LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER FOUR

      TRAFFIC WAS SO backed up with cars arriving for the soft opening that Sloane’s driver could go no farther. She had to walk two blocks to Simone, camera bag bouncing against her hip. This was one of the reasons she never wore heels, even for nice occasions. No amount of beauty was worth the blisters.

      But fortunately, there were no torrential downpours or hurricane-grade winds. The sky was clear, a pleasant breeze wafting through her filmy aubergine dress. Just cool enough that she knew the warm flavors and comforting atmosphere would be spot-on.

      Now she knew exactly how to begin her article.

      With one gloved hand on the polished copper door handle, she paused to take a deep breath and tried to drown out the sounds of the crowd inside.

      One. Two. Th—

      The door flung open, careening her into the restaurant. Her camera bag slid down her arm, and she was mere inches away from eating some serious floor when two solid arms caught her around the waist and shoulders and lowered her to the floor at a much safer velocity.

      “I’m really sorry about that,” a booming voice said. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

      Sloane looked up to see perfect white teeth surrounded by a charming smile. And a face that looked oddly like Cooper’s.

      “Hello.” He drew out the last syllable suggestively as his gaze moved from her face to her peep-toe flats and back. Holding on to her hand just a little too long. “Have I met you before?”

      Sloane felt a gentle tug on her elbow. The real Cooper appeared at her other side, syrupy eyes filled with irritation for the man he’d just pulled her away from.

      His look turned to concern as he faced her. “Are you all right?”

      “I—” She darted her gaze between him and the person who’d spared her from certain humiliation. Same height, same muscular build, same chiseled facial structure and cleft chin. The other man had reddish-brown hair to Cooper’s mocha color and eyes so dark they were almost black in place of Cooper’s honey-flecked ones. “You’re...?”

      “Brothers.” Cooper sighed. “Sloane Bradley, meet Owen Cooper. Director of marketing at J. Marian Restaurants.”

      “Twin brothers.” Owen’s million-dollar grin was a stark contrast to Cooper’s flat reluctance. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

      Cooper rolled his eyes. “Sloane is the food writer helping with the launch.”

      “Nice to meet you, as well.” Sloane’s voice came out shaky, no doubt compounded by her heartbeat’s seismic proportions. Was it her almost-fall and rescue that was whipping her into a tachycardia? The two very good-looking men on either side of her? The warmth of Cooper’s hand still holding her elbow?

      And, goodness, did he clean up nicely. Cooper’s eyes practically glowed in the low lighting. His now stubble-free jawline could cut glass.

      Sloane’s stomach dipped as she recognized the Cooper patriarch approaching, motioning his sons to him with a commanding expression. Cooper gave her an apologetic look before following his brother.

      With their backs turned, she took the opportunity to smooth the hem of her dress and rearrange her Spanx in one stealthy movement.

      She took in the room. So. Many. People. Just breathe. She only had to do this for a few months. Then things would return to normal.

      When Sloane turned, Mr. Cooper was still speaking to his sons in a hushed tone. He was dressed in a dark, textured dinner jacket that looked fresh from the tailor. The woman at his side—gorgeous, with a sparkling planet on her ring finger, long white teeth that seemed to go on for miles and half his age—said nothing.

      Unsure where to go or what to do, Sloane scoped out the restaurant decor. Cooper had pulled everything together in time. And he’d added a touch of elegance with low lighting and rustic burnished candlesticks on every table.

      But the best part? Massive canvases of the photos she’d taken had been hung on each wall, flanking a huge black-and-white portrait of an older woman—probably seventy or so. The contrast and lighting of the photo highlighted her lined face, wide cheekbones, and deep set of her eyes in a way that showcased her strength and dignity. Though her mouth was set in a firm, thin line, there was a sparkle in her clear eyes that spoke volumes about her and also made her very French. Made Sloane want to know her.

      She tore her gaze from the portrait and turned to the Coopers. Owen was deep in conversation with a woman she recognized as a network news anchor while Mr. Cooper and his wife moved on to more schmoozeworthy pastures.

      “Come with me.” Cooper’s low whisper startled Sloane and sent shivers down her spine. “I know just the spot for you.”

      He led her to a table with a small chalkboard sign marked Reserved. Seated there were a blonde who looked fresh from the beach and a woman with the regal elegance of a politician’s wife—Marian Cooper.

      Sloane sucked in a trembling breath. If she could have any superpower right now, it would definitely be invisibility. Cooper destroyed any possibility of that when he interrupted their conversation. “Ladies, excuse me.”

      They turned toward him, mirroring his charming smile. Sloane flinched as his fingers brushed her bra strap and came to a rest on her lower back.

      “I’d like you to meet Sloane Bradley, freelance writer and ambassador for VisibilityNet. She’ll be working to expand our presence on the web.”

      Sloane listened closely for a dismissive air in his tone, still a little stung by his words a few days before. But if he still thought her job was ridiculous despite all of the help she’d given him, he hid it really well.

      “Oh.” The blonde straightened to her full, runway model posture. “You’re a blogger, right? I think I’ve seen some of your recipes on Pinterest.”

      Sloane swallowed a lump in her throat, wishing more than anything that Grace or one of her faithful blog commenters was here to do the talking.

      “Yes, her recipes have built quite the following,” Cooper answered for her. “This is Trina Taylor, local reporter for the Dallas Morning News.”

      “Oh, I’ve heard of you, too,” Sloane said. “You have quite the reputation around here.”

      “Persistent?” Trina raised a shaped eyebrow.

      Sloane nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” Though she’d never met the reporter in person, ruthless was the word people most often used to describe Trina. It was an excellent quality for a young journalist, but Sloane preferred to stay away from them in general. Maybe it was all the questions.

      Cooper moved behind his mother’s chair. “And this stunning creature, as you know, is my mother, Marian Cooper.”

      “Hello again.” A nervous laugh escaped Sloane, followed by an even more awkward wave, if such a thing was possible.

      The older woman smiled, her familiar golden-brown eyes glowing. “Hi, Sloane. You’re welcome to sit at our table.”

      Calmed by Marian’s drawl, Sloane pulled out the chair next to her. “That’s very kind of you.”

      Cooper stepped aside as a server arrived with a tray of appetizers. His head swiveled toward the door, where people dressed in expensive

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