Trading Places

“She wants—” He stared at his boss, in the grip of bitter disappointment. “You’ve been saving me for this?”

“You might be the only man in America who’d object to being cooped up with Sharlayne Kenyon for a few weeks. Just don’t get too cocksure, okay?”

“Cocksure about what?”

“About your ability to treat her like just another client. Of course, that’d be a stretch for you, since she’ll be your first client.”

“If that’s your subtle way of telling me to keep my hands off, save your breath. I’m a professional.” He grimaced. “Okay, a new professional, but everybody starts somewhere.”

Sam nodded as if satisfied…or resigned. “Just remember the rules according to me. Thou shalt not get involved with thy client. It can get thee both killed.”

He gave her a thumbs-up. “I got it, Boss. Don’t give it another thought.” He grinned, determined to make the best of the task. “From what I hear, she’s too old for me anyway.”

Samantha’s great guffaw rocked the room. “Oh, you fool!” But she said it affectionately. “You don’t know women like this one. She’ll chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful.”

“Naw,” he scoffed, “not me. I’m not a skirt chaser.”

“No,” she agreed, “what you are is an idiot if you try to match hormones with an adventuress like Sharlayne Kenyon. But what the hell. Boys have to grow up someday.”

She opened the file, all business again. “Now, here’s the deal…”

CHAPTER TWO

Sharlayne update:

Sharlayne Kenyon’s gone into hiding at her glamorous new digs in Beverly Hills, where, according to the smart money, she’s working on her autobiography. Half the rich and/or handsome men in California are expected to head for the hills, should this prove to be true….

Gina Godfrey, U.S. Eye

JED CALLED HOME Thursday before leaving for Los Angeles. He’d be driving down from the agency headquarters in San Francisco in his old Ford pickup, only a six-or seven-hour trek. Before he left, he figured he should tell his family where they could reach him.

His brother, Steve, answered. After the usual chitchat—they needed rain, Mom was still flitting around Europe with Aunt Margaret, their sister Dana was expecting her second kid in the fall—Jed finally got around to the reason for his call.

“Hey, great, man,” Steve said enthusiastically.

“I know you’ve just been waiting for that first assignment. Who and what?”

“I’ll be guarding Sharlayne Kenyon.”

“Say that again?”

“Sharlayne—”

“Jeez! You mean the one who’s been married about a dozen times? The one who’s been in movies and magazines and—”

“That’s the one, all right,” Jed confirmed dryly.

“You always did have all the luck.”

That surprised Jed, who didn’t think he ever had any luck. “How so?” he challenged.

“You’re gonna be guarding one of the most famous bodies in America. That’s not luck?”

“I’m guarding it, not making moves on it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Steve, she must be ten years older than I am.” He figured the photos in his briefcase must have been taken fifteen years ago and extensively retouched.

“Fifteen years older and twenty years smarter,” Steve shot back.

“You think so? Look, little brother, guarding some flighty celebrity isn’t my idea of a plum assignment.”

“Everybody’s got to start somewhere, my man.”

“That’s what I figure, so I intend to make the best of it. The body of Sharlayne What’s-Her-Name will be guarded like never before, but that’s all—guarded. This is strictly business.”

“Knowing you, I believe it.” Steve sounded disgusted. “Good old straight-arrow Jed.” He sighed. “If it were me…”

“It’s not. If you need me, use my cell phone number. I’ll be at her place in L.A.—Beverly Hills, Bel Air, wherever.”

“Okay. Have a good time.”

“Fat chance. This is work.”

“Speaking of work…” A pregnant pause followed, and then, “We really could use you around the old homestead, Jed. If bodyguarding doesn’t pan out, you can always come home.”

“It’ll pan out. Give my love to Dana.”

“Will do, and you give my love to Sharlayne Kenyon.”

Jed hung up on a long, low whistle.

Steve must be losing it, he thought, tossing his sea bag into the back of the pickup. What did his brother know about this Sharlayne Kenyon that Jed didn’t? He’d seen pictures of her, read her file. She was just another glossy blonde.

Wasn’t she?

ALICE SAT AT the makeup table in the master suite of Sharlayne’s Spanish-style villa in Beverly Hills. Practically in a state of shock, she stared at her reflection in the lit mirror.

Her own face stared back at her, bare of makeup but topped with Sharlayne’s hair: a pale baby blond in a sexy, short cut. Sharlayne, who was also reflected in the mirror, tugged at a strand, testing the texture between her fingers.

“Well?” Alice inquired breathlessly.

“Not bad,” Sharlayne responded grudgingly. “Your hair’s finer than mine—less body. But Kathy did a great job, I have to admit.”

“It went just the way you said it would,” Alice said. “I asked for your hairdresser when I made the appointment, then gushed all over her about how much I loved your hair. I asked her to do mine exactly the same and this is the result.”

“And since you went in sans makeup, she’ll never put two and two together,” Sharlayne said with satisfaction. “Okay, time to complete the transformation. Show me what you’ve learned in the past week.”