“Please tell me that’s her, Doug! I can’t figure out this damn newsletter!” She sounded nearly frantic, but not obnoxious.

The suited man gave me a pained look. “Are you with Exclusive?”

“I am.”

A moment later, a tall, curvy woman came bursting out from somewhere behind him. She had stylish black curls, large olive green eyes, porcelain skin, and an elegant, beautiful face. Absolutely gorgeous.

“In, now,” she said as she reached around the man and grabbed my wrist. I stared at her, shocked into silence as she pulled me into the house. “Thank God you're here. If I don’t get this straightened out, I’m doomed.”

Once I was inside, she let my hand go and turned to beam at the man in the black suit. “You can shut the door now, Doug,” she said, giving him the sweetest genuine smile I'd ever seen. “My new assistant and I have a lot of work to do.”

My head was spinning. I didn't think I’d ever seen anybody smile that brilliantly and mean it. When she turned that megawatt smile on me, I felt almost a little dazzled. Heaven help any man who found themselves in her sights.

“Ma'am – uh, I mean, Miss?”

“Call me Isadora, please. Just as Doug here. I don't like the whole 'Miss' thing.”

“All right.” I nodded, starting to find my footing. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Her smile turned a little sheepish and she bit her lower lip. “I have to admit, Toni…it is Toni, right? I’m hopeless. I thought I could figure out this whole newsletter thing, but…” She spread her hands out wide and shrugged, her expression making her look less like a beautiful young woman and more like a wide-eyed, innocent child.

“You want a newsletter.”

“No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want it. I need it. I told the committee I could do it. I’m good on computers, and I didn’t think it would be that hard.”

Despite myself, I was starting to like her. Sure, I couldn't imagine what was so difficult about making a newsletter, but she didn't seem like she was above it. Just clueless.

“So what’s the newsletter for?” I asked with a smile.

“Rich assholes.”

She delivered the answer without blinking an eye.

Behind me, Doug, in his perfect black suit, smothered a laugh and pretended it was a cough before hurrying away.

“You know what?” I gave her my own version of a brilliant smile. “I think we should start from the top.”

***

She’d led me into a large, airy sitting room.

There was no way I could call it a living room. It was too elegant, too posh, for that. The walls were a pale, soft yellow with the trim painted a gleaming white. In the middle of the room stood a low, round table that gleamed like gold. In the precise middle of that table, there was a vase of the most beautiful white roses I’d ever seen in my life, each petal perfection.

I'd always had a weakness for white roses.

There were any number of small chairs and couches scattered throughout the large, airy room, but Isadora had guided me to a round, fat chair, practically the size of a small pond, and big enough for both of us. Probably two more. A fifth if we wanted to snuggle.

That had been two hours ago and I was still sitting in that chair, comparing the list she’d given me with the newsletter I was compiling. The last one had indeed been for rich assholes. Even I'd recognized those names.

This one seemed to be geared toward the opposite. Wary single moms loathe to accept anything from anybody.

I finished that one up just as she managed to compile a somewhat neat stack of information. I looked at it with a combination of trepidation and chagrin.

“I think what you need,” I said suddenly. “Is to learn how to say no.”

Immediately, I realized I probably shouldn't have said it. What if she was touchy and took it as judgmental? What if she was whiny?

But Isadora threw back her head and laughed. “I know, right? It’s always somebody needs to do it and nobody else wants to say yes.”

Looking away from that engaging smile, I focused on the notes in front of me. Handwritten notes, printed interviews, discs with yet more information, graphs, articles, pictures and a dozen other things that needed to be included in a dozen other newsletters.

Over the past few hours, I’d learned enough to realize I needed to stop making snap judgments. It was a flaw of mine. A flaw I hated in others, but there I was, doing it far too often.

It was sad.

I generally only did it with people like Isadora, the privileged and wealthy. My own kind of people, I gave the benefit of the doubt.

Isadora spoke up, interrupting my mental reverie. “What time did you say the first newsletter would go out?”

“About one this afternoon.”

All in all, that one had been the easiest to do. Cleverly and cleanly written, the author poked fun at more than a few of the well-known families here in the city.

Arching an eyebrow at her, I smiled. “You afraid we’re going to get mobbed? These streets are quiet. You’ll hear them coming long before they get here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, one of them lives here.”

“Oh?” I gave her a questioning look. Mr. Findley hadn't said anything about a husband.

“Yep. My brother.”

She slid her legs off her side of the chair and rose, arching her arms back high over her head and stretching. It brought her shirt up over her belly, revealing a flat stomach with skin the right kind of pale. I was the other kind of pale, the kind that came with my red hair. My brothers used to say I could cause traffic accidents if I left too much skin exposed. I didn't even freckle in the sun. I just went all lobster crispy.

Then I processed what she said. “That could get…interesting.” If her brother was anything like mine, I could only imagine how he'd take it. “What do your folks think about this?”

For the first time, her bright smile dimmed. “They’re gone,” she said softly.

She moved from the couch to stand in front of the fireplace with its candle-scape insert in the hearth and the pictures that dotted the mantle. She took one down and turned, displaying it in front of her. It revealed a pretty little girl, a handsome young man who looked to be in his late teens. There were two adults, each of them looking to be in their mid-forties. All of them looked happy.

“They died in a car wreck when I was seven. This picture was taken just a couple of months before it happened.” She turned it back to her, lifting it to trace their faces with her hand. “My brother raised me. I barely remember them.”

I went to apologize, to say something. I didn’t even know what. I couldn't imagine my life without either of my parents, much less having lost both of them at the same time, and as a child.

Before I could figure out what I should say, she put the picture down and clapped her hands. “Hey, you know what? I’m starving. You wanna order some pizza?”

***

I'd decided this job could work.

I also thought I might even grow to like the somewhat ditzy, but decidedly adorable Isadora.

She was smart as hell, but couldn’t focus worth a damn. I found myself psychoanalyzing her all the time and asking strange little questions that were just a little too nosy, but I couldn’t stop myself. She was fascinating.

She didn’t seem to notice or care, and I was trying to work up the courage to ask yet more questions when we heard a door slam and loud male voices followed.

“Mr. Lang!”

“Okay, Doug. Who the fuck is this Toni person my sister hired? I thought I hired you all to watch over her, not let her bring strange guys into the house.”