Читать книгу Big City Cowboy - Julie Benson - Страница 12
ОглавлениеChapter Three
“No real man would be caught dead in these.”
“Excuse me?” Elizabeth couldn’t believe what Rory had just said about the client’s jeans.
“I didn’t mean to say that loud enough for anyone to hear.”
Not an ounce of remorse showed in his clear, coffee-colored eyes, annoying her further. Her campaign rested on this cowboy, and he needed to take this job seriously. She’d fix that problem right now. “The first rule of being a spokesperson for a product, which is what we intend for you to be, is to always sing the product’s praises. Never, in public or private, make any negative comments about the company, its employees or their products.”
“Do I have to check with you before I say anything to anyone?”
“That might not be a bad idea until you get the hang of this business.”
“I was joking.”
She stared at him, not quite sure how to respond. “I know a lot of people don’t value advertising, but this is a serious, competitive business.”
“Lighten up. It isn’t brain surgery.”
Bullheaded man. Elizabeth pinched her lips together and counted to ten. If she didn’t need him so desperately, she’d fire him, because obviously her words weren’t hitting home.
“No, it’s not brain surgery or rocket science, but that doesn’t mean what we do here isn’t important. We’re a crucial part of the economy. If we create an ineffective campaign, company sales go down, which means people get laid off. It also means a possible fall in stock prices and less dividends for stockholders. That creates other repercussions in the economy, which I won’t go into here.” Mainly because Rory probably wouldn’t grasp the fine nuances. “Mistakes like criticizing the company’s product can cause a lot of people, you included, to lose their jobs. Are we clear on that?”
“Where do I change?”
She ignored his question for a minute, trying to determine if she’d made her point. Finally deciding the man would have to be a complete idiot not to have understood her, she pointed to a door on the opposite side of the studio. “You’ll find a shirt in there. You can wear your own boots for this shoot.”
While Rory changed, Elizabeth surveyed the scene around her, checking the details for the photo shoot. Micah Devlin was a perfectionist with a keen eye, and expected the same from everyone he worked with. He had to like Rory; otherwise the whole concept was a loss.
Think positively, Elizabeth. That breeds good energy, and good energy brings about good results.
The lighting was perfect. The background clean white. A saddle was propped on a hay bale, a rope casually wrapped around the saddle horn. Rats. She’d forgotten about requesting hay bales. She glanced at the set assistant. “Kudos on the set, especially on such short notice.”
The young woman beamed.
Elizabeth rubbed her itching eyes. The sneezing would start soon. She dug in her purse, searching for a Claritin to stem her allergy symptoms, but came up empty. No getting around it, she’d have to suffer through.
Two more hay bales sat beside the saddle, completing the scene. Enough props to let people know Rory was a cowboy, but not enough to detract from the jeans or the cowboy. For the actual campaign she planned outdoor shots in upstate New York at a barn, on a horse, working around the place. But right now she needed to sell Rory to Devlin.
Please let him look good in the jeans.
The coffee she’d gulped an hour earlier sloshed in her nervous stomach.
Wait a minute. What was she thinking? As long as the jeans fit, he’d look terrific in them. A man that gorgeous could make anything look good. A mental picture of Rory shirtless in a pair of jeans, his chest slick as he poured water over his sweaty skin after a long day of fixing fences, flashed in her mind.
Note to self—get shots of Rory with his shirt off.
She fanned her face, though that wasn’t the only place she was warm. What was she thinking? This was business. She never mixed business with pleasure, and besides that, Rory wasn’t her type.
The click of stilettos on the hardwood floor interrupted Elizabeth’s daydreaming. She turned to find Stephanie Jones, her black leather makeup case slung over her shoulder, sauntering toward her.
The leggy brunette stopped in front of Elizabeth. “Where’s our model?”
Before she could answer, she sneezed. Not one of those polite feminine sneezes, but one with hurricane force. Darn allergies. “He’s changing,” Elizabeth said, after two more sneezes. “Let me explain what I’m looking for today. Just play up his natural good looks. I want him to stay real, like the cowboy he is.”
