Chapter One

“Well, I’d say that that was a raging success… wouldn’t you?” Nigel slumped in his chair, sipping his wine. “Everyone had fun, right?”

Olivia Jameson grinned at Nigel Ramirez. Her personal assistant looked exhausted, and it was mostly because he had spent the previous six days organizing things for the party that evening, including getting the guest-of-honor’s parents into Denver from Angola at no cost whatsoever. Normally, Nigel could have planned this party in two hours flat with one hand tied behind his back and while suffering from a debilitating flu, but this party had been very special.

Seven weeks before, one of Liv’s best friends, Emma Cartwright, had received a stem cell transplant, and now Emma’s chances of fighting off her leukemia had dramatically improved. She wasn’t anywhere near cured yet, but everyone around Emma could finally take a deep breath again. This party at Liv’s house had been to celebrate the success of the transplant, as well as their newfound sense of optimism.

“It was perfect, Nigel,” Liv said. “You hit it out of the park, I promise you.”

“Well, Emma deserved it. And frankly, how can a party go wrong when a significant number of the guests are sexy ex-Rangers?” He sighed. “God, those boys are hot, Liv. Why don’t you have one? Actually – come to think of it – why don’t I have one?”

Liv laughed. No denying that Dean, Dallas, Chris and Jim were smoking hot guys. Tall, broad, muscular, tattooed, they checked almost every box – with the added bonus of being incredibly sweet and smart, too. They had pulled Emma and Liv, and their other good friends Jenny and Kat, through the past few months with Emma’s illness, and it was actually because of their efforts that Emma had received the transplant from a private donor.

“You don’t have one because you have Abe. And I don’t have one because I have more than enough on my plate without bringing a man into it all.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nigel flapped his hands at her. “OK, let’s clean this place up, doll.”

Liv looked around her spacious living room and glanced over at the kitchen. Jenny and Chris had cleaned up quite a bit since they were taking several things back to Jenny’s restaurant, but there were still towering stacks of dishes on her countertops, and the wine glasses had to be rinsed out and dried by hand. The living room was a wreck, with chairs and tables in the wrong places and paper from Emma’s presents strewn over every surface. The banner Nigel had prepared was still hanging above the fireplace, and there were some platters of food scattered around.

“No, it’s OK,” she said. “I’ll do it all before I go to bed.”

Nigel raised his eyebrows. “Supermodels do not do the dishes, Liv. Supermodels hire people to do the dishes. I can have Carol come over tomorrow morning and clean up.”

Liv shook her head. Her mother had cleaned houses for years to make ends meet after running away from Liv’s abusive father, and Liv was her mother’s daughter. No way was she able to leave dishes unwashed and go to sleep: everything needed to be done before she could get into bed. She may be earning millions and live in a huge house and have graced the cover of every major magazine, but she could still wash a freaking wine glass and move a goddamned chair.

“Go home, Nigel,” she said. “You worked your ass off for the past few days. Leave everything else with me, OK? Get some rest, sleep in tomorrow. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah, really. Thanks again, Nigel. It was perfect.”

“My pleasure. Goodnight, doll.” He put on his coat and headed down the stairs and out the front door. She closed it behind him and set the security system before sighing at the pleasure of being home alone. She went back up to the kitchen and poured a half-glass of white wine, gazing out the window while she drank. Slowly, she started to unwind.

Sipping her wine, Liv wandered down the hall to her bedroom and slipped out of her tight dress and towering high heels. She donned a pair of jeans and a loose sweater, then went into her attached bathroom to tie her long auburn hair back. She was a tall, slim woman with large breasts (all natural, at least for now) and curves that had been photographed in hundreds of bikinis and pieces of lingerie, as well as numerous items of clothing by top designers. Olivia Jameson was in demand, she was hot; she was also thirty years old now, and fully aware that her days in the industry were numbered.

She went back to her kitchen and ran hot water into the sink. On a coffee table in the living room her cell phone beeped, indicating that she had received a text.

She dried her hands and picked up the phone, wondering if Nigel had arranged for Carol to come and clean after all. If he had, Liv was cancelling her. No way Liv was ruining her cleaning lady’s Saturday morning. Her Mom had spent many a weekend cleaning up after parties at rich people’s houses, and Liv had always thought that even the woman who scrubbed the toilets was entitled to a day off.

Liv saw that she had received three new messages. She opened the first one, then froze. The text said, ‘HOPE YOU ENJOYED EMMA’S PARTY. WHEN DOES THE BITCH DIE OF CANCER?’

Liv gasped. How does he know about the party? About Emma? Was he – is he watching my house?