The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

The day Carl Freeman’s call for help came into Thrillseekers Anonymous—something to do with his very public, level-five, megadeath divorce—Cooper and his partners decided who would manage the request with corporate sophistication: Rock-paper-scissors. Eli McCain’s rock crushed Cooper Jessup’s scissors, and as a result, Cooper had to get on the 405 on a Friday afternoon and drive to Carl’s Wilshire Boulevard office.

It would be an understatement to say that Cooper was not a happy camper when he arrived at the low-slung, nondescript office building. First of all, he hated stuff like this. TA had done a lot of lucrative stunt work for Carl’s studio and they wanted to keep doing that work for him. Which meant that occasionally, they had to do things they weren’t exactly set up or eager to do. Cooper couldn’t imagine what Carl wanted, but “divorce” and “thrillseekers” did not seem to him to go together.

Second, Cooper hated to see a grown man cry, especially over a messy marriage.

Third, he was beginning to wonder where his life was going. He was thirty-eight years old and he’d just driven through some of the nation’s worst traffic to talk to this guy about that messy marriage. This was definitely not something Cooper had thought they were signing up to do when he and his best friends had established TA. But lately, this sort of thing seemed more the norm than the exception. And if this was the norm, Cooper wasn’t sure where it left him or TA.

Carl was on the phone when his secretary showed Cooper into his office. It was done up in industrial-chic décor; even the tinsel wrapped around an iron menorah was made of chain link. Carl’s desk was glass and chrome, his chair metal. He waved Cooper in and gestured for him to sit in a similar, but much smaller, chair. Cooper was a big guy, three inches over six feet, and that chair was too small for him. He remained standing.

“Okay, listen, I need to wrap this up. I’ve got someone in my office.” Carl paused, then laughed. “No, not her. But if you have her number . . .” More laughter, and Carl clicked off, tossed the phone down on the glass desktop without a care, and threw his arms wide. “Cooper! Long time no see,” he said, as if they were old friends instead of the mere acquaintances that they were.

“No kidding,” Cooper said, extending his hand. “I think it was Avenger—”

“So listen,” Carl said, his entire demeanor shifting abruptly. He began to pace around his expansive office, nervously running a hand over his balding head and either ignoring or missing Cooper’s extended hand. Carl was not what one would call handsome. He was short, a little overweight, and his eyes were fairly close together. But Carl was the kind of guy who exuded power. It was in the way he carried himself, the expensive suits, the priceless watches and fast cars. Cooper knew a dozen men just like him.

Carl gave a strange little laugh. “I honestly don’t even know where to begin,” he said, his eyes darting nervously to Cooper and back to the floor. “There’s a woman who has screwed me over. A blond, gorgeous woman.”

That description fit roughly half the women in Los Angeles.

“She’s a little strange,” Carl added. “Works at Cypress Event Management. I think she’s a VP there. You’ve worked with CEM, right?”

“Yes,” Cooper said.

“Emma Tyler is her name. Know her?”

Cooper blinked. Yeah, he knew Emma Tyler. Carl was right—she was blond and gorgeous, an Elizabeth Taylor of the modern era, tall and thin with expressive green eyes that held one’s gaze a fraction of a second longer than was necessary. She had lush lips, curves in the right places, and her smile was incendiary.

After that chance meeting at the bat mitzvah about a year ago, Cooper had noticed these things about Emma from a respectable distance. In spite of being incredibly attracted to her, he hadn’t pursued her after that night, because he was fairly certain he’d gotten the brush-off. Although, frankly, he was still a little uncertain what had happened at the Beverly Hilton.

And he’d started to date Jill after that event.

Emma was very attractive, but Cooper had heard enough things about her since that night to know she wasn’t his type. Her reputation around town was not good. This, Cooper knew because his partner Eli had married Marnie Banks, and Marnie had told Cooper that Emma was not a nice person. At first, Cooper wasn’t sure what Marnie meant. He thought Emma was friendly enough, if a little too matter-of-fact. If anything, he’d thought she was a loner, an observation he’d made to Marnie.

Marnie had snorted and rolled her eyes. “If that’s what you want to call it. But she has more than a few friends.”

Cooper looked at Carl now, trying to imagine what business he’d had with Emma. A party? A birthday or anniversary event for his wife that had gone south?