Cover Me

The break room was on the other end of the department, but I dragged myself over there to fill a huge insulated mug with strong, hot coffee. The milk container in the mini-fridge was empty, so I braved the brew straight. My spirits lifted, though, when I spotted a lone powdered sugar doughnut on a plate. My stomach howled and I wondered if Sam had ordered room service.

“What are you smiling about?”

I turned to see April Bromley coming into the room, smothering a yawn. My hackles raised. April was the executive assistant to the creative director, Ron Castle, and she was always trying to usurp what scrap of authority I had. She was a dark, exotic goddess and was not above using her considerable curves to further her ambitions. We didn’t like each other, and we didn’t hide it.

“I’m smiling because I love my job,” I said sweetly.

“So do I,” she returned just as sweetly. “But I could never do your job, Kenzie—I don’t like dogs.”

A flush climbed my face as a triumphant smile crawled over hers. Apparently word of my stint as a dog-sitter had reached the water cooler.

April grabbed the doughnut I’d had my eye on, took a bite, and shrugged prettily. “I need energy for the meeting that Ron asked me to sit in on this morning. If we need any copies made during the meeting, I’m sure Helena will buzz you.”

I looked for something to buzz her with, but she’d already flounced out. Ooh! That woman knew how to push my buttons, knew that Helena never invited me to sit in on the creative meetings. And since I had to write that summary report, this morning didn’t seem like a good time to hint for an invitation.

That’s why I was shocked when about thirty minutes later, while I was elbow-deep in circulation reports, Helena called and asked me to sit in on the creative meeting.

“You’re one of my most valued employees, Kenzie. It’s time that you became familiar with what the other departments are doing.”

So Helena was feeling guilty about the dog-sitting gig—good. I could only imagine the look on April’s face when I walked into the meeting, but I tried to keep the elation out of my voice and still sound conscientious. “What’s on the agenda?”

“Ron is finalizing the cover for an upcoming issue.”

A sore spot with Helena—after several incarnations, she still wasn’t happy with the cover look for Personality. From my perspective, finalizing a cover was one of the more interesting steps in producing a weekly news magazine. Still, I manufactured a thoughtful noise. “That sounds great, but I’d like to finish the summary report first.”

“Oh.”

Helena was caught off guard—she thought I’d be frothing at the mouth to join the meeting. I was, but she didn’t have to know that.

“The meeting will last until noon. Join us in the west boardroom when you can.”

“I will.” I hung up the phone feeling pretty pleased with myself and at least a birthday wiser. Helena was definitely treating me differently today. Maybe last night had been a turning point for me—a bon voyage of sorts to my immature fantasy of what the world was like. Goodbye multiple orgasms, hello functional sex. So long French panties, hello sensible underwear. It was time to advance my career, and find a marriageable man.

I suddenly felt very grown-up.

I pulled out my Palm Pilot and called up my to-do list for the following Monday. Using the stylus, I wrote “Start looking for a nice guy” on the screen, then stabbed the tiny enter button as ardently as possible, breaking a nail. Still, I was resolute.

I finished the reports five minutes before the meeting started, but I decided to wait another fifteen minutes before making my entrance. I lifted the lapel of Sam’s shirt and was happy to see that the hives had all but disappeared. After refilling my drum of black coffee, I gathered a fresh pad of paper and a pen, and walked to the meeting room.

A hum of voices floated through the closed door. I checked my clothing and smoothed a hand over my hair. My heartbeat was clicking away, and I prayed I could make at least one intelligent remark over the course of the meeting. I twisted the doorknob and entered as quietly as possible (I was doing a lot of sneaking in and out of rooms today), taking mental stock of the attendees—Helena, Ron Castle, April and a dozen others from production, photography, editorial and marketing. I claimed the closest empty chair, tucking myself in and turning toward the speaker, Ron.

He paused and gave me an inquisitive look akin to “What are you doing here?” A flush scorched my cheeks as all eyes landed on me. April smirked.

