“They sure like these outings,” Dion said, extending his hand to Kasee to help her out of the limousine in front of a brick-front building. Normally, the producers liked more than one “lady” to share a vehicle so they could get interaction during transportation, but no one had been available. Kasee lived much closer to the art gallery than the rest of the cast.

“We shoot six days a week,” Kasee said. “When they are on a roll. Tired people say crazier things. I was on camera yesterday.”

“Doing what?”

“I had a lunch with Stephanie.”

“On purpose?”

She chuckled at his dumbfounded expression. “It was set up for us. It wasn’t like either of us called the other.”

“What did you talk about? Did she call me a hunk of chocolate again?” He gave her a wry expression as they crossed the sidewalk.

Lizzie trotted over to them with their microphones. For some reason they hadn’t been miked for the drive over, which had given Kasee time to catch Dion up to date. They’d never had time for a long chat the day before because he received a call about some nineties rock star supposedly cheating on his wife in a waterfront hotel on Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.

“No, we talked about how her divorce was going. She did ask about you, but I knew I’d end up saying something about your mother, so I changed the subject.”

He frowned. “Why my mom?”

“That she’s white. You know. Stephanie is one of those girls who like to know everyone’s family tree.”

His voice came out an octave lower. “Well, I don’t see Brock here with a check for me, so it’s a moot point. I’m not putting my mom on camera.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Kasee agreed, hearing the tension in his voice. She felt the same concern. “I’m so glad my parents live in Virginia and only visited that one time during the shoot last year. This isn’t for everyone.”

Lizzie turned on their mikes and a camera operator came out of the gallery’s front door, ready to shoot their entrance.

Dion forced a smile. “What is the occasion tonight, Kasee?”

Kasee matched his cheerful, evening’s start expression. “We’re celebrating Stephanie’s cousin. Tonight is her gallery debut. She’s a metal artist.”

“Fascinating,” Dion said. “I wish I could have brought my camera.”

“I didn’t have much notice. Stephanie only told me about this at lunch yesterday. I’ve been out of the loop while working on my realtor’s license.”

“It takes time to study or hold a job,” Dion said. “But I’m proud of you for trying something new.”

Kasee took his arm as they walked through the open door. “You never told me. Did you get those shots last night? Of the philandering rock star?”

Dion’s smile brightened. “Yes, ma’am, I did. With a scenic backdrop of tall ships. Twenty large, baby.”

“Woo-hoo!” Kasee said, squeezing his thick biceps. “We both had a good day yesterday.”

A server held out a tray of champagne. They both took a glass as they surveyed the cast members in the room. Kasee saw Tammy standing alone, staring at the curvy, rough-backed sculpture of a woman in some kind of silvery metal. She touched her purse. The letter she’d written her ex-friend was inside.

“I’m going to speak to Tammy for a minute,” she told Dion. “Back with you in a bit.”

~

Before Dion could protest at being abandoned, Kasee had walked away, purpose in the swing of her step. He admired the way her slim waist flared into generous hips. The way her backside filled out her dress ought to be illegal. He took a sip of his champagne, willing his cock to de-swell. But he had no doubt that he was going to attempt to hit that tonight. She’d been willing once. Maybe tonight she’d invite him into her bed. What would her bedroom look like? He didn’t even know if she was the messy type, with discarded dresses flung around the room, lingerie spilling out of drawers, high-heeled shoes dropped carelessly in the corners…

Damn. He willed himself to think about football. Sweaty men colliding, the smell of spilled beer and acrid sweat. Anything to stop from embarrassing himself in his tight suit.

“You’re staring at my wife like she’s a filet mignon at a steak house,” Keith said, walking up to him with a mixed drink in his hand rather than the ubiquitous champagne glass. Kasee’s ex, though handsome on camera, had large pockmarks on his face and his hair was a faded red, already white at the temples.

“Who, Tammy?” Dion snorted. “I like woman with curves. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He enjoyed the fact that a camera man was recording his insult. Score one for Kasee.

“I meant Kasee,” Keith said, his voice dropping from its usual salesman cheer.

“She’s not your wife anymore,” Dion said, setting his full glass on an empty tray on a pedestal. Around him, spotlights highlighted scenes of slaves working on plantations, a creepy mix of bucolic splendor and his ancestors’ pain. What kind of gallery was this? Who was buying this art? Was it meant to be ironic?

He stepped away from Keith and took a closer look at the sculpture in front of him. It was a competently constructed beaten metal relief of a woman from the back. The other side was raw, hollow, as if her front was missing. When he bent closer, he saw her hands were bound behind her. A woman into erotic bondage…or a slave? He shook his head, uncomfortable. “Time to leave.”

