Jeremy King, Hollywood über-agent to the stars, knows that sharks gotta swim. He’s one of them, after all. He’s never met a deal he couldn’t strike or an argument he couldn’t win. LA is his kind of town—they both never stop moving.
So when his friend and client, movie star Andrew Pettigrew, invites him on a “man-cation” to the wilds of Idaho for a little fly-fishing, Jeremy’s not so sure. He might not have cell service. There’s no way there’ll be any supermodels to woo. And his idea of the great outdoors is a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway in his Tesla Model S—moose definitely do not factor into the picture.
Fitting then that because of a moose, he meets Macy Shea Summerlin, the best fly-fishing guide on the South Fork. Jeremy’s surprised and tantalized, but Macy isn’t having any of his alpha male posturing. She gives as good as she gets, and she knows how to throw a mean right hook.
As the two of them get tangled up in each other’s lives, both Jeremy and Macy must come to terms with winning and losing and letting love in. And Jeremy has to find the answer to his own question: Is he simply “using” Macy or could he really “use” someone like her? Find out in Use Somebody, book 3 of the Fix You series.
The worst sound to hear in a private jet cruising at thirty-thousand feet is the rattle of two ice cubes in an empty Scotch glass.
Okay, the worst sound to hear in an airplane at that altitude might be one of the engines exploding into a million little pieces. Or the pilot shrieking in panic, that’s probably not a good sound to hear, either. Of course I’m not talking about cataclysmic noises. But I’m thirsty, and I’m irritable, so this is my state of mind at the moment.
I rattle the ice cubes together again. I look for the flight attendant. She looks in the other direction. On purpose. There are only two of us passengers on the plane, for crying out loud.
Andy looks over at me. “What has you so keyed up?”
I sigh. I’ve clearly annoyed Andrew Pettigrew, world-famous actor and my number-one client. That’s saying a lot, because the man is a saint, and the man has a toddler, and his patience is as deep as the ocean.
“I don’t know. I just want to get there,” I say, trying to focus on something besides the empty glass in my hand.
Andy doesn’t let it go. “Are you sure it’s not about Ashley?”
I scoff. “Definitely not. I’m done seeing her, anyway.”
“She has this weird, baby-fine hair.” I feel more annoyed now.
Andy shakes his head. “So? I can’t believe we’re talking about her hair.”
“So, I’m not dating anyone with hair like that. It’s finer than baby Quincy’s hair. She’ll probably be bald before she’s thirty.”
This comment does not sit well with Andy. He rolls his eyes. “You are not exactly knocking it out of the park on the hair business, Jeremy.”
“Shut it, Andy.” I self-consciously run a hand through my hair. For the record, Andy teases me about this because he knows it’s a sore spot. My hairline may have receded a bit, but that’s it. I promise, I’m not even close to a comb-over.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, opens them, and points past me. “Just look out the window so I won’t be forced to throw you from the plane at thirty-thousand feet.”
I do as I’m told. I never follow directions. Never have. But my best client is also my best friend, and I’d like to keep it that way.