to seem so
normal.

“
Midten
, all okay?”

His father regarded Lars with his own
ice-blue eyes. Lars realized he’d been frowning in thought.

“
Ja, Pappa
.” Lars looked at his
father’s aging face with love and nodded, “
Allt är
okej.
”

His father smiled, returning to his
work.

Lars caught Nils staring at him and raised
his eyebrows, but Nils shrugged, throwing the football back to his
younger brother.

Lars caught it, then got up, grabbing a
Lindstrom & Sons embroidered fleece jacket from the coat tree
by the front door. “Guess I’ll go make sure the Best has a room
ready for Miss—for Jane.”

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,”
Nils cautioned merrily, and Lars turned and threw the football
back, hitting Nils squarely in the forehead before pulling the door
closed behind him.

***

Jane was unpacking bag number six when she
remembered her phone was still off.

“Craaaaap!” She ran into the little living
room area and fished it out of her backpack, turning it on.

“Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered, shifting
her weight back and forth. It was one thing to take a break from
her phone for a two-hour car ride from the airport, but believing
that she could remain unavailable all day was not realistic or
smart.

“Damage control,” she whispered as soon as
the main screen came up.
Oh my God.
Eighteen voice messages,
twenty-one e-mails and thirty texts.
Good Lord!

First, she accessed her e-mail and typed an
out-of-office automatic reply:

Jane Mays is on location and may be
difficult to reach. Please be patient and she will return your
e-mail as soon as possible.

Second, she accessed her voice mail and left
the identical out-of-office message there.

Third, she turned off the “Read Receipts”
function on her texting. People wouldn’t know if she got their text
or not, so they’d have to call or e-mail to be sure, and then
they’d hear the out-of-office messages.

She scrolled through the texts, and
immediately figured out the cause for so much clamor. Laney was
sick and wasn’t able to join Samara for the shoot.

Jane put one hand on her hip, chewing her
lips as she read back through the message chain between SS
(SuperStar, Laney’s nickname for Samara) and LL (LovelyLaney,
Samara’s nickname for Laney).

It’s strep AND an ear infection. MD says I
can’t go to Montana.

-LL

LL, I can’t do the shoot w/o u! Will b all
alone!

-SS

SS, u know I’d do anything for u! But, ears
could burst on plane and am contajus.

-LL

Thx for leaving me all alone with GR, PJ and
Bassy. Sux. Mad @ u, LL. Still

love you forever.

-SS

Jane rolled her eyes. GR was “Gay Ray”, PJ
was “Plain Jane” and “Bassy” was Sebastian.
How nice.

Jane read the remaining texts quickly,
wherein Laney encouraged Samara to still have a good time, be
beautiful, be fierce, and get laid.
Classy.

For as much as Jane questioned Laney’s
influence over her cousin, Jane had to admit that Samara was always
easier to manage with Laney in play. After Samara met Laney in a
nightclub about a year ago, she’d become a regular part of Samara’s
entourage, which had been a considerable relief to Jane. Whereas
some personal assistants might act as a coordinator, manager and
friend
to a supermodel or actress, Jane and Samara didn’t
have that sort of camaraderie, so Jane handled the business
while—more and more—Laney handled Samara. Laney went to premieres,
hung out with Samara at parties, held back her hair at the end of
the night as she threw up into the closest toilet, worked out with
her, and was for all intents and purposes Samara’s best friend.
Well, a best friend who got paid to be a best friend and agree with
everything Samara said and did.

A paid companion
, Jane smirked.

Only once had Jane taken a shot at Laney by
taunting Samara—after a particularly brutal bitch-out session—by
exclaiming, “It’s no wonder you have to
buy
your
friends!”

But, Jane had had the poor taste to make the
remark within earshot of Laney, and regretted it when she saw the
wince of embarrassment and hurt on Laney’s face.

It made Jane realize that while Laney was
firmly on Samara’s side of things, she had feelings like everyone
else, and Jane took pains to treat Laney with kindness after
that.

Laney was actually very useful. Samara was
calmer and happier with Laney around, and Laney was quite good at
getting Samara to do things that Jane couldn’t get her to do, like
charity photo ops or goodwill appearances. Not to mention, Laney’s
presence in Samara’s life took a lot of pressure off of Jane.
Without Laney, Jane wouldn’t be able to arrive two or three days
early for location shoots; she’d be forced to attend dreaded
industry parties and be around Samara a lot more.