She looked up at the towering building. This was the third time she would walk through the doors, and Jenny was ready to give the audition of her life. The script had been permanently embedded in her mind. It was sexy. Fun. The costumes were outrageous. Bright. Feathery. Full of sequins. The part was hers—it just had to be—and promised to be a big debut.

Jenny pushed through the spinning doors, took a deep breath, and was tapped on the shoulder.

“Took you long enough. I’m Richard.” His name fluttered into the air, full of pizzazz. “You can call me Ricky. All my friends do.” He spun around the lobby. “I love this location. Love! Great audition rooms. Good energy.”

What? Ricky was nothing like she’d expected of Asher’s former FBI friend. Not at all. “You’re Asher’s friend? Were with the FBI?”

“Takes all kinds.” He took her fingers in his hand and held them like they were promenading in a royal court. They walked toward the front desk to check in with security. “Sixteenth floor.” Ricky pointed at Jenny, and they handed over the IDs for a quick inspection. “Third callback. She’s a surefire winner.”

“Good luck, miss.” The security guard handed back their licenses, and they were allowed access to the elevators.

They rode in silence to the sixteenth floor. Somewhere near the seventh floor, Ricky donned his invisible security person hat. “If anyone asks who I am, I’m Ricky, your coach. If something bugs you, doesn’t feel right, or if Maxwell walks in and you remember his ugly mug, you just wave your pretty little hand at me, and I’ll take it from there.”

She blinked. “You’ll take it from there? How?”

“What do you mean, how?” He rolled his eyes but did a little karate chop. “Should I get out my guns and thump my chest? Maybe do a push-up contest? Would that make you feel better? Though I’d much rather get an iced mocha latte and talk about your posture.”

My posture? What’s wrong with my posture? She was sure Ricky hated her all of a sudden. So much for making friends with the guy. And she could see why Asher had struggled to explain her protective detail.

“Don’t gawk, Jenny. Not a great look on you, and you’re super cute. Don’t do yourself any injustices.” He sized her up. “I can see why Congressman McIntyre is so…vested in you.” He paused again then nodded. “You need a massage. And maybe a snack. A wheatgrass smoothie. Does wonders for the mood, you know?”

Actually, maybe they would be friends. She’d be friends with anyone who suggested a massage, no matter the reason. She checked her phone. Ten minutes until her audition time. “No time, but afterwards, absolutely. Wish me luck.”

Ricky took her hand and swung it. “Break a leg.”

***

Nothing had turned up from the phone number Maxwell had given Jenny. Failure made Asher’s skin crawl, and even though Ricky was with her, he cleared his schedule and hopped on the train to New York City.