“You’re kidding! He’s really a cowboy?” Stephanie’s blue eyes sparkled as if she’d snatched up the last fifty-percent-off cashmere sweater at Barney’s.
What was it about cowboys? Stephanie hadn’t even seen Rory and she was drooling. Mark, the lighting tech, had about stepped on his tongue when Rory walked in.
“He’s the real deal, and I want his pictures to reflect that. I want him to look like he’s just stepped out of the ranch house and is heading toward the barn to work.”
“In designer jeans?”
Elizabeth bristled at Stephanie’s skepticism about her ad campaign.
Breathe. Don’t let her negativity invade your space and make you doubt your decision. This is the right way to go with this campaign.
A big smile on her face, Elizabeth said, “Devlin Designs wants to crack the Western and middle-American market with their men’s jeans.”
“Okay, now using the cowboy makes sense.”
“I hope the public sees it the same way. I won’t keep you any longer. You need to set up, and I need to check other details of the shoot.”
While the stylist traipsed across the room to the makeup table and chair, Elizabeth went to talk to Chloe.
“I can’t wait to get this guy on film,” she said the minute Elizabeth stopped beside her.
Just then, Rory strolled out of the dressing room. The client’s designer jeans fit him perfectly, emphasizing his strong thighs. Ones he’d no doubt obtained from riding. Who’d have thought horseback riding was such a workout? But her quads and glutes had been sore for two days after her horse excursion.
Rory’s tanned skin contrasted nicely with the crisp, white, snap-front, Western-style shirt she’d picked out. Denim and white. Classic, clean. One never went wrong with the basics.
She smiled at the personal touches he’d added—his belt buckle, a royal flush fanned-out poker hand, plus his boots and his cowboy hat. Rugged, but accessible.
Absolutely delicious. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wrong for her.
“If he’s any indication, they sure raise them handsome in Colorado.” A sinful grin spread across Chloe’s face.
Elizabeth continued staring at Rory. Before meeting him she’d have said her ideal man was more comfortable in a Brooks Brothers suit than jeans. Rory put those immaculately groomed men in their thousand-dollar suits to shame.
She started to move toward him, but Stephanie reached Rory first, introduced herself and led him to the makeup chair.
“Our model is too delectable for words,” Mark said as he joined them.
This was getting a little ridiculous. “Has everyone forgotten why we’re here? And no, it isn’t to ogle Rory.” She was beginning to think she needed to hire a bodyguard for the cowboy.
“There’s no harm in looking,” Mark said, glancing at him longingly.
“But with you it doesn’t stop there,” Chloe reminded the lighting tech.
“Plus I’m pretty sure he’s heterosexual,” Elizabeth added, trying to end the subject without having to give a lecture on professionalism.
“But you don’t know for sure.”
Elizabeth leaned toward him as if sharing a confidence. “I’m counting on you to help me out. This guy isn’t a model. He doesn’t understand the game. We all have to be careful that we don’t scare him off. I think this might be his first visit to New York.”
“All right. I’ll back off. Just for you.”
“I appreciate your sacrifice, Mark.” She smiled in relief. “You’ve done a super job with the lighting, by the way. You’re the best.”
“Can I have that in writing for when review time rolls around?”
“Absolutely.”
He glanced toward the set. “I’m off to be wonderful. I need to reposition one of the lights.”
“You sure you didn’t tell him to back off so you can have Rory all to yourself?” Chloe asked once Mark had left.
“Oh, please. You know my type, and Rory’s not it.”
“A guy doesn’t have to be a Mensa candidate to be worth spending time with.”
“That’s the difference between us. You can be involved with someone for right now. I don’t see the point in that.”
“Fun and great sex.” Chloe nodded toward Rory. “Look at him. I bet he’s amazing in bed.”
“There’s more to a relationship than hot sex.”
“Maybe, but that’s a pretty good place to start.”
