Los Angeles, 1993
The city glittered, a wild and ever-shifting constellation, outside the ballroom windows.
Inside the lavish space, a different kind of star sparkled. There were actors and bankers, musicians and CEOs. The brightest, and the wealthiest, had gathered to reflect their light off one another, pool their money for a good cause, and party far into the night.
It was a good cause, at least as far as Jennifer Edwards was concerned, and she was so thankful that Elizabeth Taylor had the grit and heart to put together such an effort. Jennifer spent the previous six months in and around the Bay Area with one goal in mind: finish a groundbreaking story on the AIDS epidemic. Six months of interviews with the sick, the dying and the loved ones left behind.
She, like everyone else, had a small red ribbon pinned to her dress, but unlike everyone else she was keenly aware of the seriousness of the situation. She doubted one in every ten partygoers knew anything about AIDS and HIV, and she figured even fewer cared.
Jennifer sipped champagne - bright, crisp and bubbly, only the best for this bunch - and tried to shake herself out of her dark mood. She hadn't felt quite right for weeks, not since finishing her article and moving on to the next. It was a privilege to have that choice - to walk away from it all - and she felt guilt at the ease with which she had moved on.
Jennifer's father, Stephen Edwards, had once told her that it was her immense capacity to feel things that made her such a brilliant writer. But, he'd said, it was that passion and depth that could burn her out. She'd been proud at the time. But now that he'd passed, she was beginning to see the wisdom of his words. In the years before he died her Pa never stopped pressuring Jennifer to find someone to settle with, who would take care of her when he was gone.
"I don't want my little girl all alone." He said, and Jennifer had scoffed. She could take care of herself.
Besides, Jennifer was not the marrying type. At least she wasn't interested in marrying the type of man who wanted to marry her. Rich, powerful, handsome men always wanted a beautiful and accomplished wife. It wasn't vanity to say that she was both of those things. It's just that once they had a woman with all the right qualities, they seemed more interested in keeping her as some kind of trophy. Look at me, they would say. Look at the prize I've caught. Aren't I amazing?
Jennifer's dark thoughts must have shown on her face, because yet another tuxedo clad man with a smooth smile and a lascivious twinkle in his eye changed directions, chasing after another woman who might have been an easier sell.
It was a mistake to attend the event solo, she realized belatedly. She hadn't expected an AIDS benefit to be the kind of meat market at which she'd spend all her time fending off advances.
Jennifer didn't want to dwell on why she wasn't interested in the many - admittedly handsome - men in attendance. Her last few relationships, if you could call them that, had ended amicably when the men decided they wanted something more and Jennifer decided she wouldn't dare be less.
"Quite a party, isn't it?" A female voice said at her elbow and Jennifer turned to Marcia, her agent and probably her closest friend. It was Marcia who had arranged the article she was currently writing about World Team Medical and their phoenix-like rise from the ashes. It was Marcia who had practically dragged her out of the UCLA library, and away from her research, to attend this gala.
It was Marcia, currently decked out in a shimmering black with her sensible cap of gray hair styled conservatively, who was determined to find Jennifer "the one", and save her from her life of sin. Was it really sin to seek out companionship on her own terms without the intention of commitment? She was careful and selective. She was a woman of the 90's, after all. She was satisfied in all possible ways, and wasn't that the most important thing?
"Mmm," Jennifer agreed, calculating how quickly she could leave, drive herself to her hotel, and get into a set of pajamas. She could be tucked in bed within the hour if she played her cards right.
"You'll never guess who's here." Marcia prodded her with a bony elbow that pulled Jennifer from her escape plans.
"Oh yeah? Who?"
"Someone you'd have given your eyeteeth to give what-for a few years ago."
"Oh, but Marcia. That list is so long." She was a reporter, and a damn good one. Jennifer didn't like to think she made enemies along the way; she was too determined to be kind for that. Still, she knew she had ruffled some feathers and more than that, her own feathers had been ruffled too.
"Ha. Ha. Does the name Jonathan Hart ring any bells?"
Jennifer paused with her champagne flute halfway to her lips.
Jonathan Hart.
She hadn't thought of him in a very long time. Nearly twenty years had passed since she'd given Marcia an earful and called him everything but a child of God after he'd slipped away from her in London. That had been an expensive phone call.
When the news of the Kingsford deal broke and Jennifer's name was not the by-line on the scoop, she'd been livid. And yet…he saved so many jobs with that deal, and the negotiations had been so very tenuous. He had very legitimate reasons for avoiding the press, she was forced to admit. She just wished she'd been given the chance to prove herself to him. They would have made a very formidable team.
In the intervening years she'd kept one eye on him - both professionally and personally. He was a profoundly fascinating man, with a long list of business accomplishments. In the personal realm, his name had been linked to so many different and lovely women. But it seemed Jonathan Hart wasn't quite the marrying kind, either. Fascinating. Fascinating and private to boot. She didn't really spend a lot of time researching his background once the story in London hadn't panned out, but what she did find was very little and there wasn't much more to know now. Not that she'd looked. Much.
Hearing his name again, after such a long time, made Jennifer's blood hum a little. She recognized the thrill of the chase, even as she scolded herself that the chase was long over.
"I've softened on him over the years." Jennifer admitted. "I probably wouldn't call him half the things I've said. At least not to his face."
"One look at his face and you'll soften all the way up." Marcia said pointedly and motioned her drink in the direction of the veranda overlooking the city. "I saw him out there just a few minutes ago. I'll give you five dollars if you talk to him. Ten if you walk out of here without his phone number."
Jennifer might think Jonathan Hart was an attractive, fascinating and damn good businessman, but she had no interest in him beyond that, whatever the jump in her pulse said.
"Easy money." Jennifer laughed, and clinked her glass to Marcia's.
"I'll take that bet." There was laughter in the male voice behind them, and both Jennifer and Marcia swung around to see just who was horning in on their conversation.
He was still so very handsome, even after all these years. His eyes, oceanic blue and filled with mischief, twinkled at her.
The thrill hummed louder.
"I'm Jonathan Hart. And you are?"