“Everyone knows my assistant, Kenzie Mansfield,” Helena spoke up. “I asked Kenzie to sit in because I’d like to begin exposing her to more activities in various departments.”

I circulated a respectful smile, stopping short of April, then Ron picked up where he’d left off.

“As I was saying, I think the hometown hero issue is going to be a big success in terms of attracting new readers—high-earning blue-collar workers who might not normally pick up a copy of Personality will be attracted by the all-American appeal of this issue.”

“The advertising department is on board,” offered Nita, the marketing manager. “Banks, insurance companies and car manufacturers are lining up for this issue.”

“The difficult part,” Ron continued, “was finding just the right person for the cover.” Then he smiled. “But I think we’ve found a winner—a volunteer firefighter from Jar Hollow, New York.”

“Where’s that?” Helena asked.

“It’s a speck of a town between Albany and Syracuse, genuine mom-and-pop stuff. This guy rushed into a nursing home fire and saved a dozen patients.”

Nathan from production snapped his fingers. “I heard about him on TV—the governor’s giving him some kind of medal.”

“The governor offered,” Ron corrected, “but the guy wouldn’t accept it. Said he was just doing what any American would do.”

“He sounds perfect,” Helena said. “Tell me he’s marginally photogenic.”

Ron glanced at his watch. “I’ll let you judge for yourself if he ever gets here. April, could you run down and check with the receptionist to see if Mr. Long has arrived? And while you’re at it, could you make an extra copy of the agenda for Kenzie?”

I wanted to cackle, but I schooled my face into a sedate expression. April’s eyes shot daggers in my direction, but she skedaddled like a good little go-fer.

“We’ll have some convincing to do,” Ron said. “This Long guy isn’t keen on all the attention he’s been getting.”

“Nonsense,” Helena snapped. “Everyone likes attention. He’ll do it.”

Since everyone knew Helena got whatever she wanted, the matter seemed closed. Ron and the marketing director then passed around alternative layouts for the upcoming issue.

“I think the configuration with fewer words is cleaner,” Ron said.

“It really makes the cover image pop,” Nita added.

Helena studied the new look, then slid the mock-up in my direction. “Kenzie, what do you think?”

The silence was profound, although no one in the room was more surprised by her question than I. Still, the fact that it was the first time I’d been asked in a public forum for my opinion did not mean that I hadn’t been saving up. I took a deep breath.

“The more words, the better—it makes the buyer feel as if there’s a lot of content. Mix up the fonts and colors to entertain the customer’s eye, but reduce the font size of the price so it seems insignificant. Using multiple colors for the magazine title would be a nice change of pace—maybe red, white and blue for this issue. Adopting an exclamation mark at the end of the magazine title could be an effective visual cue. And an occasional short-fold cover would be an attention-getter, not to mention adding premium space for advertisers.”

I exhaled into the hush of the room, but as I glanced from one bemused face to another, I fervently wished for a rewind button. “Or not,” I murmured.

The door opened, and as much as I disliked April, I was glad for her timely return.

“I found our cover model,” she gushed. “Everyone, this is Mr. Samuel Long.”

A well-suited man with hair the color of antique brass stepped in the room and flashed an engaging grin. My vital signs stalled. It couldn’t be.

Oh. But. It. Was.

4

“WELCOME, Mr. Long,” Helena said, standing and extending her hand. “I’m Helena Birch, editor-in-chief here at Personality.”

“Actually, it’s Dr. Long,” Sam said with no trace of conceit. Indeed, he seemed a bit flustered by all the attention. “I apologize for the delay—I’m afraid I had a bit of a wardrobe predicament this morning.”

It was then that his gaze landed on me. I knew my eyes were as big as Ping-Pong balls, so I was thankful that he had the presence of mind not to say, “Hey, look, it’s my one-night stand.” A slight lift of his eyebrow was the only indication that he recognized me. Was that amusement in his eyes? Then his gaze lowered to my shirt—er, make that his shirt.

“A wardrobe predicament?” April tossed her hair. “Nonsense—you look terrific.”