“Now’s not the time to talk about this,” Elizabeth said, realizing how far they’d strayed off course. “Nothing can interfere with today’s shoot. Be the epitome of professional.”
“What he does for those jeans is amazing.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Not to stress you out more,” Chloe said as she adjusted the height of her tripod, “but we’re all counting on you to pull this one out. Word is Devlin’s agency-shopping.”
“This time the rumor mill’s right, but I’ve got everything under control.” Maybe if she said that enough times she’d believe it. The whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing. “Rory will help us change two crucial opinions. One, that only gay men wear designer jeans, and two, wearing designer jeans will make a man look like a pretty boy. I want the average, red-blooded, straight male to think that if a cowboy will wear these jeans, he can wear them, too.”
“Then let’s get this show on the road.”
WITHAROOMFULOFPEOPLE, all with their gazes glued on his every move, Rory felt like a piece of meat. Prime choice, grade A, but meat nonetheless.
The stylist opened her black case, revealing small bottles and other containers. His stomach tightened when he recognized it was makeup. He’d figured she might have a hair dryer and hair gel in the thing. He sat horrified as she stared at him, and then selected one bottle. She dumped some of the liquid on a foam triangle and leaned toward him.
“Whoa, hold on a minute. Is that makeup?” Sissy city jeans were one thing, but no way was he wearing makeup.
The stylist nodded. The triangle moved closer.
He leaned away. “Cowboys don’t wear makeup.”
High-pitched giggles greeted his response. “This cowboy needs to, because if you don’t wear base makeup and blush—”
Blush. Wasn’t that the pink stuff women swiped over their cheeks? He resisted the urge to hang his head in shame.
“If you don’t wear makeup, you’ll look washed out under the lights.”
“Better that than wearing that stuff. If any of my friends find out, I’ll never live it down.” He shuddered. “Next thing you’ll be telling me I need mascara.”
“It would—”
“No mascara. A man’s got to draw the line somewhere.”
The stylist lightly swatted his arm and giggled again. The sound grated on his nerves. “There’s no need for you to worry. No one will be able to see you’ve got makeup on, and I swear I won’t tell anyone.”
Her words failed to reassure him. Something in his gut told him that his wearing makeup would get out—that was the kind of luck he had. But what choice did he have? He needed this job, and photos were the first step to landing the gig. The things he did for his mom. “I’ve died and gone to hell, and this is my punishment.”
The woman used the sponge to dab makeup on his skin. The oily liquid slid across his face, sending ripples of revulsion through him.
“See, that’s not so bad.”
He gritted his teeth at the comment and refused to look in the mirror. He’d wear the blasted stuff, but no way did he want the sight of him in makeup burned into his memory.
“This doesn’t detract from your masculinity at all,” she declared.
He suspected she was a woman who thought a man wouldn’t be interested unless she agreed with everything he said, and complimented him nonstop.
Now little Lizzie—Elizabeth, he’d decided, didn’t fit her—didn’t appear to let anyone tell her what to think. In an effort to tune out Stephanie’s incessant chatter as she fussed with his hair, he’d watched Lizzie out of the corner of his eye.
Dressed in a black skirt and white blouse that showed off her knockout curves, she efficiently circled the room, checking lighting and the setup. What was it with all the women here wearing black? Hadn’t they heard of color in New York?
As if thinking about her pulled her to him, Lizzie walked his way. “Is he ready to go, Stephanie?”
“He’s perfect.”
Rory almost laughed. Perfect? Not in his universe. He looked like a sissy in these tight, fancy stitched jeans. “Anybody gonna ask me if I’m ready?”
Both women turned to him, their mouths hanging open. Guess he’d broken another photo shoot protocol.
Lizzie recovered first. “I’m sorry, Rory. I didn’t mean to appear rude. I need to make sure Stephanie’s finished her job, which is to make sure you look your best under the lights.” She turned to the stylist. “Once again, you’ve done super work. Now, Rory, if you’d come this way. I’d like to introduce you to the photographer before we start shooting.”
