Or a swift kick in the balls.

“You said to make myself at home so I thought I could throw a few things in the laundry, if you don’t mind.” It took everything inside her not to throw the bag at his head.

“Of course. Feel free to use whatever you need. It’s not as ritzy as what you’re used to, I’m sure. I’ve been here a year but I haven’t really gotten everything organized yet.”

“I don’t need ritzy. Contrary to what most people think, models don’t just show up for a few hours, get paid and then go party. You’re holding weird positions for long periods of time and call times are at the butt-crack of dawn to get the best light.”

Ridley stopped and took a deep breath. Correcting people’s stereotypes about modeling wasn’t something she normally bothered with but after hearing his brother call her a vulture, she was already on edge.

You don’t have to like this guy. You’re just using him for his air conditioning.

Jackson held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you don’t work hard. I’ve seen a few of your billboards lately. You’re becoming a household name.”

Ridley nodded, her hostility meter going down a few notches. “Thanks. It’s what I’ve been working toward for years.”

Even though they hadn’t been as close lately, nothing could stop her pride at her sister’s success. She’d been there in the early years when Raina had done ads for toothpaste and pain killers. She’d been disappointed along with her when she’d been turned down for casting call after casting call because she wasn’t the “All-American” girl they were looking for. Code for “not blonde enough.”

Women of color had always had a hard time in the modeling industry and Raina had been no exception. However, instead of accepting it, she’d done something unprecedented. While living in Washington, D.C. she’d started a style blog called “Legs” and modeled clothing for small fashion designers for free. Every week she’d featured an outfit by a different designer and then shown photos of herself wearing it on the streets and to trendy restaurants. Before long her blog had a cult following, and everyone wanted to know what she was wearing.

The modeling industry hadn’t wanted her initially so she’d gone out and created her own industry. People looked at Raina as just another model but the truth was that she was an entrepreneur. An incredibly savvy one at that.

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “So, you canceled your latest shoot?”

“Yeah, I was in a car accident. I needed a break, anyway.” It was as good an explanation as any. Her shoulders slumped. She could hardly tell people she was in town hiding out. “People staring and taking pictures can get old, you know?”

“Really?”

When she raised her eyebrows he backed up a step. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine having that kind of opportunity and turning it down. I wish someone would just offer me money for being pretty. I wouldn’t have bothered with college!”

“So, I guess I shouldn’t have gone to college either, huh? I guess all that time learning was wasted.” She glared at him.

“No, of course not. I just meant.” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “Wow, can we start over? I’ve done nothing but put my foot in it today. Let’s pretend we’re just meeting. Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Jackson; my friends call me Jack or J. Or jackass, depending on who you ask.” He smiled slowly, the type of grin that probably had women throwing their panties at him usually.

Ridley just sighed. “Nice to meet you, Jackson.”

He gestured toward her. “And you are?”

“Seriously?”

“Come on, play along.”

Ridley crossed her arms. “Okay. Hi, I’m Raina. You can call me Raina.”

His lips twitched at the corners. “Okay, then. You know what? The locksmith is probably not going to call back for a while so we might as well just hang out. We’ve been neighbors for months now but we’ve never had a chance to just sit and talk like this. I don't have much to snack on but I'm sure we can find something suitably unhealthy to eat while you tell me your story. The real one, not the tabloid version.”

Ridley raised her chin. “Who says I have a story?”

“Everyone has a story. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he teased.

“I don’t think I need to know yours.”

“Okay, suit yourself. I’m going to go get some work done, then. But if you change your mind, I’m ordering takeout around six.” He turned and walked away.

Just before he turned the corner she called out. “Fine. I’ll eat your takeout. After all, that’s what vultures do, right?”

As he turned and stared at her wide-eyed, she grinned and walked back to the guestroom.

The laundry could wait.

CHAPTER FOUR

AN HOUR LATER, Jackson had made a sizable dent in his to-do list for the party the next day. The Alexander family had always held a party on Memorial Day weekend but it used to be held at his parent’s farm. It wasn’t until after his wife died that his mother made the request to have it at Jackson’s place.

It was her way of keeping him from withdrawing from the world, something he’d been all too happy to do after Cynthia died. However, it took an iron will to resist his mother when she wanted something so he’d been hosting for the past three years. This would be the first year in his new house.