BRIGITTE SHOOK HER gently when they got to the house in Bel Air. Tallie didn’t like obvious shows of wealth, but she had a beautiful home that was simply decorated, with stark, modern open rooms, and a peaceful feeling to it. Tallie had no need for clutter in her life. She had a house in Malibu she rarely had time to use, the apartment in New York for Max, and a small apartment in Paris that she had bought with her first big success. It was something she had always wanted, although she hadn’t been there in two years, but she loved knowing she had it, and loaned it to friends occasionally. Brigitte had used it for her last vacation, and loved being there. Tallie had been in Africa on location while Brigitte had gone to Paris for a week. The perks of Brigitte’s job were nothing less than fabulous, which was what being a personal assistant was all about. You shared your employer’s life, and gave up your own to do it, and Brigitte’s own life fit easily into Tallie’s or around it. She had a date that night at ten o’clock, and if it turned out to be midnight because Tallie needed her for something, that was fine with her too.

“You’re home,” Brigitte said softly as Tallie opened her eyes. The script changes were still on her lap, unread. But Brigitte was right, she could do it in the morning. She felt refreshed after she’d slept. For a minute, she didn’t know where she was.

“Wow, I slept the whole way,” Tallie said with a grin, and looked like a kid sitting in the front seat of the Aston Martin outside her house. She still had all the pens and one pencil stuck in her hair. She added them one by one throughout the day.

“Hunt texted me and said he has dinner ready. You’re a lucky woman,” she said, as Tallie opened the door of the car.