Rory stood, thankful to put distance between him and Stephanie before she jumped him in the chair. “Lead on.”
He liked the white shirt Lizzie had picked out for him, but the jeans wouldn’t last a week on the ranch. “Just out of curiosity, how much do these pants cost?”
“The pair you’re wearing retails for two hundred dollars.”
He whistled. “Men actually spend their hard-earned money on these?”
“Devlin’s men’s jeans are among the hottest in the upscale market.”
Guilt swirled inside him at the thought of playing a part in convincing people to waste money on high-priced jeans, when a pair of Wranglers or Levi’s worked fine. The world was so out of whack. Kids got killed over expensive sneakers. People who couldn’t pay their rent found money to get tattoos. Stuff didn’t make a person. Didn’t people get that?
Lizzie led him to a tall, slender woman with shoulder-length black hair, dressed in a long, flowing purple skirt and a red T-shirt with a baggy white sweater thrown over that. Big chunky beads hung around her neck. Finally, a female who wasn’t dressed as if she was heading to a funeral.
She introduced herself and tossed him a look that said she was interested in more than taking his picture. What was the deal with everyone at this agency?
“Are you ready to get started?” Elizabeth asked.
“Tell me what you need me to do.”
Chloe smiled. “Just be you. I’ll do all the hard work. Let’s start with some simple shots of you sitting here on the hay. That’ll give us both a chance to warm up. I hope you don’t have allergies like Elizabeth. She’s been sneezing since she arrived.”
“Thanks, Chloe, for pointing out the obvious.” Elizabeth punctuated her statement with an unladylike sneeze, followed by a delicate “excuse me.”
“The hay won’t bother me. I’m around it all day long.”
“Good. Chloe, you get behind the camera and see how everything looks. Rory, come with me. I’ll position you.”
Position him? A very intimate picture of him and Lizzie tangled together in bed popped into his head. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll show you where to sit on the set, which way to look, that kind of thing. That’s what we call positioning. What were you thinking?”
“I had a more intimate picture in mind.” As Rory followed her he couldn’t keep his gaze off the way her little black high-heeled shoes made her hips sway, causing his blood to pump.
She froze and a pretty pink blush spread across her face. “I’m sorry you were confused.”
He leaned toward her to rattle her chain a little more. After all, if he was going to be on display, he had no intention of being the only one uncomfortable. “Lizzie, if we get together, there won’t be any confusion.”
For a second her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Then she swallowed hard. “My name’s Elizabeth.”
“You don’t look like an Elizabeth. It’s too long a name for such a little thing like you.”
She snapped her lips together. He expected to see steam coming out her ears any minute. This job could be fun, after all.
“My parents named me Elizabeth. That’s what they called me, and that’s the name I go by.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her blouse open farther at the neck. She had a pretty neck. He’d love to kiss that spot where the vein throbbed wildly beneath her skin. “Now, if we’re through with the discussion regarding my name, we both have work to do.”
He smiled, way more at ease than when he’d arrived. “All set.”
“Have a seat on the hay bale there.” Lizzie pointed to the one closet to the saddle.
He sank onto the hay, braced his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Now what?”
That pretty pink color still tingeing her cheeks, Lizzie turned to Chloe. “How’s it look from your angle?”
“Good from here. Now, get out of the shot and let me work.”
The rapid-fire click of the camera shutter filled the studio. During a momentary lull, Stephanie buzzed around him, more annoying and persistent than the horseflies at home. “I think he’s getting a little shiny. Let me add some powder.”
Rory tried not to wince. Just what he needed, more makeup. Pretty soon he’d look like Bozo the Clown.
She swiped a brush across his face, tossed him a big smile and fluttered away. She wasn’t any better at getting the leave-me-alone signals than the horseflies.
More clicking.
This was every bit the torture he’d expected, except for the short diversion with Lizzie.
“Relax, Rory, you look like you’ve got a dentist appointment later today,” Chloe said.
