Читать книгу Arm Candy - Jo Leigh - Страница 10

“DANIEL, HONEY, I love you, but isn’t this just a bit nutso, even for you?”

Dan smiled up at his mother. “Probably. But then, it’s your fault.”

Colleen Crawford put down her mug of coffee and gave him a look. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“If you’d just talk to me, I wouldn’t have to hire myself out to strange women.”

“We’re talking right now.”

“But not about what I want to know.”

She took another sip and leaned back in her beat-up old director’s chair. They were on her balcony, looking out over her garden, the pride and joy of her life. Aside from him, of course. She grew all her own vegetables, flowers, anything she took a fancy to. For the most stubborn, there was a small greenhouse. The rest just gave in and grew, somehow knowing his mother wouldn’t let up until they sprouted. HGTV had done a profile on her green thumb. Of course, it hadn’t hurt that she was so well-known for her books, but still. The show had been about the garden.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said. “Some things have to be discovered. Not taught.”

“Even when I’ve got the inside track on one of the world’s leading experts right here?”

“There are no experts on relationships, pumpkin. Only wild-ass guesses.”

“I suppose that’s what you teach at NYU?”

“Precisely.”

“So if there are no answers, what’s the use of searching?”

“Because the only answer is the search.”

“Right.”

“You’ll see. Eventually, you’re going to meet someone who will turn your world upside down, and then you’ll understand.”

He leaned forward, so frustrated he could spit. “Understand what?”

“That you don’t need to understand.”

He raised his hands as if to go for her throat and growled at her. “You are the most obstinate woman.”

“I’m a cupcake, and you know it.”

“Fine. You’re a cupcake. I just hope you know that when I end up old and alone, a bitter, senile octogenarian, you’ll be to blame.”

“Yes, dear. So tell me about her.”

He smiled, remembering his meeting with Jessica, the look of her. “She’s a fine-looking woman. Kind of exotic, but in an old-fashioned way. Like a Renaissance painting.”

“Reubens?”

He shook his head. “No, more like a Botticelli. Complete with red hair, pale skin. Damn.”

“Okay, so we know you like that part of her, now what about the part above the neck?”

“That part’s just as intriguing.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”

He reached over to the little hand-painted table where, next to the fruit bowl, he found a lemon muffin. Homemade, of course. His mother loved to cook what she grew. After an enormous bite and some coffee, he said, “She’s bright. Running a media campaign for a major new cosmetics firm. She’s all career, and determined to top out at CEO.”

“And that’s intriguing how?”

“Come on, Mom. Not everyone can be as well balanced as you.”

“No, but they can be a little balanced. I already assumed she had no real life. If she had, surely she wouldn’t have had to hire the likes of you.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty focused. But that works in my favor. I figure she’s not going to get coy with me, or have a secondary agenda. I’ll ask. She’ll answer.”

“And what if she doesn’t have the answers?”

“I’ll keep looking. But I’ll have tried.”

Colleen sighed, as she ran her hand through her softly graying hair. “We always encouraged you to go out into the field, to learn from experience. Just don’t let your hopes get too high, okay?”

“Look, even I know there aren’t going to be pat answers. But there are going to be clues. Directions. Hints. I think, if I can just talk about it with no games, I can move to the next level.”

“Don’t you need someone on this level to be able to move on to the next?”

“I’m hoping it will help me find the kind of woman I can move on with. Even you have to admit I’ve done a lousy job in my previous selections.”

“Oh, honey. Lousy is being kind. But that’s mostly because you let your little head do your thinking for you.”

“It’s a good thing I ceased being embarrassed by you years ago.”

“I know. And I appreciate your indulgence.”

“So, you’ll take care of Mercy?”

“The cat hates me, but yes, I will.”

He leaned over, kissed her cheek, then went back to his muffin. “Great.”

“And you’ll tell me what you’ve learned?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Oh, goody.”

He stood. “I’ve got to run. If you need me, I’ll have the cell.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Take some muffins.”

He grinned. “I planned to.”

“Take some vegetables, too.”

“In your dreams.”

He squeezed her hand and headed for the kitchen, where up above the sink was a picture he’d taken years ago, of his father and mother. They looked so damn happy.

THE HOTEL SUITE was straight out of a Fred Astaire–Ginger Rogers movie. It was all silver, white and high deco, right down to the crown molding. Huge by any standard, but especially for Manhattan, it had to be priced to the sky. If she’d made the reservations, she’d have been several floors down in a single, but that wouldn’t have been the perfect setting for a seduction, would it?

Owen definitely had a screw loose, and for the first time since she’d met with Dan, she felt fine about the devil’s bargain she’d gotten herself into.

Her basic premise still held true—that if Owen saw she was involved, witnessed it with his own eyes, he’d back the hell off. What was new to the equation was Dan’s “quest,” and worse, her attraction to the man.

