LITMIR.BIZ

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with Jared wasn’t the director she’d mentioned—it was Cecilia, her other dear friend and comrade-in-arms. Cecilia was the one who knew the director on the sitcom. The company Cecilia owned provided cleaning services, and she personally oversaw the cleaning of the director’s sprawling mansion twice a month.

      Favors were called in and within twenty minutes, all arrangements were made. Jared would be allowed onto the set for the taping.

      Theresa called back and cheerfully informed her young client that “All systems are a go, Jared.”

      “Excuse me?” Preoccupied with the account that had kept him up, he wasn’t sure what the woman was referring to. Juggling his phone as well as his house keys, he was trying to shrug into his jacket as he made his way out the door.

      Theresa patiently spelled it out. “Ted Riley, the director of More than Roommates, said you could come onto the set anytime after four today. That’s when they’re taping the final take of the background music for the episode.”

      One arm punched through a sleeve, Jared stopped putting on his jacket, and glanced at his watch. He had a meeting with a client at noon. With any luck, it would be wrapped up by four. That meant he’d be free to drive over to Paragon Studios. If he recalled his geography, Paragon Studios was only approximately two miles away from his client’s offices.

      “Okay, since you’ve gone through all this trouble, I’ll swing by and give that woman a listen.” And then he laughed as he put his arm through the second sleeve. “You do know that you should join the U.N. and use your powers of persuasion for good, don’t you, Theresa?”

      Tickled, she laughed lightly and said, “That’s exactly what I am doing, Jared. I’m using my ‘powers’ for the greater good.” Your good—and Elizabeth’s, she added silently.

      Jared didn’t question her any further. He just assumed the woman was referring to helping him with the arrangements for his parents’ celebration.

      Elizabeth shifted ever so slightly. She could feel the handsome stranger’s eyes on her.

      She’d noticed him immediately, although he’d obviously tried to be unobtrusive when he’d slipped onto the set ten minutes ago. He’d stood off to the side as gaffers, cameramen and other technical pros scurried about, just barely managing to keep clear of the very small area where the ensemble was playing.

      He’d tried to go unnoticed, but a man who looked like that wasn’t the kind who exactly blended into the scenery. Tall, with straight black hair and near-perfect angular features, not to mention wide shoulders and a trim waist with slim hips, he looked as if he should have been in front of the camera, not off to one side behind it.

      Why was this dashing gentleman watching her play so intently? Was her fingering off? Or was there something wrong with the way she was dressed?

      But even as the questions occurred to her, she knew that the answer to each was no. She was wearing the same kind of attire that the other musicians had on, and her fingering hadn’t been off since she was five.

      Was he another technical adviser? Someone associated with the studio who wanted to make sure that money wasn’t being wasted on musicians who couldn’t hold a note?

      She knew that a lot of the music for programs these days was of the prerecorded variety, just artfully melded by one person in a sound booth to avoid the expense of having a six-piece ensemble supply live play.

      “And—it’s a wrap,” the director finally declared. Vibrant just a few seconds ago, he looked weary now and incredibly relieved to be wrapping up a shoot that had taken longer than he’d anticipated.

      “Thank you, people. You can go home now,” he announced, waving them off the set.

      The moment she started packing up her instrument and the sheet music, the handsome observer began to make his way toward her.

      “Excuse me.” The deep, resonant voice was polite as he tried to get her attention.

      The moment he opened his mouth, she was struck by a feeling of déjà vu. That voice was familiar. Where had she heard it before? Elizabeth wondered.

      But the next moment, she nixed the thought. How could his voice sound familiar? She’d never met the man. She definitely would have remembered meeting someone who looked like him.

      Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d heard his voice somewhere before. On a commercial perhaps? Elizabeth stopped packing up her violin in its case and gave him her undivided attention.

      “Yes?”

      Theresa hadn’t mentioned that the woman was a knockout as well as talented. He found he had to struggle to maintain his train of thought. “Are you Elizabeth Stephens?”

      Definitely a familiar voice, she thought. But where had she—?

      “Yes,” she answered, her curiosity piqued.

      Jared decided to treat this like an ad campaign and plunged right in. “Theresa Manetti suggested that I get in contact with you.”

      Elizabeth shook her head. She had no idea who he was referring to. It certainly wasn’t the name of someone who had hired her to play before. She had each and every client’s name and number memorized.

      Raising her head, Elizabeth looked the man straight in the eyes—noting that they were a knee-numbing light green.

      “I’m afraid I don’t know who that is,” she told him.

      He had to have her confused with someone else, she decided—then immediately backtracked. The man knew her name, so he couldn’t have her confused with someone else. But who was this Theresa Manetti, and why was she sending this man to her?

      “Really?” Jared asked, somewhat confused himself. “She speaks very highly of you.”

      And then it hit her—why his voice sounded so familiar. It was the same voice she’d heard stumbling on her answering machine last night. He was the incomplete call that had abruptly ended in midsentence.

      Her eyes pinned him in place, daring him to deny what she was about to say. “You called me last night.”

      Instead of denying it, he surprised her by owning up to the botched call. “I did.”

      “But you hung up,” she pointed out.

      He looked slightly chagrined, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and unable to pull it out, or even come up with a plausible reason why his hand was there in the first place.

      “Sorry about that,” he apologized.

      Face-to-face, he could easily make up an excuse as to why he’d terminated the call. Power failure, a dropped signal—there were myriad reasons for him to choose from. But he didn’t see the advantage of beginning what would only be a very short association—his parents’ anniversary was in three and a half weeks—with lies and excuses.

      So he told her the truth. “I’m not very good when it comes to talking to answering machines,” he confessed.

      “I noticed,” she acknowledged, then laughed softly. “Just between you and me, I’ve got the same problem. If you call in person, I can guarantee that I pretty much could talk your ear off. But if I find myself on the other end of some robotic-sounding recorder, I go completely blank.”

      Her summation of the problem amused him. “Nice to know I’m not alone.” He became aware that the director was looking expectantly in his direction. “I think we’re in the way here,” Jared said.

      Now that he’d met her, he wasn’t so keen on pulling the plug on the music anymore. He looked around the soundstage, but there didn’t even seem to be the hint of a vending machine around.

      He looked at her. “Is there somewhere we can go where we can talk?”

      Though she told herself she was letting her imagination run away with her, Elizabeth felt

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