“Relax? How’s a man supposed to do that with everyone staring at him, watching his every move? I feel like the turkey on Thanksgiving, sitting there in the middle of the table.”
“That’s an interesting point of view,” Lizzie said. “It’s not that everyone’s watching what you do so much as ensuring nothing needs their attention.”
“Try to forget everyone’s here, Rory. Concentrate on one thing, and tune out everything else,” Chloe suggested.
He focused on Lizzie. All straitlaced and in charge, but he’d seen a fire flash in her eyes when he’d called her that. There was definitely something there. All she needed to do was let go and channel that energy. Now that would be a job worth taking on.
“Hold that pose.”
More clicking.
Lizzie leaned toward the photographer and the women whispered back and forth for a minute, before Lizzie said, “Rory, let’s try some shots with you standing.”
He stood, but wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. That wasn’t exactly true. Right now he’d like to have his hands on Lizzie, caressing her dynamite curves and those long legs of hers. Heat shot through him. If he didn’t think about something other than her legs, these fancy jeans would get even tighter. “What do you want me to do with my hands?”
“Stand like you would if you were hanging around the ranch with friends.”
When he hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, Lizzie smiled.
She seemed different when she smiled. Softer. More approachable, more womanly.
“Fabulous. Keep looking like that.” The camera clicked away as Chloe rattled on. “Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s doing wonders for you.”
Rory’s gaze locked with Lizzie’s. He imagined holding her, exploring her full curves. He could almost hear her excited sigh in his ears as his hands glided over her breasts and hips.
Then his phone, which he’d instinctively shoved in his back pocket, rang. Lizzie’s smile evaporated, replaced with a scowl.
“Whose phone is that?” she asked. “Everyone here knows my policy on cell phones interrupting a photo shoot.”
“It’s mine.” Rory pulled it out of his back pocket and answered the call.
He answered the call? Elizabeth stormed toward him. The man possessed no work ethic. “I forgot to mention that when we’re at a photo shoot, everyone turns off their cell phones.”
Ignoring her, he said, “I know he’s trying to make it sound that way, but don’t worry about it. He’ll cool down.”
“Get off the phone now.”
“Got to go. I’ll call you back later.” Rory ended the call.
“I can’t believe you answered that call.”
“I had a life and responsibilities before this job came along. I still have things that need my attention.”
“I realize that. However, I expect you to deal with those things on your own time, not on the client’s.” Elizabeth held out her hand.
“I’ll turn it on vibrate.”
“Give it to me. I’ll hold on to it until we’re done with the shoot.” When he opened his mouth, she suspected to protest, she explained, “You can’t have your phone in your back pocket. It’ll ruin the line of the jeans.”
Reluctantly, he handed over his BlackBerry.
“Let’s get back to work.” She returned to her position beside Chloe. “Where were we?”
The photographer stepped out from behind the camera. “If our focus is to sell jeans, we might want to see more of them.”
“You’re absolutely right, Chloe.” Elizabeth tapped a manicured nail against her watch. “Got any ideas?”
“Rory, do you mind turning to the side and lifting that saddle?”
“Finally something I feel comfortable doing.” He lifted the saddle and balanced the leather against his thigh, as if he’d done so every day since he was strong enough to pick it up.
Rory’s gaze locked with Elizabeth’s and held. Electricity shot through her. Strong. Hot. Baffling. The look in his eyes mesmerized her, making her more confident that she’d chosen the right man for the campaign.
As she watched Rory’s biceps flex under his shirt, heat coursed through her. Then she glanced at his thighs. No doubt about his strength there, and his butt did amazing things for those jeans.
Oh, yeah, this shot was more than perfect.
If Micah Devlin didn’t like this picture and believe the campaign would sell jeans, then there was no pleasing him.
Remembering the campaign put things back into perspective for Elizabeth. She appreciated the sight of an attractive man as much as the next woman, but this was business. She couldn’t let irrational pheromones on overdrive interfere with her work.
