§ § § -- January 10, 2002

He was still going over the various offers when he got home from work that day and thudded onto his creaking old sofa. He lived in a small apartment complex about a mile down the Ring Road from the newspaper building, and got back and forth on a bike. He did have a driver's license, but had occasion to use it only whenever he visited his parents or his sister and her family. He liked driving, but he was just as happy not to own a car; his brother-in-law complained a lot about the cost of car insurance, particularly with a son soon to turn sixteen. Gordy simply figured that was just more money at his disposal for food; he had to keep his kitchen well-stocked on account of his disorder, and had even taken enough cooking classes to make his meals interesting and healthful.

The same broken spring twanged under him as he shifted and relaxed on the couch, and he grinned wryly to himself. Maybe he could finally go out and get some new furniture. He went through the e-mailed offers again—five of them or so—and then examined the ones that had been sent via regular mail. There were another four of these and he'd managed to read only two of them; now he picked up one of the envelopes and took it into the kitchen with him to look at while he figured out what to make for supper. For some reason he was in the mood for chicken cacciatore, and had actually managed to remember to set aside some chicken to thaw before heading for work that morning. He started getting out ingredients, reading the letter as he did so. After a moment he stopped and stared in amazement.

"They gotta be kidding," he breathed aloud. "Five hundred grand if I can get them some current shots of Christian?" He could buy a house with that kind of money. All kinds of visions danced through his head; then he thought better of it and reread the passage again. It sounded too good to be true somehow. The name of the magazine was at the top of its company letterhead in bold red block letters; their operations were in New York City and, as the letter subsequently stated, they had just started operations. That explained why he'd never heard of them, he supposed. He wondered if the bookstore in town carried it. Then he wondered why they wanted pictures of Christian.

There was a phone number on the page, and he tried to remember what time it was in New York. If his calculations weren't off, they were seven hours ahead; it would be the middle of the night there right now. "Nuts," he muttered. He'd really wanted to get to the bottom of this, find out if they were legit and why they were interested specifically in Christian. It was always possible that they knew his and Leslie's anniversary was coming up and wanted to highlight the celebration. Gordy grinned to himself; he and everybody else knew there was going to be one, no matter how much Christian and Leslie protested. It was likely that even Roarke wouldn't bother stopping the plans; he hadn't put the kibosh on the record-setting party that had been thrown on Christian and Leslie's wedding day. If the anniversary celebration was anything remotely similar, he expected that a movement would spring up to make every January 16 an official island holiday. And wouldn't Christian and Leslie just hate that, he thought with a grin. He reread the letter several times, then shrugged to himself and decided he'd just have to check it out. To that end, he headed out the door with his bike and rode back into town to check the bookstore.

"Never heard of that one," the cashier said when he showed her the letterhead. "I can ask the manager though…hold on a minute." Gordy nodded and waited patiently, scanning the new titles on display.

The cashier returned and said, "He says we're gonna carry it, but the first issue hasn't come out yet, I guess. We're expecting it by next week."

"Gotcha," Gordy said. "Thanks for the info." It wasn't much, but for now it was all he had. He rode back home and finally got around to whipping up the chicken cacciatore, which he proceeded to enjoy at leisure while reading the last offer and considering what he was going to do.

But his eyes kept going back to that five-hundred-thousand-dollar offer. Just for pictures of Christian? And they're brand-new? Wonder if they've got a website? He shoveled in a last bite and went over to his computer in the corner, booting it up and then getting online while he filled his plate again. There was indeed a site; it bore an image of the cover of the inaugural issue, and he had to admit he was impressed. It looked like a good-quality glossy magazine; the cover blurbs didn't scream their messages in two-inch-high letters, and it was plain someone had done careful design work on it. Somebody rich must own this thing, he thought. If it's a conglomerate, then that's great—somebody established and legit that already runs a bunch of well-known publications. If it's not…but hey, you gotta start somewhere. He really didn't know why he was feeling so suspicious; it must be the incredible amount of money they were offering, and the specific request that Christian be the subject. Of course, Christian was the only celebrity on the island, and he'd already had photos of him published… But geez, are they that desperate, to offer that much money? I suppose it makes some sense. Christian's actively ducked the spotlight all he possibly can since some lackey at the castle spilled the beans about his arranged marriage. He does his best to lie low, and that'd make photo ops scarcer, so they know they'll have to cough up big bucks to make any photographer intrepid enough to try breaching his privacy.