“Can’t take the heat, huh?” Keith jeered.

“This art is insulting to my people,” Dion said.

“It’s made by your people,” Keith said. “This gallery sells African-American art.”

“African-Americans aren’t a monolith, Keith,” Dion said. “I can be insulted all by myself. I don’t want to look at slave images. I want to move beyond all that.”

Keith smirked and put his face closer. “That why you’re trying to go after a rich white chick? I’ve got news for you, buddy, she ain’t that rich.”

“Kasee’s rich in a lot of things,” Dion said evenly, turning his head away from a whiff of Keith’s alcohol-laden breath. “One of those things is freedom from you.”

Keith’s face collapsed in on itself as he bared his teeth. “You may find yourself ousted real soon, son. We still love each other.”

“Don’t call me ‘son,’ ” Dion said.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You prefer ‘boy’?” Keith’s cheeks hollowed and his eyes bulged.

He forgot about the cameras. “You racist son of a bitch,” Dion snarled, unbuttoning his jacket.

“What you gonna do? Hit me?” Keith made something like a giggle as he drained his glass and set it down. “You gonna rise up?”

Dion stopped dead. What was he doing? He straightened his jacket. “Against what? I have a great life and not only that, I have the woman you want. You’re an idiot, Keith. Move on.”

Kasee’s ex’s face contorted. His hand clenched into a fist and he flung wildly. Dion grabbed the surprisingly light metal sculpture, holding it like a shield. Keith’s fist bashed into the metal. As the rest of the room went silent, he screamed in pain.

Dion sighed. “Do we have a doctor in the house?”

Behind him, he heard a cry of outrage. He turned away from the cursing Keith, bent over holding his injured fist with his other hand, Lizzie racing toward him, and saw Keith’s fiancée throw her champagne glass to the ground, her hand swinging up toward Kasee’s face. Was she going to try to hit Kasee?

He moved a step in their direction, but Kasee saw Tammy’s motion and jerked away. Instead of connecting with Kasee’s nose, Tammy’s hand closed on Kasee’s hair, wrenching her head sideways.

Amber and Juliette were closer than Dion, but they did nothing but shriek. Dion raced forward as Kasee batted her hand at Tammy, but then Stephanie’s hand closed around Tammy’s wrist. She pried Tammy’s fingers off of Kasee’s hair. Dion reached them and he wrapped his arm around Kasee’s waist, gently moving her out of reach as her strands were released.

Stephanie forced Tammy’s hand open. Several gleaming strands of Kasee’s perfect flaxen hair were in her palm.

“Ouch,” Stephanie said, meeting Dion’s eyes.

Dion shook his head as he supported Kasee. “Good work, Stephanie. Thanks.”

“Thank you for dealing with that one,” Stephanie said, jutting her chin in Keith’s direction. “I hope someday we live in a world where no white man ever thinks to call a black man ‘boy.’ ”

Dion sighed. “It’s always going to sink to the lowest common denominator in a fight. I happen to know Keith’s best salesman is a brother because he goes to my church. I doubt he’s an actual racist. He’s just pissed that I’m sleeping with his ex-wife.”

Stephanie looked irritated as she hauled Tammy toward a producer. But Dion was happy. He didn’t want to escalate any race war on the show. Life was complicated enough.

Kasee tried to smile at him, but she was obviously in pain. “This gallery is disgusting.”

“Bad energy,” Dion agreed, squeezing her close. “I hate stuff like this. Why not make art depicting strength rather than suffering?”

“At least we won in terms of the show,” she said. “They'll never fire me now, but my ex might get fired for trying to hit you, not to mention what Tammy did.”

“I’d say she’s more at risk since she ripped out some of your hair.”

“The sad thing is, I was honestly trying to be nice to her. I guess our friendship really is over.”

“Why?”

Kasee pursed her lips together. Dion noticed her skin looked pale. She looked older than him, for once. “I saw she wasn’t looking well last time. I guess I remember her fondly enough to be worried. I felt like I should say something, you know, like suggest she have a physical. But I have no idea why she attacked me.”

“She’s probably threatened by the obvious sign that Keith is still into you,” he said. “She’s not going to let go without a fight.”

“She let me go easily enough.” Kasee stared at the floor. “Keith was more important than our friendship.”

“Or his money was. Can we go?” Dion asked. “I’d like to take you home.”

Lizzie came over to them. The room had filled with show employees, moving around the guests. It seemed like the scene was over. Dion repeated his question to Lizzie.

“We need to have you seen,” Lizzie said to Kasee. “For insurance. Then you can go.”

