I tugged at that jar with every ounce of strength I possessed, and at last the lid flew open. That was the good news. The bad news was that the nuts came flying out of the jar and landed all over the carpet.

I got down on my hands and knees and started gathering the nuts, cursing myself for agreeing to stay for dinner.

“Having fun?”

I looked up and saw SueEllen’s stepdaughter standing in the doorway, peering at me through those thick bangs of hers.

“Oh, geez. This is so embarrassing. You see, I got a little hungry, and—”

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling shyly. “I’ll help.” Then she got down on her knees and started picking up nuts.

“Thanks so much,” I said. “This is awfully nice of you.”

“I bet the Calorie Cop didn’t feed you all day,” she said, plunking nuts into the jar.

“Just a tiny salad and a Diet Coke.”

“I told you she’d be hell to work for. You’re lucky you got the salad.”

We scooted around on all fours, gathering the macadamias. Finally, we rounded them all up. I looked down into the jar hungrily. I didn’t care if they’d been on the carpet. I still wanted them.

“Look, I hope you won’t think this is too disgusting, eating off the floor, but I’ve got to have some of these nuts. I’m starving.”

“Help yourself,” she shrugged.

I dusted some off and was just about to pop them in my mouth when I heard a voice warn me, “I wouldn’t eat those if I were you.”

I looked up and saw a handsome young guy, about eighteen. This was undoubtedly Brad, the stepson who forgot his keys.

“I had sex on that carpet last night.”

I dropped the nuts back in the jar. That hungry, I wasn’t.

Brad ambled into the room, leaving a trail of spicy aftershave in his wake. As he stretched himself out on the den’s leather sofa, I took in his dark curly hair, cobalt blue eyes, and lean young body. The kid was a knockout and he knew it. I could easily picture him having sex on the carpet, or anywhere else for that matter.

“You must be SueEllen’s new writer,” he said.

“Yes. I’m Jaine Austen. Like the author. Only with an ‘i’ in Jaine.”

He looked up at me, puzzled. “What author?”

Obviously the kid was no Class Valedictorian.

“Jane Austen,” Heidi said with a sigh. “She wrote Pride & Prejudice.”

“Like I care,” he said, picking up a Ferrari brochure from the coffee table.

“My name’s Heidi,” Heidi said. “And this is my bad-mannered brother Brad.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

Brad didn’t bother to look up from his Ferrari brochure.

“Dad’s going to get me a Ferrari for a graduation present,” he said.

“Fat chance,” Heidi said. “SueEllen will never let him spend that kind of money on you.”

His brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Who says?”

“Get real, Brad. Don’t you know by now that all the big bucks in this house are spent on SueEllen?”