Thing is…I don't have to sneak around. I'm friends with Christian and Leslie, right? All I gotta do is call them up and ask. If they know I'm doing it, then it'll be all right. And for that much cash…man, I could pay some debts, get some new stuff…this thing could be my big breakthrough, a huge boost for my career. He grinned wryly. Such as it is!

Once more Gordy studied the image of the magazine on the site, navigated the other pages to check out names of staff, features of the publication and other pertinent information, and finally decided it might be worth taking the chance. He set his plate aside for a moment, picked up the phone and punched out 695 with the handle of his fork.

The machine kicked in at the Enstad house after four rings, and Gordy leaned back in his chair with surprise. But before he had the chance to leave a message, someone finally picked up, and a slightly breathless voice said, "Hello?"

"Hi, Leslie, it's Gordy…you and Christian must've been outside or something, huh? You sound out of breath," he said.

"Well…" Leslie paused, and in the background Gordy heard a deeper voice muttering something he couldn't make out. "Oh, Christian, it's just Gordy," she said before coming back on. "Sorry, Gordy. What's up?"

Gordy eyed the plate and wondered if he could balance it on his knees while he talked; he was still hungry. "I was just curious if you and Christian had a chance to talk over letting me take shots of you guys at your anniversary party," he said.

"How do you know there's going to be one?" Leslie asked, then amended, "Or maybe I should better ask, what makes you think we're going to be there?"

"Because you'll get lynched if you aren't," Gordy said, grinning.

"Geez," Leslie said, but laughed reluctantly. "You're probably right, that's the worst of it. No, we really haven't had a chance to talk about it…but hold on a minute." He agreed, and heard her set the phone down; then there were muffled voices for a few minutes before Christian's voice took over.

"You must know something we don't," he remarked by way of greeting. "Whatever details you have, spill them right now, Strassner. Where's the party, so we know where we shouldn't be next Wednesday?"

Gordy laughed. "Cripes, Christian, do you really have to be such a party pooper? I know you guys want to be alone, but I'm sure you'll have your chance. It won't last all day and all night, I'm sure."

"I'm not," Christian countered. "What I am sure of is that, if it's anything like our wedding reception was, it will begin in the evening when we'll most want to be at home by ourselves. I've had something in mind for this anniversary for a few days, and it's my biggest fear at the moment that this damned party will spoil it completely. If I want to see my second wedding anniversary, I'd better make the first one something special."

"You rogue," Gordy heard Leslie say laughingly in the background.

"I'm still incorrigible," Christian said off the line, and Leslie laughed again. Then he said, "Look, Gordy, if there absolutely must be a party, can't you spread the word to have it during the day and make sure it ends by, oh…three o'clock, perhaps? If you need an excuse, tell everyone it's so people can bring their children and not have to stay out late."

Gordy protested, "Hey, since when was I in charge of this thing?"

"Since you decided you wanted to take photos of us in attendance," Christian parried easily. "If you're not, then find out who is and pass the word. My bet is, it's Mariki. She was the mastermind behind that world-record party at our wedding."

"Right," Gordy said. "Well, okay, I guess I can do it…but if I do, you gotta let me take those pictures. These things could be syndicated to other magazines that want to make note of your first anniversary, and I could make a nice chunk of change here. It doesn't have to be an interview or anything. The mags can write their own text and all you have to do is smile for my Nikon. Besides, if you drop a word or two at Mr. Roarke, he'll see to it that it's just me. What say?"

Christian sighed gustily on the other end. "I must be too tired to think straight, because that actually sounds tempting." He muttered something in what must have been his own tongue, then said, "Let me explain to Leslie and see what she thinks." Gordy agreed and listened to Christian's muffled voice relaying their conversation to Leslie. After a few seconds she responded; then there was a protracted moment of silence before he heard some thumping noises and then Christian's voice again, sounding distracted. "She said it's all right with her…but it has to be done during the day."

