Page 10 of Love Is…?

One adorable dog.

And a partridge in a really awesome pear tree.

Her stomach clenched in joy.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

“Jayde Ferguson. Journalist.”

Tessa turned and met Jayde’s eyes.Arresting. Tessa was still committed to the word.

She stuck out her hand. “Tessa Connor. Teen chaperone.”

They shook hands. “Nice. Grace Taylor, obviously.” Jayde gave a half-smile that was much too sexy for coherent sentence construction.

“Yes. You’re writing an article?”

“On Abigail Taylor. A profile forCulturemagazine.”

Tessa’s eyes rounded. “Oh, I love that magazine. I read all their essays. Online, of course. The paper version is the price of a medium to large Mercedes.”

Jayde laughed. “True. Well, I’m writing one of those essays.”

“That’s so exciting! I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then.” Tessa beamed, shifting a little so the tiny ray of sunlight battling through the clouds wasn’t shining in her eyes.

“I hope so,” Jayde responded, pulling the words so that every letter dripped with innuendo.

Tessa blushed, then forced the heat down, choosing to ignore the taller woman in front of her with the tiny freckles scattered all over her face like a mini constellation of fairy dust,the skinny low slung jeans that hung off her hips, and the boots, and the white t-shirt, and the black suit jacket. Yes, excellent job at ignoring.

She smiled. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Jayde’s gaze roamed over Tessa’s face. “We’re not working together,” she said, her head tilted a little.

“Right. Of course.” Tessa waved her hand as if to brush the comment from the air. “Different jobs and all that.”What was it about this woman that completely flustered her?She didn’t fluster. No flustering. Tessa squared her shoulders. “We’ll be on a wave-and-maybe-say-hello basis.”

Jayde grinned. “Big fan of wave-and-maybe-say-hello interactions. I’ll be here for twenty interviews, so we’ll have lotsof waving and saying hello.” She winked, then turned away. “Have a great day, Tessa Connor.”

Tessa stared after her. “That’s…distracting.”

Chapter

Four

“Abigail Taylor?”

Her father’s eyebrows were in his hairline, as he absorbed the news of his daughter not only scoring a gig withCulturemagazine, but writing a profile about one of the most well-known faces on the planet. Jayde could literally see his brain unpacking the confetti, party poppers, autograph book, and camera; so proud of his daughter but also preparing himself for a potential selfie with his favourite actress.

“Yep.”

“The same Abigail Taylor ofTwo For Three,It’s Not You Or Even You,andIt’s All Fiction?”

“Yes, Dad.” Jayde propped her feet up on the tapestry ottoman in front of the armchair.

Her father, sitting on the other armchair, a hot water bottle in a crocheted cover resting on his knee, gaped at her. “Oh, Jayde. We have watched all her films. She’s lovely.”

Jayde couldn’t help but smile at his adoration. “That she is.” Then she jerked. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Oliver Ferguson delivered a marvellous impression of a victim in a hold up. Hands raised. Eyes wide.

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