Mad About You

wonderful day," the cabdriver said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.
    Jasmine nodded and looked out the window, realizing for the first time that it was the beginning of another gorgeous day in Sacramento. How she loved it here where winter was comically short and spring practically unending. And the city's landscape was evolving beautifully. The recent retail development on the bypass was being carefully tended with lots of green space retained, restrictions on high-rises, limited billboards—
    She jerked forward and pressed her nose against the window, unable to believe her eyes. All moisture left her mouth, and her lips parted to drag in more oxygen.
    "Slow down!" she cried, holding a hand over her heart. This wasn't happening. She wasn't staring out the window at more than a dozen billboards fading over the horizon that proclaimed in yellow letters on a black background "Ladden Sanderson is crazy about Jasmine Crowne."
    The cabdriver leaned forward, grinning at the signs. "Is lucky woman, no?"
    She sank back into the seat, her hand on her forehead. Colored lights flashed behind her eyelids. "No," she whispered.
    What was Ladden thinking? What was she going to tell Trey? She gulped for air as perspiration gathered around her hairline. Would this affect his campaign? Her stomach lurched sickeningly. Of course it would affect his campaign.
    Clawing for her phone, Jasmine stopped. Who should she call first? Ladden? Trey?
    Her heart hammered against her breastbone, and she laid her head back. Maybe she should tell the driver to just keep going until they reached Ohio—somewhere she could disappear without a trace. Before she had time to decide, her phone rang. Her pulse vaulted, and she relaxed only a bit when she saw it was her assistant.
    “Hi, April."
    "I hate to disturb you, Ms. Crowne, but the phones are going crazy—newspapers, TV reporters." She lowered her voice. "Even the governor's office. Something about billboards?"
    Her mind spun. What could she say? "Oh, my God."
    "And that nice Mr. Sanderson called, but he sounded frantic—he said he needed to speak to you immediately."
    "April," she said evenly, taking deep breaths. "Whatever you do, don't give this number to anyone."
    "I won't."
    "If anyone else calls, tell them the billboards are a simple misunderstanding and take down their name."
    "Yes, ma'am, but what should I do about the crowd that's gathering outside?"
    Jasmine closed her eyes. "C-crowd?"
    "I locked the door, but they're banging on it nonstop. You can probably hear it in the background."
    "Oh, my God."
    "You already said that, Ms. Crowne."
    "April, I won't be coming in today," Jasmine managed to croak. "I'll call you later." Weakly, she punched a button to disconnect the call, then stabbed in the number to Ladden's Castle. After five rings, his recorder clicked on. "Ladden," she said, as lightly as she dared, "this is Jasmine. There seems to be some misunderstanding about our, uh, relationship, and I really need to talk to you. I'll call you later." A shiver tickled her spine when she thought about how much she had trusted him last night... and she felt absurdly saddened by the realization that Ladden Sanderson might be a little off his antique rocker.
    That said, she conceded she was just a tiny bit flattered that he would make his crush so public.
    Before she had time to consider that revelation, her phone rang again… and it was Trey.
    She took a couple of deep breaths, then connected the call. "Hello?" she ventured.
    "Hello again, my dear," Trey said smoothly. His voice sounded cheerful—a bit too cheerful. "I'm sitting in a traffic jam on the bypass. It seems everyone is stopping to gawk at some very interesting billboards. Maybe I'm mistaken, but I thought we had an understanding. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
    Her stomach pitched. "I... I..." She manufactured a laugh that came out sounding high-pitched. "Oh, that Ladden. What a kidder he is."
    "So this kidder —he's an acquaintance of yours?"
    "A business acquaintance," she supplied quickly. "He owns an antiques store on Pacific and often finds me special pieces." She laughed again, sounding slightly less squeaky. "He's holding a table now that I'd like to put in the small conference room in the Winchester wing." Jasmine knew she was rambling, but she couldn't stop. "In fact, he has a rug I think would look great in your bedroom."
    "Oh, really?" he asked, his voice teasing. "Why do I get the feeling this