“If there’s not anything else,” Marla said, “I’m going to call the Zephyr agency and double-check on the models.”

“No, that’s good. Thanks.”

Marla stood up, and headed for the door. But before she went out, she turned back. “Do you think we have a chance of getting Shawn?”

Jessica leaned back in her chair. “Who knows. We’re certainly offering him enough money.”

“Can you imagine? Shawn Foote in the same room? I’d get all swoony, I just know it.”

“He may be hunky, but he’s just a guy.”

Marla leaned her head to the right and quirked her lips. “Just a guy? I think not. He’s…he’s…”

“The Uberhunk. I know.”

Marla nodded. “I’ll report back.”

Jessica looked down at the spreadsheet on her desk and forgot all about male models, dating fiascos and even her own personal problems. Seconds later, the world outside her office could have crumbled and she wouldn’t have noticed.

DAN CRAWFORD WAS at sixes and sevens. Which was an interesting expression he’d just looked up on his computer. Seems it came from an old French game called Hazard, and had something to do with difficulty in shooting dice. But knowing what the term meant didn’t help the situation. He had to make a decision, and neither of the two immediate options appealed all that much.

Okay, so he could take the job in Botswana. He liked Africa, and hadn’t been there for almost fifteen years. It would be a challenge, and the company, an international trading firm, had been after his consulting services for a long time. But it would mean a commitment of almost a year, which seemed excessive.

On the other hand, he could partner up with Zeke on the Baja 1000 race, but that would mean a whole hell of a lot of training, getting the car up to specs, moving down to L.A. until the race, and, of course, being with Zeke, who was a great guy unless he got too drunk, which he did whenever he raced.