Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,7

busted, at least when it comes to men.

As Marilyn Judson hustles in with a stack of paperwork, I’m eternally glad that is not the tidbit I chose to share in a job interview. I’m fine with them knowing I’ve sworn off dating. I’d prefer they not know the precise ways I’ve made enough poor choices to give up men altogether.

“Here we go.” Dean’s sister sits down in the chair beside me and sticks out her hand. “Marilyn Judson. You can call me Mari.”

“Vanessa,” I say, trying not to stare at the assortment of writing implements sticking out of her floppy bun. Two pens and a pencil by my count.

But Mari’s a psychologist. A famous one if her “Shrink to the Stars” label is an indication. She misses nothing. “It’s an easy place to store them,” she says, plucking a pen from her hair and handing it to me. “Moving out of Hollywood means we’re no longer required to conform to those standards of style and beauty.”

“Amen to that.” I take the pen from her before realizing I have no idea what I’m about to sign. I glance down, expecting a contract, but see it’s just a confidentiality form. “I think I already signed one of these.”

“This one’s different from the preliminary form.” Mari pushes her glasses up her nose. “This form is only for prospective community members who receive offers. We ask that you maintain confidentiality about financial information and details of our compensation package.”

Dean nods, watching me closely. “We don’t want competing networks knowing too much about what we do.”

“Ah.” I don’t have many Hollywood connections, but even I’ve heard rumblings that the Voltan Network doesn’t love the surging competition from the Judsons. I skim the form before inking my name at the bottom. “If it’s okay, I’d like a little more time to review the contracts themselves.”

“Of course.” Mari smiles, revealing an adorable dimple and a hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “Have your lawyer look over them if necessary. We want you to feel comfortable about everything that’s in here.”

Dean’s phone—which is still sitting on the table between us—gives a jarring buzz. He frowns down at the screen, and though I try not to stare, I can’t help noticing the name that pops up.

Investigator Brixton.

He hits the button to force it to voicemail, then makes eye contact with his sister. Something passes between them before Mari gives a quick nod.

Dean clears his throat. “In the interest of full disclosure, there’s something you should know.”

“Oh?” I try to keep my voice curious instead of fearful. “What’s that?”

Mari squares her shoulders. “We’re working with authorities to ensure members of the Juniper Ridge community remain safe and protected at all times.”

I stare at her, absorbing the words. “And is there a reason to think they wouldn’t be?”

“No.” Dean clears his throat. “Local police are in the loop, and the private investigator we’ve hired is verifying whether the threats are credible. So far, he’s seen no reason to be alarmed.”

“Threats?” I’m not sure how we got from tricycles and balloons to job offers and menacing figures. “What kind of threats?”

Again with the exchange of sibling looks, something I can’t quite read. But I have a twin, so I know what it means to communicate without words.

Dean takes a deep breath. “Someone does not want Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge to happen.”

Chapter 3

CONFESSIONAL 87

Judson, Dean (CEO: Juniper Ridge)

Yeah, I guess I’ve always been a little too direct. That’s one reason I knew I belonged behind the scenes in showbiz instead of in front of the camera. Or behind it. You can’t just blurt shit out when you’re directing some snot-nosed actor who’s convinced his shit doesn’t stink. Huh? Who says I can’t say shit on camera? Twice. Three times.

Goddammit.

It dawns on me too late that the moment my top candidate for CFO is ready to sign on the dotted line is not the time to mention her safety may be in jeopardy.

Then again, when is the right time? Before the interview or after she scrawls her signature on this big-ass pile of paperwork?

Vanessa’s gripping Mari’s favorite myrtlewood pen and looking at me with those big, brown eyes. I owe her an explanation.

With a sigh, I dive right in. “It started with some threatening emails,” I tell her. “Stupid sh—stuff.”

“Like what?” She doesn’t sound alarmed, but she’s obviously curious. She sets down the pen and folds her hands on the table.

“It seemed like your run-of-the-mill hate mail at first.” I