"During the day, got it," Gordy said. "I'll get the word out. Hey, Christian, thanks, and tell Leslie thanks too. I really appreciate it."

"Hmmmmm…sure," Christian mumbled. "Uh, good night." The connection was cut before Gordy could respond; he had to laugh. Those two had his sister Tonya's beloved sappy romance novels beat by miles. That was okay; he was going to make sure he got the best possible pictures of them.

In the Enstads' living room, Leslie gave Christian an odd look. "You were a little abrupt there, weren't you, my love?"

"I was busy," Christian retorted, "and you were too, before the phone rang. I was just starting to relax. Now do you see why I don't want an extension in the bedroom?"

Leslie had to laugh. "You'll never stop being incorrigible, will you? Come on, for heaven's sake, lie down here and let me give you that back rub I promised you at lunch, before those goons at the pineapple plantation ruined our afternoon off."

"I'd rather go back to kissing you," Christian said suggestively, moving in on her again. "I was really enjoying myself there…"

"You kept forgetting you had poor Gordy on the phone," Leslie said, giggling. "You really surprise me, turning down a back rub after the day you had. First the newspaper, then the plantation…I bet the next ship out has on board about fifty guys who were plantation employees this morning. That's going to be some expense for them, replacing an entire dozen computers. I've never seen a brawl like that."

"You shouldn't have been there at all," Christian grumbled. "I don't care if you did drive me there. I thought any minute one of those monitors or towers was going to hit you. I'm still amazed I got out undamaged. Is that a normal occurrence down there?"

"Well, that one was of a bigger magnitude than most, but they have the worst turnover of any employer on the island, and Father long since gave up trying to keep track of how many times a month the police get called down there. Honestly, all that because the overseer told you to remove all the games from all the computers…oh, Christian…"

"You were saying something?" he murmured against her skin, his head just under her chin as he trailed kisses across her throat.

She grinned and kissed the top of his head. "Do you want a back rub or not?"

Christian stopped and looked up. "Do I feel that tense to you?"

"Yup." Leslie smiled and smoothed his hair. "I think you're the only person I know who'd turn down a back rub. Face it, my love, you had a long day."

"I did at that," Christian conceded wearily. "All right, then, but I might fall asleep on the floor, and that wasn't my intention." He gave her a meaningful look.

"Oh, don't worry," Leslie assured him, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "If you do, I'll wake you up. I'm not missing out on those kisses of yours…you can still unhinge my mind with them. You always could."

"Even the very first time?" Christian asked with interest, stretching out on his stomach on the quilt she had laid out on the carpet.

"Well…I think it might've been the Dom Perignon that time," she said and snickered.

"You little tease," he growled playfully at her, half sitting up.

She laughed and gently pushed him back down, straddling him and beginning to massage with both hands. "Quite honestly, my darling, if I hadn't wanted to be kissed, no amount of wine would've changed my mind. As soon as your lips touched mine, I was a goner. And you know what? That's the very second I started falling in love with you."

"They always said I was very good at kissing," murmured Christian.

"Who did?" Leslie asked, kneading his shoulders.

"My old girlfriends," came the drowsy reply, laced with a touch of wicked teasing that earned him a sharp pinch. "Aj, du slår mej! That hurt!" he exclaimed, laughing.

"That's what you get for trying to make me jealous, Christian Enstad," she shot back, grinning. "Knock it off before I do something you'll regret. You didn't kiss all those women, now, did you?"

She caught his sidelong glance and smirk before he closed his eyes again. "I knew you couldn't resist asking…" Her menacing growl made him laugh again. "If you really have to know, it was only Ingela and Karin. Remember what I told you last summer, what no one else on earth knows? They were the only ones I was ever that serious with, however briefly. You're my third, and you're the very last—and the most important—so I don't want to hear any more about jealousy. Now where's that back rub you insisted on giving me? Get on with it, or I won't give you any more of those kisses."

"Yes, you will. I have ways of persuading you," Leslie said with a slow smile. "You be quiet and enjoy this, now." He smiled back and let himself relax under her hands.