Dion waited, holding Kasee’s hand, while an EMT checked out her scalp and cleaned the area where Tammy had drawn blood. Kasee squeezed his hand tightly as the EMT dabbed with antiseptic while a camera man filmed, but said nothing.

Fifteen minutes later they were on their way back to her townhouse. They were quiet on the drive. Dion was aware they were still miked and that Lizzie sat opposite from them with a camera. The assistant held up a small sign, which read, “Talk about what happened.”

Dion put his arm around Kasee’s shoulder. “How is your head feeling?”

“Sore. And Tammy wrenched my neck.”

“I would have thought she was too skinny to have much power.”

“I was taken by surprise. What did Keith say to you?”

“Just racist garbage. Nothing more than what I told Stephanie. Maybe it was the atmosphere of that gallery.”

“The slave imagery was only in the one room. The rest of it had some Caribbean landscapes, some masks.”

“It was a setup,” Dion said flatly. “I wouldn’t have thought Stephanie would go for that.”

“Maybe her cousin didn’t know what the gallery had planned. She’s in a BDSM lifestyle.”

Dion chuckled and rubbed his chin. “So her art wasn’t slave-oriented at all?”

“Not historical slave, certainly.” Kasee met his gaze.

He couldn’t help laughing at her dry delivery. “I’d like to be a fly on the wall when Stephanie talks to her cousin next.”

Kasee lifted her eyebrows. “You get into any of that at all? Ever tied anyone up? Spanked them?”

Dion noted that she had a sparkle to her eyes that had been missing before. “No, but if you’re game, I’m willing, as long as I’m in charge.”

“You’re the dominant type, huh?”

“Absolutely.” Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d like the idea of being tied up by anyone.

“Trust issues?”

He nodded. “It does not appeal.”

She tapped her chin. “I wonder what in your past caused these trust issues. Explain.”

Dion knew he needed to keep the tone of the conversation sexy and flirtatious. But Kasee’s question made that hard. “My high school girlfriend broke up with me in order to date the captain of the football team.”

“Really?”

“Yep. And here I thought she liked nerds.”

“I don’t think you’re a nerd.”

“Track and field was a lot nerdier than football where I went to high school.”

She slid her fingers up his arm. “I can’t think of anyone sexier than you.”

He forgot about the camera, about Lizzie. “No?”

“No.” She leaned her mouth against his ear, her voice going low and throaty. “I keep thinking about those things you did to me in your bed.”

His eyebrows went up. “Surely none of it was very unusual.”

“I’d never had sex so many times in one night in my life.”

“No?”

“That’s the problem with dating an older man.”

“Keith must have been only around thirty when you met.”

“Thirty-four. But he wasn’t as highly sexed as you are.”

He stared into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated. Nothing existed more exciting than a turned-on woman. Her mouth tilted toward his. “Hell,” he muttered, and pressed his lips against hers.

She opened to him, dancing her tongue along his lower lip. He put his hand against her cheek, thinking to shield her from the camera, while knowing he couldn’t resist. Her perfume filled the air around him, encasing him in a private little Kasee-land where nothing else existed. By the time the limo stopped and she pulled away, his cock ached and she was panting.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered, taking his hand.

“Let’s go,” he echoed. “I can’t wait to get you upstairs.” They grinned at each other, ignoring Lizzie as they ran to Kasee’s front door.

~

Kasee stared at Dion’s shoulder, round with muscle, in the morning light streaming through the curtains. When she’d moved into what had been their rental property after she and Keith had separated, she’d wondered if she’d ever have sex again. If she’d ever want sex again, after years of flabby, self-absorbed marital sex. Dion had awakened something new in her. With Keith, their relationship had been somewhat based on awe, that a successful older man had wanted to date a college student. She’d never had anything like this sex-on-a-stick younger man, able to make love several times in the night, and able to arouse her to pleasure each time. Keith had never cared about her pleasure once they’d married. He’d just grunted, rolled over, and fallen asleep. Often, she’d felt like little more than a melatonin pill to him.

Maybe that was why Tammy was miserable. She now knew the real Keith. In order to protect her marriage, Kasee had never discussed the real state of her relationship with anyone. Outside of the house, she had been pampered, well-dressed, happy Mrs. Kean. Behind closed doors, a non-entity.

“Tammy can have him,” she said aloud.

“What?” Dion turned his head on the white pillowcase, his eyes fluttering open.

She touched his cheek. “Sorry. Just talking to myself.”

“About what?”

“How lucky I am. Compared to a year ago.”

“Yeah?” He tucked his hand behind his ear and lifted his head, smiling sleepily.

“I just didn’t know lovemaking could be like this,” she said, feeling heat stain her cheeks. “Or that I would want to just stare at some sleeping guy next to me.”

