Claire frowned over that as Jill carried the ice cream out to the kitchen. She’d appreciated Kyle getting her the job at the lab. While he’d gotten his bachelor of science and continued on for his master’s and doctorate, Claire—to avoid costing her parents too much money—had stopped with her bachelor’s. Since then, she’d taken courses toward her own master’s at night, while bouncing from contract position to contract position during the day to support herself and her further education. Then, last year, Kyle had gotten her a job in the lab where he was interning under Dr. Cohen. At the end of this year, she would have her master’s and Kyle his doctorate. Now, Jill’s comment made Claire wonder if she should have taken the position in the lab after all.
“The mail’s here. God, they deliver later and later all the time.”
Claire glanced toward Jill as she returned to the living room carrying a stack of mail.
“Bill, bill, bill,” Jill muttered, leafing through the envelopes. She paused at a magazine, stared at the cover, then heaved a depressed sigh. “I bet Ted would have picked me for his wife if I looked like her.”
“You’re better off without him,” Claire murmured.
“Yeah, but if I looked like her, I probably would have been the dumper rather than the dumpee,” she pointed out, dropping the magazine on the coffee table. “It’s always better to be the dumper.”
Claire peered down at the magazine, noting who was on the cover. Brooke Jordan, one of the world’s most popular—not to mention successful—models. Tall, leggy, slim, and gorgeous, the woman exuded both beauty and sex appeal in megawatts. Men all over the world would kill to be with her, and women all over the world would kill to be her. Apparently, that included Jill.
And me, Claire acknowledged to herself, then said aloud, “Well, I wish we both looked like her. Then you could dump Ted and maybe I could get Kyle. I bet he wouldn’t be so shy if I looked like her.”
Jill made a clucking sound and propped her hands on her hips as she glared down at her. “He likes you just the way you—”
Claire glanced up in question at the way Jill suddenly cut herself off mid-sentence. The blond appeared frozen, her mouth still open, and eyes wide with shock. Claire felt herself go stiff in reaction as concern welled up within her. “What is it?”
“Oh…my…God!” The words were drawn out and spaced apart for emphasis.
“What?” Claire asked, getting to her feet. She peered down at herself in a panic, afraid she’d suddenly taken on the paisley pattern of the couch, but her hands were still her hands. She peered back to Jill. “What?”
“You look like…her,” Jill said faintly.
“What?” Claire asked, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “I look like who her?”
“Like what’s-her-name. You look like that model, that—” Jill snatched up the magazine off the coffee table and shoved it in her face. “Her!”
Claire peered down and found herself staring at the photograph of Brooke Jordan. She shook her head slowly with disbelief. “I can’t—I don’t—”
“The hell you don’t!” Jill grabbed Claire by the arm with her free hand to drag her across the living room. She was muttering the whole way. “I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe it. Oh my God, this is incredible. Do you realize how incredible this is?”
Claire just stumbled along behind her, anxiety and confusion rife in her head. She couldn’t look like the model. It was impossible. Jill was playing a joke on her. That thought gave her some relief from the welter of emotions whirling through her head. Of course! That was it! Jill was playing a joke.
“Here!” Jill slammed through the bathroom door. She tossed the magazine on the counter, then shoved Claire in front of the mirror.
Claire stared at herself. And stared. Jill wasn’t playing a joke. Claire was staring into the mirror, but the stunned face looking back was Brooke Jordan’s. She tentatively touched her face. It felt normal, both in that her fingers felt like they were touching skin and her skin felt the fingers touching them, but it wasn’t her face she was looking at and those gorgeous chestnut waves were not her hair, either. Claire was a natural redhead.
“You look exactly like her. Exactly,” Jill breathed with awe. “Right down to her clothes.”
Claire blinked, then switched her gaze to her body. At first, she didn’t understand what Jill was talking about. She was still wearing the white smock and black pants she’d left work in. Then Claire noticed the pink collar of a T-shirt was visible under the open neckline of her white blouse and smock.