She waited while the bellman put her big suitcase on the stand, then she tipped him outrageously, fully expecting to have to tax the hotel staff to the limit during her stay. He thanked her, gave a slight bow and left her to unpack.

Once alone, she fought the temptation to lie down on the puffy white comforter, to bury her head in the assemblage of pillows and sleep for three days. Instead, she unzipped her bag and went methodically through the contents, storing them in her typically organized fashion. Halfway through the job, she remembered that she was going to be sharing the space. Not only did that make her pause, it led her to open the door to the minibar and pull out a small bottle of Chardonnay.

Sharing a room with a total stranger. That had to be right up near the top of her own personal list of idiotic moves. Okay, so Glen vouched for him, but what did that mean? This was the most important week of her life, and she couldn’t afford to move her eye from the ball. So what did she do? Hire the most attractive man she’d met in years to pretend to be her lover. No distraction there. No, sir.

The problem was, he fit her criteria to a tee. Which was unprecedented. She’d never seen a man who had it all: the looks, the brains, the wit, the strong hands, the taste in clothes. Her only hope was getting to know him. No way he was everything he purported to be. Impossible.

He was undoubtedly narcissistic. Given his quest, probably chauvinistic, too. All she had to do was play it cool until he let his true colors shine, and voila, the problem would be solved.

It’d better be solved.

She poured her wine into one of the crystal glasses set on a silver tray by the wet bar, then sank down into the white-satin chair next to the window. Her view was of Central Park, but she stared without seeing it as she thought of the daunting tasks in front of her.

Tomorrow started the festivities, beginning with a makeover party for ten lucky radio listeners, to be held at Bloomingdale’s. All using New Dawn cosmetics, of course. Tomorrow night was the grand-opening party at the Panorama, the newest and most highly sought-after nightclub in the city.

Then there was the dessert-and-jazz party at the Rainbow Room, an evening cruise on the Hudson River, Geocaching in Central Park, and finally, the banquet right here at the hotel. By the end of this little adventure, she’d be ready for the funny farm, but in the meantime, she had to make sure the media was happy, the models showed up and acted like civilized human beings, the celebrities were catered to, and that every detail of every event was taken care of with no muss and utterly no fuss.

Thank God for Marla. And Marla’s troops. Jessica was really lucky to have them. And she mustn’t forget that every event had a professional planner in charge of it. Which did comfort, but didn’t assuage, the final responsibility, which lay directly on her shoulders. Sure, it was Owen who signed the checks, but everyone in the business knew who was really in charge.

This was her ticket. Her chance to soar. If she blew it, she doubted her career could recover. If she succeeded, she’d be well on her way to the dream.

Which meant there was no room at all for Dan in any other capacity but paid help. Maybe it wasn’t too late to tell him she’d changed her mind. She could call up an escort service and hire some lovely hunk of maleness, preferably someone gay, who would be silent for a fee.

She’d put Dan’s phone number in her purse, and as she rose to fetch it, there was a knock at the door.

She crossed the white marble floor, then looked through the peephole. Owen. Dammit. After a deep breath, she opened the door, but not very far. “Owen, hi. What’s up?”

He smiled at her. That goofy, love-struck grin that made her want to bitch-slap him silly. “How do you like it?”

“The suite is fabulous, but too extravagant. My God, it must cost a fortune.”

“Two fortunes.” He stepped closer, clearly expecting her to let him inside. “But you’re worth it.”

“Thank you,” she said, using the one technique that had merited any success. A simple response. No embellishment. Owen had some difficulty coming up with original thought.

“We need to talk about tomorrow.”

“We do?”

He nodded. She spied little drops of perspiration beading his forehead where his hairline used to be. At least he didn’t do the comb-over thing. That would have been the icing on the cake. As it was, he wasn’t bad-looking. Slightly pudgy, not too tall. She used to find him vaguely handsome, until he’d changed from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Horny Hyde. “Yeah, you know. The details.”

She gave him her most reassuring grin. “That’s why you hired me, Owen. To take care of the details. So you don’t have to worry in the least. The makeovers are going to be a smash, and so is the opening party. All you have to do is show up at Panorama at eight tomorrow night. Which reminds me, I have to go make a couple of calls—”

“Jess,” he said, planting his foot firmly in the door and using his shoulder to ease himself in. “I have some concerns about the party.”

She wanted to shove him right back outside, but thought better of it. This would all come to an end soon, and then she wouldn’t have to worry anymore. In the meantime, however, she wanted to maximize the distance between them, so she closed the door and walked over to the wet bar. “Soda?”

“No thanks,” he said, his glee at gaining entrance far too evident on his face.

“You have concerns?”

He immediately adopted an air of thoughtfulness as his gaze shifted to the bedroom door. “What’s our TV coverage on this thing?”

