"I'd say the sexiest, most sought after woman in Chicago exceeds his expectations."

"He wants more than beauty in a wife."

"Oh, please. When it comes to men like Heath, cup size wins over IQ any time."

They were getting nowhere, so Annabelle did her best to sound professional instead of pissed off. "This whole process would be easier for both of us if we could work together."

Portia looked as if Annabelle had offered her a big bag of fatty junk food. "I have strict qualifications for my trainees, Ms. Granger. You don't fit any of them."

"Now that's just bitchy." Annabelle stalked to the door. "From now on, take your grievances right to Heath."

"Oh, believe me, I will. And I can't wait to hear what he has to say about this one."

What the hell were you thinking?" Heath bellowed into the phone a few hours later, not exactly yelling, but coming close. "I just found out you blew off Claudia Reeshman?"

"And?" Annabelle took a vicious jab at the notepad next to her kitchen phone with a lollipop pen.

"I obviously gave you way too much power."

"When I called you back last night and told you I'd canceled the introduction because she wasn't what you wanted, you thanked me."

"You neglected to mention her name. I've never had a thing for models, but Claudia Reeshman… Jesus, Annabelle…"

"Maybe you'd like to fire me again."

"Will you let it go?"

"How's this going to work?" She took another stab at the notepad. "Do you trust me or not?"

Through the phone, she heard a car horn, followed by a long silence. "I trust you," he finally said.

She almost choked. "Really?"

"Really."

Just like that, she got a lump in her throat the size of the Sears Tower. She cleared it away and tried to sound as though this was exactly what she'd expected him to say. "Good. I hear horns. Are you on the road?"

"I told you I was driving to Indianapolis."

"That's right. It's Friday." For the next two nights, he'd be in Indiana with a client who played for the Colts. He'd originally planned the trip for the following weekend, but he'd rescheduled because of the book club retreat she didn't want to think about. "The way you keep going out of town on weekends makes scheduling these introductions challenging."

"Business comes first. You sure did piss off Powers. She wants your head on a platter."

"Along with a knife and some fat-free sour cream to help wash it down."

"I didn't know Reeshman was still in Chicago. I thought she'd gone to New York for good."

Annabelle suspected Claudia didn't want to be that far from her drug dealer.

"Do me a favor," he said. "If Powers sets up a date for me with anybody else who's posed for SI's swimsuit edition, at least tell me her name before you get rid of her."

"All right."

"And thanks for agreeing to help me out tomorrow."

She drew a daisy on her notepad. "What's not to like about spending the day running around town with your credit card and no spending limit?"

"Plus Bodie and Sean Palmer's mother. Don't forget that part. If Mrs. Palmer wasn't so afraid of him, Bodie could have done this by himself."

"She's not the only one who's afraid of him. You're sure we'll be safe?"

"As long as you don't mention politics, Taco Bell, or the color red."

"Thanks for the warning."

"And don't let him get too close to anybody wearing a hat."

"I'm going now."

As she hung up, she realized she was smiling, which wasn't a good idea at all. Pythons could strike at will, and they seldom gave any warning.

Sean Palmer's mother, Arte, had salt-and-pepper dreadlocks, a tall, full-figured body, and a hearty laugh. Annabelle liked her immediately. With Bodie as their travel guide, they saw the sights, beginning with an early morning architectural boat tour followed by a sweep through the Impressionists collection at the Art Institute. Although Bodie handled all the arrangements, he stayed in the background. He was a strange guy, full of intriguing contradictions that made Annabelle want to know more about him.

After a late lunch, they headed for Millennium Park, the glorious new lakefront park Chicagoans believed finally put them ahead of San Francisco as America's most beautiful city. Annabelle had visited the park many times, and she enjoyed showing off the terraced gardens, the fifty-foot-high Crown Fountain with its changing video images, and the shiny, mirrorlike Cloud Gate sculpture affectionately known as The Bean.

As they walked through the futuristic music pavilion, where the bandshell's curling stainless-steel ribbons blended so exquisitely with the skyscrapers behind it, their conversation returned to Arte's son, who'd soon be playing fullback for the Bears. "Sean had agents all over him," his mother said. "It was a happy day for me when he signed with Heath. I stopped worrying so much about people taking advantage of him. I know Heath's going to look out for him."

"He definitely cares about his clients," Annabelle said.

