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obediently took the jug of juice away.
    “. . . destructive addiction that must be dealt with!” Mark snapped, startling his family. “I want to meet with you at ten to discuss this.” He ended the call and returned to the table. “Not to worry,” he said calmly, sitting back down and pouring more coffee.
    “If you say so, honey,” Kris replied, looking concerned. He leaned over to whisper in her ear.
    Chloe grabbed the remote on the island and powered the downstairs TVs. Two flat screens in the breakfast room and one in the living room blinked to life, all set to A! The same breathless anchor, Tara Reeves, had moved on from headlines to photos.
    “Hot photos! Vivian Holycross was spotted as she stepped out to do some shopping yesterday on Rodeo Drive. The Angel beauty picked up accessories from Fendi and Valentino while trying to avoid those pesky paps.”
    The flat screen showed the image of Vivian running with shopping bags while trying to hide behind a pair of Chanel sunglasses.
    “Her boots are
so
cute,” Chloe breathed, then glanced over at Jacks. “She is so hot, Jacks. You should have never broken up with her.” As if in agreement, Tara continued on-screen.
    “But while she looks amazing as always, the question we really want to know is, are they or aren’t they? Is Vivian secretly back together with drool-worthy Jackson Godspeed?”
    As she spoke, the footage cut to a photo of Vivian from an ad for her own fashion line. Her wings extended out behind her, displaying finely spun gold spirals that spread out in delicate patterns, glittering. They were considered by some to be the sexiest wings of all time.
“Vivian’s publicist would neither confirm nor deny, but the rumors are swirling. Together or not, they remain, easily, the hottest Angel couple on the planet!”
    The kitchen had gone quiet. Kris raised her eyebrows knowingly. Mark turned toward Jacks with a pregnant expression. Jacks sighed.
    “We’re just friends,” he announced to the room. “We are
not
getting back together.”
    “Well, we like her very much, son,” Mark said. “You know that.”
    “Yes, that has been made abundantly clear to me,” Jacks said with a laugh.
    “Jacks, we would
so
get along,” Chloe said pleadingly, coming around the kitchen island to pull on her half brother’s arm. “Now that I’m older, I can totally see her and me being best friends.”
    “Let’s give the young Angel a break for now,” Mark said, winking at Jacks. “He’ll be seeing her this week.”
    Feeling suddenly tired, Jacks put his glass in the sink. He went out to the foyer.
    Keys hung on a rack under the security camera monitor: Jacks’s Ferrari, Mark’s M7, Kris’s hybrid Lexus, and Chloe’s Porsche—which, Jacks thought, was a little ostentatious for such a young Angel. He grabbed his keys and returned to the kitchen, where he kissed his mother and snatched a final piece of toast off the cart before heading toward the door.
    “Jackson?” Mark called after him.
    Jacks turned in the doorway.
    “Good luck this week,” Mark said.
    “There’s no need for luck when there are Angels in the world,” Jacks replied.
    “Who taught you that?”
    Jacks smiled. “You did.”
    With that and an approving nod from his stepfather, Jacks disappeared out the door and into the blinding southern California sunshine.
    •   •   •
     
    Jacks cruised down Sunset Boulevard in his cherry-red Ferrari, passing the famous boutiques, restaurants, and rock clubs of the Halo Strip. It was going to be a busy day, as usual. In an hour he was scheduled to make an appearance at the
Angels Weekly
style lounge, where he would share his thoughts about his Commissioning in an exclusive interview and then pose for pictures with lucky fans. He wasn’t a fan of the magazine—
AW
was one of the most notorious Angel gossip rags—but Darcy, his publicist, had more or less forced him to do it.
Keep them happy,
she had told him,
keep them off your