Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (17 page)

Gorgeous photos weren’t enough for Magda anymore. For this campaign she wanted the whole package. Photos that were memorable because they affected people at a visceral level. A model who could not only
model
but be a role model—someone teens would look up to, and women in their twenties and thirties could relate to as well. And so far as ticking those boxes went, Sherriam was a big fat fail. Hell, if the right girl walked in to Magda’s office right now, Magda would sign her on the dotted line and Sherriam would be out on her sculpted ass. It wouldn’t matter how much it cost her to shut Sherriam up and make her go away, either.

Heaving a sigh, Magda opened the courier envelope her PA had left on her desk. She flicked through glossy photo after glossy photo and then paused. Her heart was pounding. And it took a moment to realize that the trembling of her hands, the champagne-like fizzing in her veins and the tightness in her chest, were in fact byproducts of
excitement
rather than some unpleasant and inconvenient health issue that would necessitate a trip to her specialist… and another lecture about decreasing the stress in her life.

She removed her designer frames and carefully polished the lenses. Then, perching them back on her nose, she leaned forward and examined the photo that had captured her attention.

Holy Mother of God. Magda traced the girl’s face with a fingertip. She had a knack for remembering faces. And there was no mistaking
that
face.

She strummed her nails on the frosted glass of her desktop. The rhythm soothed her, calming her jumping heart and allowing her to think it through logically.

Despite an almost decade-long year hiatus, Jordan Cast still possessed that unquantifiable magic that translated to stunning, unforgettable pictures. Magda was hard pressed to stop staring at the photo—Jordan was
that
compelling. The girl had aged like a fine wine. And thankfully developed just a few curves to soften what Magda had always privately considered a painfully thin, too-angular figure.

She barked a soft laugh, hyper-aware of the irony. Not so long ago, wishing that a girl would put on a few pounds had amounted to heresy in an industry where you could never be too thin.

Jordan would be how old, now? Mid-twenties? Still youthful enough to appeal to the older teens and young adults. Not so young that she wouldn’t be relatable to an older demographic. Career women and— Mmm. If there was any truth to the nasty rumor that had circulated when Jordan had dropped off the grid, she would appeal to moms with kids, too.

There was a huge opportunity here, Magda could taste it, feel it, envision it. Jordan Cast fronting the ad campaign for Magda’s new line of jeans, casual wear, shoes and accessories. Jordan Cast endorsing the line. A style of jeans named after her. Jordans. Or perhaps Cast-offs….

That had a certain edgy ring. Magda would have to think on it. And the more she thought about it, the more knowing she’d almost missed this incredible opportunity made her stomach churn. She’d planned a cursory glance through these photos and some encouraging platitudes—a favor to Conrad North, a longtime friend whose youngest daughter, Stella, had been among the aspiring designers at the show in Brooklyn over the weekend.

Conrad had been savvy enough not to request that Magda attend such a minor event in person, and done the smart thing by sending professional photographs of the show. And voilà. Jordan Cast in the flesh, and an opportunity that made Magda feel like a dizzy schoolgirl.

Jordan Cast. What a coup it would be!

But her instincts told her to proceed with caution. Jordan could have “come out” at this event, capitalized on her notoriety. Instead, she’d quietly reentered the modeling world by way of some small time show, featuring wet behind the ears unknown designers. She must have used an alias, otherwise someone would have spilled and the paparazzi would have been all over it like white on rice.

Magda buzzed her PA. And when Emilie entered the office she barked, “Get me the names and contact numbers of all the models used for that fashion show in Brooklyn over the weekend—the one Stella North persuaded her daddy to throw money at so she could showcase her own designs. Desiree Grant was one of models, though God knows what her agency was doing sending a model of her caliber on a gig like that. Must have been one hell of a favor someone called in.”

Emilie, pretty and perky and discreet as ever, confined her reaction to raised eyebrows and a slight widening of her heavily mascaraed, kewpie-doll eyes. And then her gaze darted to the photos scattered on the desk.

Magda sighed. Emilie knew her too well. Magda’s studied lack of interest in the photos was obviously ringing bells. “Yes, I’ve spotted something I like,” she said. “Or someone, I should say.”