The July sunlight flirted with the waves on the lake as the two women followed Bodie over the snaking steel pedestrian bridge that meandered above the traffic on Columbus Drive. When they reached the other side, they wandered toward the jogging trail. As they stopped to admire the view, a biker called out to Bodie, then pulled up beside him.

Annabelle and Arte fell still, both of them gazing at the man's skintight black biker shorts. "Time to praise God for the glory of his creation," Arte said.

"Amen."

They moved closer, checking out the biker's sweat-slicked calves and the blue-and-white mesh T-shirt clinging to his perfectly developed chest. He was in his mid-to-late twenties, and he wore a high-tech red helmet that hid the top of his damp blond hair, but not his Adonis profile.

"I need a plunge in the lake to cool off," Annabelle whispered.

"If I were twenty years younger…"

Bodie gestured toward them. "Ladies, I've got somebody for you to meet."

"Come to mama," Arte murmured, which made Annabelle giggle.

Just before they reached the men, Annabelle recognized the biker. "Wow. I know who that is."

"Mrs. Palmer, Annabelle," Bodie said. "This is the famous Dean Robillard, the Stars' next great quarterback."

Although Annabelle had never met Kevin's backup in person, she'd seen him play, and she knew him by reputation. Arte shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Dean. You tell your friends to take it easy on my boy Sean this season."

Dean gave her his ladykiller smile. And didn't he know exactly the effect he had on women? Annabelle thought.

"We'll do just that for you, ma'am." Oozing sex appeal like an oil slick, he turned his charm on her. His openly assessing eyes slid down her body with a confidence that said he could have her-or any woman he wanted-whenever and however he liked. Oh, no, you can't, you naughty, sexy little boy.

"Annabelle is it?"

"I'd better check my driver's license to make sure," she said. "I'm all out of breath here."

Bodie choked, then laughed.

Apparently Robillard wasn't used to women calling his visual bluffs because he looked momentarily taken aback. Then he ratcheted up the old charm-o-meter. "Maybe it's the heat."

"Oh, it's hot all right." Normally, gorgeous men intimidated her, but he was so full of himself she was merely amused.

He laughed, this time genuinely, and she found herself liking him in spite of his cockiness. "I do admire a feisty red-haired woman," he said.

She slipped her sunglasses lower on her nose and gazed at him over the top. "I'll just bet, Mr. Robillard, that you admire women in general."

"And they admire you right back." Arte chuckled.

Dean turned to Bodie. "Where did you find these two?"

"Cook County Jail."

Arte snorted. "You behave yourself, Bodie."

Dean returned his attention to Annabelle. "Something about your name rings a bell. Wait a minute. Aren't you Heath's matchmaker?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Word gets around." A Rollerblader whizzed by, brunette hair flying. He took his time enjoying the view. "I never met a matchmaker," he finally said. "Maybe I should hire you?"

"You do know my business doesn't have anything to do with lighting campfires, right?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "Hey, everybody wants to meet somebody special."

She smiled. "Not when they're having so much fun meeting all those un-specials."

Dean turned to Bodie. "I don't think she likes me."

"She likes you," Bodie said, "but she thinks you're immature."

"I'm sure you'll grow out of it," Annabelle said.

Bodie slapped him on the back. "I know it doesn't happen very often, but it looks like Annabelle's immune to your movie star face."

"Then somebody better get her to the eye doctor," Arte muttered, which made them all laugh.

Dean wheeled his bike off the path and leaned it against a tree while the four of them chatted. Dean asked Arte about Sean, and they talked about the Bears for a while. Then Bodie brought up Dean's search for an agent. "I hear you've been meeting with Jack Riley at IMG."

"I'm meeting with a lot of people," Dean replied.

"You should at least hear what Heath has to say. He's a smart guy."

"Heath Champion is number one on my do-not-call list. I've got enough ways of making Phoebe unhappy." Dean turned to Annabelle. "How'd you like to come to the beach with me tomorrow?"

She hadn't seen this coming, and she was stunned. Also suspicious. "Why?"

"Can I be honest?"

"I don't know. Can you?"

"I need protection."

"From overtanning?"

"Nope." He flashed his glamour boy smile. "I love the beach, but so many people recognize me that it's hard to chill. Usually, if I'm with a woman, people give me a little more space."