She’d told him before. Written him memos. But she said none of that. “Entertainment Tonight, E!, Access Hollywood, MTV, VH1, and three cable shows.”

He nodded. “Good, good. And what about celebrities? Are they all verified?”

“We’re sending twelve limos, but most of the crowd is arriving on its own.”

“Who, exactly?”

She bit back a sigh. “Julia Roberts, Keanu Reeves, Reese Witherspoon, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Freddie Prinze Jr., Nicole Kidman, and oodles more. Should I ask Marla to come up with the list?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “That’s great. Just great.”

“But it won’t be just great if I can’t make the calls I need to, so…” She headed toward the door. He didn’t follow.

“I’m sure the calls can wait a few minutes.”

“No, Owen, they can’t.”

The expression on his face changed again. This time to lovelorn puppy. “Jess, can’t you see what a team we make? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yes, absolutely. The next week will prove it. We’re going to make New Dawn a household name.”

He walked toward her, holding his hands out as if he meant to grasp her, which was simply out of the question. Only, he was blocking her easy exit. In order to get around him, she’d have to practically leap over the chaise. “That’s not the partnership I’m talking about.”

“There is no other partnership, Owen.”

“But there can be. Should be.”

“You have a partner already.”

He shook his head as he took those last steps, angling himself so that now she truly was caught. His right hand touched her forearm. “I don’t. Honestly. I’ve told you before. Ellen is a great mom—”

“I’ve got a partner, Owen.”

He stopped. Blinked. Kept his hand right where it was. “What?”

“A partner. A man. I have someone in my life.”

First, a flash of hurt, then confusion, quickly followed by doubt. “What are you talking about? You don’t date.”

“I don’t talk about dating.”

“You’re always at the office.”

“No, I’m not. I do have a life. Which is private. But there is someone, and it’s serious.”

Doubt became out-and-out disbelief. “Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Not that it matters, but Dan.”

“Dan what?”

The annoyance factor was starting to shift into the furious factor. “Crawford.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Exactly.”

“How did you meet?”

“In school. Ages ago.”

“And he just showed up again?”

“That’s right. He showed up, and the old flames were rekindled.”

Owen finally removed his hand from her arm. “Where does he live?”

She stepped back, grabbed the door handle. “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

Flustered, he looked around the room as if searching for a clue. “Because I care about you. I don’t want you to get in with the wrong sort of man.”

“He’s not. I assure you. He’s a very good man, and I care about him.”

“This is pretty sudden.”

“Actually, it’s not.”

“Marla knows about him?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

His mouth thinned. “Why not?”

God, she wanted to throttle him. “Because it’s no one’s business. I keep my private life private.”

“Right.”

“Owen, I have to make some phone calls.”

“Uh-huh. Dan Crawford, right? What does he do? Is he in marketing?”

“No, he’s not.” She opened the door. “Please, if you don’t mind. I have work to do.”

He made a move toward the door, but before he crossed the threshold, he turned to face her, his determination a bit daunting. “Come on, Jess. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know your hours. I’ve called you at home at 3:00 a.m., at five. You’re either there or at work, or in transit. So where did this private life come from? What, did you rub a bottle and he popped out?”

“No,” came a voice from just behind her. “She won me in a poker game.”

She whirled around to see Dan, bags in hand, staring past her. She’d never been so grateful to see anyone.

The small gurgle behind her made her turn back to Owen, who looked decidedly greenish.

“Owen McCabe,” she said, “this is Dan Crawford. “Dan, this is Owen.”

Dan put down his bag, put one arm around her shoulder and swung her into his arms. Then he kissed her. Kissed her as if he owned her. Kissed her until she thought her knees would give out.

Not just lips to lips, but teasing tongue, hot breath, intimacy that made her clench her fists so she wouldn’t push him away. Then his tongue slipped between her teeth, and he was inside her. This man she didn’t know. Her hired escort. And, good God almighty, her entire body went ballistic. Everything from goose bumps to hard nipples to curling toes.

She heard Owen cough, but that was somewhere out there, and she was busy. She tasted him back, rubbed her unclenched hand over the breadth of his shoulders.

Finally, when he was well and truly finished, he let her go. She gasped for breath, sure her face was aflame, her arousal as clear as the blush.

Dan smiled too knowingly, turned to her boss and grabbed his hand. “Nice to meet you, Owen. Jessica has told me a lot about you.”

HOW TO IMPRESS A WOMAN

Wine her and dine her. Listen to her. Laugh with her. Buy her flowers. Go shopping with her. Don’t stop reminding her she is beautiful. Console her when she is down. Rejoice with her when she is up. Read romantic poetry to her. Tell her you love her.

HOW TO IMPRESS A MAN

Arrive naked. Bring beer.

Source: Borja, Greg “How to Impress a Woman” http://www.buzzle.com/