Emilie’s eyebrows disappeared beneath her thick bangs. “And everyone’s favorite diva?”

Magda decided to put Emilie out of her misery and throw her a bone. “If
this
someone pans out, let’s just say it’ll be well worth enduring anything Sherriam Lindsay throws at us for letting her go.”

Emilie pursed her lips, her dark eyes alight with curiosity as she tapped her pen on her teeth. “Care to fill me in?” she finally dared ask.

“If you’re as good as we both know you are, you’ll figure it out. But I need to move on this as soon as possible. So let’s make things interesting, shall we? There’ll be a bonus in your next paycheck if you get me the info I need by the end of the week.” Magda leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “And when you do, I want it kept under wraps. There are legal implications and a host of other things to consider. I’ll give the go ahead when we’re in the clear.”

“Understood.” Emilie gave her signature tight-lipped smile, pivoted on her heel and marched from the room, a noticeable bounce in her step. She did love a challenge.

Magda waited until the door closed behind Emilie before she allowed the triumph that had been building to curve her lips.

Look out, Jordan Cast. After I’ve tracked you down—and I will—I’m making you an offer you can’t refuse.

Opal forced herself to relax and turn the page of the glossy magazine she was pretending to read. An article extolling some new diet and exercise program—surprise! Not. She scanned the first paragraph and snorted. Hah. Want to tone up? Try cleaning houses for a living. She read on, and when the article’s words blurred, half-heartedly leafed through another few pages as her mind turned back to wrestling a thorny issue.

Make that two thorny issues. Because she still hadn’t figured the best way to broach the issue of Liza’s escapades to Annie and Conrad. Maybe she should keep quiet. It might have been the first time Liza had dared do such a thing while babysitting. Everyone deserved a second chance, right?

A loud squeal jerked Opal’s attention from the magazine. Her stomach flip-flopped. “You okay, sweetie?” she yelled. Thankfully she got the whole question out in super-quick time without stuttering. She waited for the reply, muscles tensed to leap from her prone position on the couch and race upstairs to the bathroom.

“I’m fine, Mommy!” Sera yelled. “I knocked the soap into the bath with my foot.”

Okay then. Nothing to worry about. Much.

Earlier, and quite out of the blue, Sera had insisted she could take baths without Opal hovering. She’d also insisted she could read a book in the bath—“like you do, Mommy”—without getting it all wet, and had propped one of her favorite stories on the wooden bath rack. Opal had been shooed from the bathroom for the duration of “two chapters—maybe three”, which was why she was now stretched out on the couch, putting her feet up for the first time today, supposedly reading the glossy fashion mag Annie had given her. Brooding, in other words.

Sera was growing up, becoming more independent. Which was a good thing. That’s what mothers were for—to nurture their babies, get them ready to cope with the big bad world, then let them loose to experience it. Because of the severity of Sera’s asthma, Opal had habit of hovering when she should stand back and let Sera try things for herself. Like taking a bath on her own… and trusting she wouldn’t have a silent asthma attack and slip beneath the water and drown. Opal wasn’t paranoid, but she’d had a nightmare where that very thing had happened, so she figured she could be forgiven for needing to hover whenever her daughter was in the bath, right?

And Sera asserting herself—like she had earlier this evening when she’d insisted on chopping the onion all by herself while she’d helped with dinner—was also a good thing. But it left Opal painfully aware that Sera was growing up fast. And in a few more years, when her baby spread her wings and left for college, Opal would be on her own. A depressing thought.

She flicked another page and came face to face with a fluff piece devoted to critiquing various celebrities on their choice of outfit for this or that event. The snide tone of one comment made her inwardly wince. Sheesh. The dress wasn’t
that
bad—certainly not the fashion disaster it was being touted. And so what if the star had a few extra curves? She looked great.

Enough. Moving right along. If Opal were honest, Sera’s asthma wasn’t the only root cause of her overprotective tendencies. When it came to their kids, people tended to parent the exact opposite of the way they’d been raised.

