Chapter 1

A little more than a year ago …

"Of course I'd like to see you again. I just didn't call because … I lost your number." How did women still actually believe that line? It had to be as old as the oldest profession.

Well, he wouldn't complain. Luke couldn't call back each woman he went out with. What did these girls think? That he had a lot of spare time next to his job?

He should have hired an assistant after all. She could have handed out flyers that explained what a one night stand meant.

But after he'd slept with the last assistant, his manager no longer liked the idea of hiring another one.

Luke looked out the window and caught a final glance of the Philadelphia skyline, before the taxi turned on to the Interstate 95, and the driver stepped on the gas. Well, the American version of stepping on the gas, of course. Dear God, he was looking forward to the Autobahn.

The woman on the other end kept talking without pausing to catch her breath, so Luke placed the phone on his knee for a moment, while checking whether he'd really put his passport in his inner coat pocket. When his knee stopped vibrating with the sound of the woman's voice, he picked the phone back up and held it against his ear.

"Listen, Bev–"

"Brit–"

What was her name again? Beverly? Brittany? Some stripper name. "Listen, honey," he said instead, "I promise you that we'll go out again … when?" He ran an irritated hand through his short-cropped hair. Why did women always want to control everything? That was so incredibly annoying.

"No, today is impossible … I'm on my way to the airport. I'm sorry. I'll be out of the country for the next few weeks, visiting my mother and some friends." He congratulated himself for his timing. There was a beeping in his ear. "Sorry, honey, but there's another call coming in. I'll call you once I'm back from Germany, okay?" He didn't wait for her answer, but pressed the button to end the call. He didn't want her to further get on his nerves.

"Luke Carter," he said to the next caller, while the taxi was leaving the Interstate, following the signs for the airport.

"Read any papers today?"

"Good evening to you, too, Wes."

"Well did you?"

"No, I did not. Anything interesting?"

"Oh, very interesting indeed. As a friend, I could say, way to go, dude. But as your agent: Stop fucking around. And I mean that quite literally. The world is not your private fun fair! You're the idol of thousands of kids, and therefore also their role model. You need to start behaving like one, Luke!"

"Wesley." Luke sighed deeply and rubbed his face with the palm of his hand. Today was a crap day. He was hung over, ready to step on a plane and sit tight for eleven hours straight, and his patience was virtually nonexistent. "Kindly tell me what this is about, before you start giving me a hard time, okay? Maybe then I'll have an answer for you."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"Do you recall what you were doing between one and four a.m. last night? It's no biggie if you can't, for all of America can now remind you what it was."

Luke frowned a little. Last night …

"What time did you say?"

"Wait, I'll read it to you. You're going to love the headline:

Can Luke Carter still be saved from himself?

Last night, after the 5:2 victory against the Boston Red Sox, the Delphies star pitcher could once again be seen bar hopping and partying all over town.

Listen up, this is my favorite part now:

After he handed a can of beer to a minor in the street outside The Haunted, he was welcomed into the club, where he partied until four in the morning, when the bouncers persuaded him it was time to hit the road. It seems that he wasn't quite ready to call it a night though, since he took home two scantily-clad women. We were unable to ascertain whether he was paying for their services.

There's even a nice little photo to go with that. Of course the tow ladies aren't wearing any underwear."

"I was not paying for anything," Luke flared as he stared up at the sky, which was crisscrossed by several vapor trails from planes. "I never had to pay any of them." Why would the press spread such crap anyway?

"That is your reaction to the article?" Wesley did not sound amused at all. "Luke! This is the third time this month that we're greeted with shit like that. Your management is putting pressure on me."

Luke sank deeper into the seat and groaned. "Wes, you know the tabloids, they're always blowing things out of proportion. The article is a total exaggeration. They would write the same crap if I behaved like a saint."

"A minor, Luke. Beer in the street for a minor!"

"He looked older."

"He was nineteen."

"I never agreed with the law that you have to be twenty-one before you can drink alcohol. It's bullshit. Take it as a statement to that effect: America isn't as free as many people claim it is."

"This isn't Germany, Luke."

"It isn't? Thanks for the reality check, Wes."

"Just watch your step for a while, okay? Think before you do stuff. You'll be under the radar in Germany, so you can have a good time over there, but try to act like a decent human being once you're back. Happy Holidays, man. I'll buy you a drink when you get back."

And with that, he hung up. As an agent, he could be a pain in the butt, but as a friend, he was the best Luke could have wished for.

The taxi stopped before the entrance to the first class gates. "Sir, we're here."

"Thank you. How much is it?"

The driver tapped the taxi meter and smiled in the rearview mirror. "And would you mind giving me an autograph for my son, Mr. Carter? He's a huge fan."

Luke nodded tiredly, closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then looked up again. "Sure. What's your son's name?"

***

"It's a boy!"

"Oh no!"

"What?"

"Uh …" Emma held the phone against the other ear and turned up the collar of her warm winter coat. Maybe that wasn't the reaction her sister had hoped for, but honestly – a boy? A boy would grow up to be a man, and she felt that her nephew simply didn't deserve that kind of nature's punishment.

"I mean, yeah, that's great!" she said, despite her misgivings. "We simply need more strong women in the world, that's all."

"If you want more strong women, I suspect you'll have to start producing babies yourself," Milla laughed. "I'm done for a while. But I can tell you I've never seen a more handsome baby in my life!"

Emma refrained from pointing out that all mothers would say that. Of course in her sister's case it had to be true. "He has first-class genes after all."

"That's true. Though Steve says he takes only after me."

"All the better."

"Hey, my husband is totally hot!"

Emma considered the allegation for a moment.