“Angle behind him,” she whispered to Chloe. No way did she want Rory hearing this conversation. “I want shots from behind.”
“Butt shots coming up.”
She blushed, surprised at her reaction, since she and Chloe discussed models’ body parts all the time in shoots. “We’re selling jeans. The client will want to see how they look on our model from every angle.”
“No need to get defensive,” Chloe said as she moved to get the shots.
Elizabeth remained rooted in place, staring at Rory. The cowboy was absolutely mesmerizing. Stalwart. Confident. Any girl’s best dream. Elizabeth could barely breathe. Now if Chloe could get the heat radiating from him on film…
“Rory, would you mind putting down the saddle and taking off your shirt?”
“Yes, I’d mind.”
Elizabeth couldn’t have heard him. Either that or he misunderstood her question. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t mind putting the saddle down, but I’m not taking off my shirt.”
She stood there for a moment trying to regroup.
She was in charge. She told everyone what to do and they did as requested. No one at a photo shoot questioned her decision. Not even Chloe.
This cowboy so pushed her buttons.
For a minute she considered ordering Rory to take off his shirt, but the glint in his eyes stopped her. He flashed her a look similar to her first boss’s I’m-not-discussing-this expression. Sure, she was in charge, but her job hinged on two men’s whims right now, Micah Devlin and Rory McAlister. She couldn’t risk angering Rory enough that he hopped on the next plane to Colorado.
She could do this. Finesse and charm time. “Everyone take five.”
The crew scooted away, though not far, in case she and Rory put on a show.
She walked to where he stood beside the hay, wanting to make their conversation as private as possible. “Rory, what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem, because I’m keeping my shirt on.”
She stared at him, trying to fathom what the hang-up could be. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to pose for a pinup poster. Granted, she hoped this shot would have the same effect and drive women wild for him and the jeans, but they were primarily selling the product.
Maybe he was embarrassed about his chest? It couldn’t be because he wasn’t in shape. No way could he be hiding a beer belly under that form-fitting shirt. Okay, so what else could it be? He was a cowboy. They got thrown from horses. “Do you have some kind of injury or scar that’s making this uncomfortable for you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“You told me I’d be modeling jeans, not posing for beefcake shots.”
“Shots of you without your shirt will highlight the jeans, and it’s what the client wants.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. The guy was one huge piece of granite, hard and unmoving. Needing a chance to cool off, she walked to the table with bottled water by the dressing room. She grabbed one, surprised that the top didn’t pop off the way she squeezed the thing, and stormed back to Rory.
“Here, have some water.” She shoved the bottle into his hands. Hopefully, the water would cool him off, too. “I need a minute.”
Then she walked to the opposite side of the studio to talk to Chloe.
“I gather he’s still refusing to take off his shirt?”
Elizabeth nodded. “I think he’s just being stubborn.”
“We’ve got to get the shots of him in just the jeans.”
What about Rory made her want to dig in her heels? She felt as if she were six years old again, fighting with Angela Simmons. I dare you. No, I double dare you, and the next thing she knew, they were both sitting in Principal Mathews’s office.
“You may have to pull rank.” Chloe glanced toward Rory. “Look at him. How else do you think you’re going to get him to cooperate?”
She followed her friend’s gaze. The cowboy was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his strong chest. His lips formed a thin line. Nope, he hadn’t let go of his anger, either.
His gaze locked with hers again. Then his chin tilted up ever so slightly and he smiled.
No way was he backing down.
She’d never been a gambler, especially when the costs were so high, and not just for her, but those who worked with her. So much rode on the campaign’s success, and she needed those shots of Rory in just the jeans.
If he wanted to lock horns about this issue, he’d chosen the wrong person to mess with, because she couldn’t afford to lose.
She stalked across the floor and stopped in front of Rory. She looked into his chiseled features, unmoved by his gorgeous face or his angry scowl. “I need shots of you with your shirt off. You either do as requested or you’re fired.”