“You didn’t stare at Keith.”

“He drooled.”

Dion laughed, scrunching his eyes closed at the image. “I’m glad I don’t drool.”

“You could be dehydrated,” Kasee said, suddenly worried. “Would you like some water? Or coffee?”

“Want to have breakfast in bed?”

“Sure. I can go start the pot.”

Dion sat up, stretching, all of his glorious muscles rippling. “I’ll do it. I need to use the facilities anyway.”

“Take a shower,” she invited. “I’ll figure out breakfast. You don’t know my kitchen yet.”

He smiled and stroked her nose. “I like the ‘yet.’ ”

“It was a good night,” she purred.

He nodded. “That it was.” His phone beeped, and he picked it up while she climbed out of bed. She figured she’d start breakfast anyway. Even if he had to leave, he’d want to take coffee with him.

In the kitchen, she surveyed her options. They’d expended a lot of energy over the course of the night, so they could eat more than she usually would. She heated a pan and threw a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. While eggs cooked, she smeared a quarter of an avocado on each slice of toast, then flipped the eggs and started a piece of toast for herself. By the time the eggs were done, she had all her toast ready and the coffee was brewed. She slid the eggs onto the avocado and drizzled some soy sauce over the eggs, then sprinkled fresh cracked pepper over the entire concoction. The plates didn’t look quite fancy enough so she took one last look in the refrigerator and found some sliced pineapple that hadn’t gone bad yet, so she divided it between the plates.

“What else?” She said aloud. How did she not know how her new man took his coffee? She didn’t have a creamer or a sugar bowl, so she made do and tossed it all onto a silver tray that she’d found in a cupboard, and slowly carried it all upstairs.

“Nice,” Dion said approvingly, coming out of the bathroom, steam surrounding him. He took the tray from her. “Shall we get back in bed?”

She curled up under the covers, straightening the robe she’d thrown on, then Dion placed the tray next to her and slid in on the opposite side.

“I didn’t know about the coffee.”

“Black is fine, but I’ll have cream when it’s handy.”

She pointed to the juice glass full of milk. “Best I could do. Somehow I didn’t wind up with a coffee or tea service.”

“How come?”

“I walked out. It’s hard to retrieve much when you’ve had the locks changed on you. I figured most everything was his anyhow. Most of our wedding guests were his, so I didn’t even take the formal china.”

“At least you got a townhouse.”

“Right. But I need a job of some kind. I could sell this house and live on the proceeds for maybe five years, but I’d rather not do that.”

“When do you get paid for the show?”

“Not until the end of the shoot. I forgot about that. But I had a good payday for some gossip I sold, ten thousand dollars, so I’m good for now. And when I get paid, that’s enough to live on for at least two years, if I don’t try to show off too much.”

“You need good clothes for the show.”

“I know. I wish I had a designer friend, or a stylist. That would be perfect, so I could borrow looks.”

“I don’t know anyone like that. What about starting a business?”

“All I have is my ten thousand and a year of alimony. That’s not enough money to start a business right now. I have real estate taxes due.”

He bit into his toast and chewed. “Wow, this is excellent.”

“Thanks.” She smiled as she forked up pineapple, knowing his brain was churning.

He finally spoke. “I do have one contact that might help. Not real estate, though.”

“Who?”

“I have a friend at a local radio station. I know they are looking for an entertainment journalist.”

She scrunched up her nose. “Could I do that?”

“Why not? You’re very poised. I can’t exactly say you’re good with celebrities, but people like you in the public eye are exactly who companies like to hire for jobs like this. You bring an audience with you.”

She wanted to deny it, but he had a point after her Sky Mitchell and Thunder Road misadventures, however unlike her normal self they had been. “I’ve always heard you make a lot more money on things like memoirs if you are famous to start with.”

“Exactly. Want me to get you an interview?”

“Sure. It would be more fun than real estate.”

“Why did you get your license if you weren’t interested?” He took another bite of toast.

She was happy to see he was devouring his food. “It made sense to me at the time. Once the shoot for season two is over, I’ll find a better real estate agency. It’s not that I don’t want to do real estate, I just want to do it on my own terms.”

~

Three days later, Dion’s friend came through with an audition for her to be a radio personality after meeting with her in person at the station. Kasee, nervous and fretting because Brock insisted on shooting her first radio interview for Ladies of Baltimore, had to be filmed even though the interview was meant to be audio only. The station would play it during morning drive time if she did a good job.

“I might as well be auditioning for television,” she told Dion as her makeup was touched up by Lizzie in the production van outside of Pat’s Irish Pub. “First my interview to get a shot at the job, and now this.”