"Not as hot as you are, but I guess you could call him lukewarm."

"You're impossible!" Milla's chuckle morphed into a sigh. "I really miss you."

"I know." The snow started to fall, and Emma turned right at the corner. "I hate the fact that I cannot simply drop by and admire your son. Send me as many photos as you can, okay? I want to be able to picture him in 3D."

"I will. But he looks incredible in 2D as well."

"Maybe, but we live in the twenty-first century, where we want to have everything in 3D," Emma argued with a laugh, but she couldn't help that the thought of Milla's life compared to her own stung. Her sister was a mere two years older, and yet she already had an amazing, lukewarm husband, and an incredibly handsome son. Emma wanted the same – and there had been a time when she'd believed she could have all of it, too.

"I'm so proud of you, Milla," she whispered, hoping the tears wouldn't freeze on her cheeks. "You're going to be such a great mom! Call me as soon as my nephew asks what his aunt is doing, okay? I don't care how much it costs to call from the States. We have Skype and WhatsApp, and smoke signals …"

Milla chuckled. "Though I'm already convinced that my son will be an intelligent wunderkind, I'm afraid it might take a while before he can speak."

Right. He was a boy. Emma sighed. Poor kid.

"Alright, then call me once you guys have agreed on a name. I heard Emmo is really a hip name these days …"

Milla snorted. "I'm sure high school would be a real blast with a name like that!"

"Hey, at least it's better than calling your child after a fruit! I'm telling you, Americans are crazy – your husband is one of the few exceptions, of course. All those poor Apple-Melons running around!"

"We'll come up with a perfectly normal name," Milla assured her cheerfully. "The birth certificate issue is putting some pressure on us … why does a child need a name right away? I'm sure it takes a few years before you can tell whether you're raising a Kevin."

Emma guffawed and flexed her cold hand.

"As my professor used to say, Kevin is not a name, Kevin is a diagnosis! But Milla, I have to go now. Work is calling."

"Are you still working a thousand jobs, despite your shiny degree?"

"I'm still waiting for the right company."

"You keep waiting, while I'll raise a child."

"You're mean! But I still love you, and I'm going to hang up now." Emma peeked into the window of the fancy Italian restaurant, where she worked part-time as a waitress.

Enrico, the ma?tre d', waved at her through the window. "I think my boss is waving at me … or maybe he's only trying to shoo away a fly. Anyway, give my nephew a kiss and say hi to your lukewarm husband."

"Steve isn't …"

"Yeah, I know, he's super hot and super sexy, and I'm dying with envy. Talk to you soon, Milla."

"Yes, I'll call you," her sister said goodbye and hung up.

Emma stared wistfully at her phone for a few seconds; then she sighed heavily and climbed the steps that led up to Giovanni's.

The warmth that enveloped her was so welcome that she almost moaned loudly, in an X-rated fashion.

"Ciao, bella, are you doing alright?"

"Now I am," she sighed and took off her coat, trying to hang it on one of the pegs. "And stop calling me ‘bella' – you say that to all of the girls, which is why it only makes me feel cheap."

"But you are the only one where I mean it," Enrico professed, while he took the coat from her hands and hung it on the coat rack, which was positioned too high on the wall for Emma to reach. Yes, she was short – but she still thought the coat rack was an instance of discrimination.

She looked around the dim room and registered that there weren't a lot of guests yet. That didn't surprise her however, for the rush would only start in about an hour.

She smoothed the black blouse with her hands, and adjusted the red blazer she was wearing on top of it. That was her work uniform. When she was satisfied, she noticed that Enrico was still staring at her.

"What's wrong?" she demanded. "Is there a giant ‘L' on my forehead?"

"What? No, I just thought that I might have something for you …"

"No more matchmaking attempts, Enrico!" she cut him short with her hand raised to stop him. "While your relatives are really nice, even Italian men are still men."

Enrico grinned. "You haven't gone out in two years, bella. That can't be healthy. It engenders stress. And all because of a little breakup, come on …"

"My fiancé canceled our wedding. ‘Little' isn't the correct word for that."

"I still think you should risk your heart again … but that was not what I was talking about this time. No, I heard of a job opening in an event management agency – that is what you majored in, isn't it?"

If that finally was a good position, Emma might even be inclined to forget that he'd just reminded her of her former fiancé. And that he was a man as well. She ought to feel pity for him anyway, for he had to live with that handicap every day of his life!

"How lovely that it only took you four years to find out what I majored in! So what kind of job are you talking about? What agency?"

He shrugged his shoulders, while Emma went around the small desk, which would be her realm tonight. "I don't recall. Something with ‘event' … Events More, or maybe Make More Events, or something like that?"

She stopped in her tracks and gave the ma?tre d' a wide-eyed look. "There's an opening at More More Events?"

"Yes, that's it. That was the name of the company. So you know them?"

Did she know them? They were the rock stars in the event agency world! If they were a cell phone, they'd be the iPhone. They were the pineapple of fruits, the lawnmower of nail cutters!

"More More Events has a job opening?" she repeated. She hated herself for it, but her voice was a high-pitched squeal. She couldn't help it. While her structured thinking and organizational skills were amazing, her way of dealing with new information was more like that of a kid in a ball pit.

If she could score a job with More More Events, she could easily start her own agency in about two years. Their reputation was so stellar that it would rub off on her almost automatically.

She rushed into Enrico's arms and hugged him tightly.

"That's incredible, Enrico! I'm too excited to even ask you how the hell you've heard about it in the first place!"

Enrico patted her back awkwardly. "You really have a talent for getting very excited, bella."

"How else could I be working here?"