“Taking over the world, I see?” I stepped into the trailer and shut the door.

Jordan glanced up and grinned over the computer screen. “Yeah, well, I thought it would piss Max off, so . . . here I am. Give me his social and I’ll do some real damage.”

“Ha. Sell my brother out? Where do I sign up?” My eyes zeroed in on the still steaming Starbucks cup next to her. “Please tell me that’s mine.”

Jordan smirked. “You gotta play harder to get, champ.”

“I’m easy. Shh, don’t say it out loud, Grandma may hear.” I shuddered outwardly. Saying her name always left me traumatized.

“Speaking of Grandma. I found her a home!”

I nearly spit out my coffee. “What? Why? Not that I mind, just tell me it’s in Siberia and we’re getting married right here, right now and naming our firstborn Maxine to spite my evil brother.”

“Er . . .” Jordan winced, her cute lips forming a little pout. “Close. Jersey, okay?”

“Are we talking ten-minutes-away Jersey or—”

“We’re talking a few hours’ drive Jersey in a nice little town where people still get stuck behind cows on their way to work and honk their horns to say hello.”

I took a long sip of coffee; it burned down my throat. “Hmm, can she escape? They have fences? GPS trackers? Guards? Alcatraz.” I sniffed. “That’s a damn pipe dream and you know it.”

“I said a home, not prison, Reid. She’ll have to commit a crime to go to Alcatraz and even then it’s sadly no longer an option for us. Sorry, I can’t work miracles. I have to admit, after meeting her I figured it would be smart to send her away for a few months while you film so close to her hometown, and she was more than thrilled to go when I showed her the picture of the activities director, who’s in his late twenties, sandy brown hair. She sighed and asked if he did private lessons.”

Someone knocked loudly on my trailer. “Fifteen minutes, Mr. Emory.”

I let out a long sigh and set my coffee down.

“What?” Jordan shut her laptop and crossed her arms. “You have actor eyes.”

“What?” I jerked my gaze to hers. “Is that a thing?”

“It’s a thing.”

“You sure?”

“Look, I’m a publicist, I’m saying it’s a thing. Now, why the Oh, no, they’re going to fire me and I’m going to have to give back the doughnuts I stole this morning on set look?”

“I don’t steal doughnuts. I eat them. All of them,” I pointed out. “And what is your fixation with food?” I stretched out on the couch and put my hands behind my head. “And I lost the sizzle.”

“Ah, the sizzle blues.” She leaned back against the couch and set her leather-clad legs up on the coffee table. “I know them well.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Last year.” Jordan held up a manicured hand—it was pretty, and distracting, and did I mention pretty? How were hands so fascinating? Her long slender fingers waved in the air before she thrust one in my direction. “He had the sizzle blues, couldn’t heat things up with his latest costar, and was terrified it would show on camera—which it always does, I don’t care how good of an actor you are.”

“Wow, not helping. Not at all. You suck at this.”

Jordan slapped my chest with that perfect hand. “Not finished.”

I rubbed my chest where she hit.

“So this actor, let’s call him . . . Max.”

“Really, his name is interchangeable in so many situations,” I grumbled. “Son of a Max!”

Jordan nodded. “I like it.” She wiggled her heeled feet. “Anyway, the problem was that he wasn’t in a relationship, hadn’t been on a date in weeks, and had lost his . . . touch.” Her eyebrows rose in that knowing way that had me ready to kiss her just to prove her wrong.

I squirmed uncomfortably as Max’s prophetic words hit me square in the chest. Holy shit, was the universe really working against me? Was that a thing?

“So.” I tugged at my shirt. “What did he do to fix this problem?”

“He went to the Victoria’s Secret fashion show, hit on one of the models, kissed her, and married her two days later.”

“Huh, scrappy little thing.” I checked my watch. “But since I’m on a time crunch?”

Her eyes narrowed behind her thick glasses. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That look? And that smile, stop smiling!”

I smiled wider.

“Reid!”

“Hey, you’re my shrew, you do what I say.”

“That’s not how this works!” Jordan wailed. “And here I was feeling sorry for you!”

“I’ll make it fast.”

“Oh, good.” Jordan threw her hands into the air. “You’ll make it fast? What girl wants to hear that? Especially when a sexy guy—” She covered her mouth with her hands.

My chest puffed up. “You think I’m sexy?”

“No.” She shook her head twice, three, four times. “I meant—” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Wow, well, while you give yourself a stroke from thinking too hard, I’m going to use you as practice. I need help and you’re going to help me.”

Jordan glanced at the door.

“Seriously? Now you’re worried about cameras? Aren’t I supposed to seduce you tonight at dinner anyway? Give pointers out on my Twitter feed?”