“At least it’s going to be an easy interview, even if you aren’t in the studio doing it over the phone. Pat Collins is an institution and you’ve known him for years,” Dion said.

“It’s never hard to get Pat to talk,” Kasee agreed, wondering if she should have worn a necklace after all, though she’d decided against it earlier since her dress was a vibrant floral print. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a rotten girlfriend these past few days. I want to make the most of my opportunities, but it’s taken all of my attention.”

Dion stepped aside as the makeup artist tried to maneuver around the back of Kasee’s chair. “I feel like I’ve been interviewing you continuously,” he said, trying to make a joke of it. But it was true. Kasee had been a pill, repeatedly asking him to interview her so she could practice being radio-friendly. He’d had no idea that her attitude toward Ladies of Baltimore was relaxed by her standards. No wonder she’d never really gotten started as a real estate agent. The woman could fret like a world champion. If she worried about every client the way she worried about this one interview, she’d be immobilized by stress.

He’d woken up to her shrieking that morning, and had stumbled into the bathroom thinking there was a mouse or something, only to discover she’d found a tiny whitehead on her chin. Not a sign of it remained now, but she’d acted like it was a calamity. And this interview was only being filmed for Ladies, not for the radio broadcast. Which meant there was an excellent chance it would never be aired at all, given that she was only one fifth of the show.

Also, they hadn’t had sex for days, even though they’d only been dating for a couple of weeks. Were they a romantic couple or business partners? He’d finally slept over last night, thinking that would do the trick, but instead had spent the evening doing a wine tasting with a selection that some company had sent her, and then practicing her interview questions until he’d given up trying to seduce her.

“You have been interviewing me a lot,” Kasee said, patting his thigh. “But at least I haven’t been interfering with your job.”

“No.” He had been in a dry spell for almost a week. No celebrities around, and no one needed sports shots. That’s how it went. If he had another few days like this he’d have to go to New York for a while and work there. When he was desperate that was his backup plan. He had a friend who let him crash on his couch and he’d simply walk the streets until he found a payday. Something was always happening in the Big Apple, unlike in Baltimore.

“Are you going to stick around?” she asked, her perfectly made-up face betraying anxiety.

“I’ll be in the background cheering you on,” he promised.

The van doors opened. Lizzie poked her head through. “We ready to go?”

“Yes,” Kasee said, raising her voice to be heard over the street noise. “I’m so glad I’m not going on live, though.”

“Still being recorded live,” Lizzie said.

“Yes, but it will probably look funny if I mess up. Meanwhile, I’ll be costing myself the radio job, though.”

Dion jumped down from the van then helped Kasee step onto the street. “You’ll be fine. It’s just Pat.”

“Just Pat,” Kasee echoed, keeping a tight grip on his hand. Suddenly, she smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for being so supportive. I’ll make it up to you in some really dirty way tonight.”

Dion wanted to believe that, but he was still hyper-aware of the camera man that had started to film them as soon as Kasee’s heels touched the street. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

Her smile faltered. Had she come out of her self-focused cocoon for a moment and noticed him? Then she saw the pub sign. Her shoulders went back. She dropped his hand. And without a backward glance, she marched into the pub.

Half an hour later, he sat in the darkened room. The blinds had been closed in favor of artificial light. Kasee had been alternately charming and teasing Pat for a good ten minutes now, though she hadn’t done a very good job of getting stories out of him. Too busy flirting, as if she was enhancing her own brand instead of doing the radio interview. He was out of the limelight, supporting her. Did he want a star for a girlfriend? As a paparazzo, he was used to being unseen, a mere part of the star machine. But did he really want that for his life?

His beeper vibrated. He pulled it off his belt and saw Jorge’s number. He texted his partner. Thirty seconds later Jorge texted back. Bax and Tyler from Thunder Road were at a local strip club goofing off. He glanced up at Kasee, who was listening to Pop tell the story of the day Sky Mitchell came to his pub for the first time and listened to Teagan sing, then escaped the pub in women’s clothes to hide from photographers.

Kasee didn’t need him. She had this now that she’d hit her stride. He slid off his stool, figuring he’d sneak out the back, just like Sky had back in the day, so that he didn’t compromise the interview lighting. When he reached the door, he saw the camera man change his angle, and saw how upset Kasee looked, her eyes following him.

He mouthed “Sorry” and pushed through the door. Work had to come first after most of a week’s dry spell. He refused to feel guilty. He’d given the scene a great ending. Instead of triumph, a failure, an unexpected twist. Even though he knew she didn’t want a new storyline of her being failed in love again, there were limits to his patience.