Opal was no exception. Elliott and Kendall Stewart had subscribed to a hands-off style of parenting, more often than not leaving her to her own devices. They’d been thrilled and proud when she was scouted by a modeling agency, and encouraged her to go for it. Neither had been the slightest bit concerned by the prospect of their daughter living away from home at a very young age.

Opal had been financially independent and rooming in a New York apartment with two models from her agency by the time she turned seventeen. And it’d only been a few days after her seventeenth birthday that Elliott and Kendall Stewart were killed in a freak mudslide in China. Last Opal had heard, they’d been staying in out of the way places that barely warranted a dot on a map, and hearing about their deaths had been all the more shocking given she’d answered the late night call expecting it to be her parents checking in. Her agency’s legal advisor had helped Opal file for emancipation in the family court, and as she’d been able to prove self-sufficiency, and already had the proceeds from the sale of her family home invested, it had been pretty much a formality. She’d mourned her parents, missed them dreadfully—still did—but life had continued on pretty much as normal. She’d believed she was handling truly being on her own just fine.

A shiver goosed her spine. God. How very young and innocent she’d been.

The shiver turned into a full-body shudder as her mind flooded with memories of
him
. She beat them back, re-focused her thoughts on her parents.

It saddened her that Sera would never know her grandparents. Sure, they’d been a little flakey and distracted by their pet causes, but they’d been good people at heart. She’d never know how they would have handled her unplanned pregnancy, but she suspected her decision not to name the father and keep the baby wouldn’t have fazed them in the slightest.

The doorbell jangled. Opal jumped like a startled cat. She darted a glance at the wall clock. Just gone eight. Who—?

Danbur.

Her heart did a little pit-a-pat and her stomach swooped. It’d been four days since that memorable kiss they’d shared—not that she was counting or anything. But it seemed longer. A lifetime. And her mind clamored with questions. Where he’d been. What he’d been doing. Whether he was doing okay—mentally. And if he’d been thinking about
her
half as much as she’d thought about him.

She was on her feet with no recollection of moving from the couch. And before she could tell herself it was ridiculous to care what she was wearing, what she looked like, she’d yanked the elastic band from her hair and was frantically finger-combing it, while her spare hand tugged at the neckline of the old t-shirt she wore to set it straight. Both palms smoothed the sweatpants down her thighs, as though by touch alone they could transform them into something less worn and scruffy.

Ridiculous. She clenched her fists at her sides and strode to the door. And then, sucking in a bracing breath, she opened it.

This time her stomach didn’t just swoop, it plummeted to her toes. Because it wasn’t him.

The old man standing on her stoop smiled. Opal’s disappointment bit deep. She wrapped her arms about her middle and forced an attempt to return his smile. “Hi, Peter. What can I do for you?”

At least, that’s what she wanted to say. It came out more like a grunted “Hunhhh”. But before her face could heat with embarrassment she recalled that she was supposed to be furious at the old man. For… something.

She gnawed her thumbnail. For… for… leaving Sera with… with….
Danbur
. Yes. That was it. Though why that decision had angered her so much she hadn’t a clue right now. And as she gazed into the old man’s bright blue eyes she knew absolutely that Peter would never put Sera in harm’s way. He’d trusted Danbur to look after Sera. Opal should trust Danbur, too. Especially since Danbur had already proven he cared deeply for Sera’s wellbeing. Hell, he’d proven a far better caregiver than… than… Liza. Yes. That was her name.

Ah heck. She would have to tell Annie and Conrad about what that girl had gotten up to. Opal wouldn’t be able to live with herself if the sitter who regularly supervised Conrad’s grandkids thought it was perfectly okay to… to….

What had Liza done again?

Oh, not to worry. It couldn’t be important. But there was something else wasn’t there? Something Danbur had said about Peter. Or maybe something she’d wanted to ask Peter about Danbur. She shook her head. God. Her mind was full of holes and—

Never mind. There was no reason to be cross with Peter. No reason to be concerned about Danbur’s state of mind. No reason to be worried at all. She beckoned Peter inside.

“I won’t keep you, my dear,” he said. “I merely wished to assure you that I would be delighted to look after Sera if you ever find yourself delayed at work. You need only ring me and I’ll meet her at the bus stop after school. Oh, and supervise her homework. Whatever is required.”