Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,15

5

CONFESSIONAL 141

Judson, Dean (CEO: Juniper Ridge)

Let’s see, biggest challenges so far…Well, we’re just getting things off the ground, so obviously there’s financing and negotiating with investors. Insurance and legal details, plus the logistics of building a whole damn town practically from scratch. Water, sewer, electricity—what? Personnel? I mean…yeah. Finding the right people is pretty fucking important. That’s one thing you don’t want to screw up. Nothing blows it all to hell like ending up with the wrong person.

I’m alone in my office with Vanessa Vincent, reminding myself that it’s no big deal. We’re going to be in this position thousands of times over the course of our working relationship.

That doesn’t stop me from thinking about other positions. The one in her backseat is top of mind.

“This came in today’s mail.” I hold out a postcard with the written side facing her. It’s typed, which is odd for a postcard, but that’s not the weirdest thing.

I watch her eyes as she scans the words.

“She’s trouble. This is not the person to hire if you know what’s good for you.”

She looks up at me, brown eyes curious. “You think it’s about me?”

I flip the card over, and she gasps. It’s a headshot of Vanessa as a teen. She’s wearing a fuzzy pink sweater and a fierce scowl that’s not even a little hidden by the dark curls falling over her face. I’ve never seen this picture before, but I’d know those brown eyes anywhere.

Seeing it has clearly knocked her off her stride. “Where did this—how did someone—”

“No idea. You’re familiar with the photo?”

She nods, looking slapped. “It’s from a bunch of headshots our mom made us do when we were sixteen. She wanted us to get back into showbiz, but I wasn’t interested.”

“That explains the pissed-off look.” Even pissed off, she’s stunning. I don’t say this out loud. I’ve gone through Mari’s damn sensitivity training.

“I look like a raging bitch,” Vanessa agrees. “Weirdly enough, it made some people want to work with me.”

“I thought you didn’t act again after Baby Spies.”

“If you can call that acting.” She snorts. “I refused to read for any of the roles. It’s one of the only times I stood up to my mom.”

I turn the photo back around for another look at it. The girl in the picture is young, but there are signs of the fire I’ve seen in this woman sitting in my office now. “I never came across this picture online.”

“Hardly anyone had access to it. Like I said, my re-entry into showbiz never got off the ground.”

“So how the hell did it end up here?”

She shakes her head, shock giving way to frustration. “I don’t have a clue. I can call my mom and ask if she’s given it out to anyone.” She starts to reach for it, then stops. “Wait. Do you need to have it dusted for fingerprints or anything?”

“This is a copy. I handed the real one off to our private investigator.”

Plucking the copy off the desk, she flips it and studies the words again. “Does he think he’ll be able to learn anything?”

“Not likely. Even if he could lift prints off a postcard, this was in our PO box. Probably dozens of postal workers touched it.”

Her brow furrows, and I watch her reach the same conclusion I already did. “I don’t understand.” She looks up at me, brown eyes bright and clear. “I interviewed days ago. You didn’t offer me the job until then. How would someone have time to mail a card like this?”

“Good question.” I steeple my hands on the desk, trying to decide how much to tell her. “We’ve been tight-lipped about who we’re interviewing for these positions. But if someone had the ability to hack into our email, they’d have learned you were our top candidate.”

“I see.” Her frown deepens, and I can’t help noticing how sexy she is when irritated. It’s no wonder directors wanted to cast her. “Are you thinking this whole vendetta thing is about me?”

I hesitate. “I don’t think so.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound very certain.”

“The initial threat came when we’d only just started advertising your job.”

“I applied the first day.”

I did consider that. “I still don’t think it’s about you.”

She doesn’t look convinced. As she flips over the card, I wonder if it’s so she doesn’t have to see her teenage scowl anymore. “Why would they pick that photo of all things? Where did they even get it?”

“Whoever this guy is, he’s showing off. Letting us know