I frowned. Down, girl. Indeed, Sam had compensated rather nicely for his missing dress shirt. Underneath his creamy tan-colored suit, he wore a brown L. L. Bean T-shirt (I knew T-shirts). He pulled his gaze away from our shirt and gave April a little smile. “Thank you. If I’ve learned nothing else from being a small-town veterinarian, I’ve learned how to be resourceful.”

“Dr. Long,” Helena said, “allow me to introduce some of my staff.” She made the rounds, with those closest to Sam rising to shake his hand. Including me.

“This is my assistant, Kenzie Mansfield.”

“Ms. Mansfield,” he said, clasping my hand in his.

The brush of his wonderfully callused fingers against mine sent a pang of nostalgia to my thighs. “Welcome, Dr. Long.”

His eyes danced and a corner of his mouth jerked. Beneath his shirt, my hives were being resurrected. Afraid that I might start panting aloud, I withdrew my hand.

“I’m happy to be here,” Sam said, then turned back to April. “But there must be some kind of mistake, because when we walked in I thought I heard you say I was a cover model?”

Helena stepped up and offered a dazzling smile. “We’ve been discussing our upcoming small-town-hero issue, and you would be perfect for the cover, Dr. Long.”

A frown marred his handsome face. “I don’t know—”

“Think of the exposure it will bring to you and your town.”

He scratched his temple and emitted a little laugh. “I believe I might have had enough exposure to last a while.”

His glance flitted in my direction, and I suspected he regretted volunteering to have his wing-ding cast for posterity. I glanced around the room for an escape route. The window looked inviting.

“You don’t have to make a decision now,” Helena cajoled. “Let us take a few photos and finish your interview, and we’ll discuss it again later after you’ve had time to consider the advantages.”

“Dr. Long,” Ron said, “April will assist you this morning during your photo shoot and interview.”

April perked up like a cheerleader, and thrust her big, round pom-poms in Sam’s direction.

“Ron,” Helena said. “I’d like for Kenzie to join April and Dr. Long. It’ll be good experience.”

Alarm took hold of me. I wasn’t sure what terrified me the most—spending the morning with April or with Sam. A choking noise erupted from my throat, but I managed to turn it into a hacking cough. “I have…something…planned this morning that I…can’t get out of.”

Helena pursed her mouth. “Kenzie, why don’t you and I get some more coffee?”

I picked up my gigantic coffee mug that was still full and followed her out of the boardroom, but we stopped a little short of the break room, as I suspected we would.

Helena crossed her arms, and pinned me to the wall with her stare. “Kenzie, earlier this week you were begging for assignments that would further your career, and when I give you one, you manufacture an excuse to get out of it. Is something wrong?”

What could I say? “No.”

“Then what do you have planned that’s more important than broadening your experience at the magazine?”

She was right. “Nothing.”

Helena nodded. “Good. Then I expect that you and Dr. Long and April will have an enlightening time.”

“Of course,” I murmured. “Thank you.”

Uncrossing her arms, Helena flicked nothing off her sleeve. “By the way, you had some clever ideas in there regarding the magazine’s cover. Put it all in a memo and have it on my desk Monday.”

Taking advantage of my speechlessness, she turned to go back to the boardroom.

“Oh, and Kenzie?”

I looked up. “Yes.”

“Try to keep April from devouring Dr. Long. We’re a newsmagazine—the last thing we need is a scandal that we’re offering compensation to our sources.”

I broke out into a warm sweat that tested my sport-scent deodorant. “Will do.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, April and Sam and I were on our way to photography, me lagging behind. I was a nervous freaking wreck, and April’s chattering made things worse. She hung all over Sam, and Sam looked like an animal with its leg caught in a trap. I could feel his gaze on me, and I could feel his effect on my body.

“So,” April oozed, “you’re a fireman.”

“No, I’m a veterinarian,” Sam said easily. “I’m a volunteer fireman in my spare time.”

April flapped her long, curly eyelashes. “So are there a lot of fires to put out in Jar Hollow?”

Sam grinned, warming up to the attention. “Um, thankfully, no.”

“But you saved all those people—that’s so cool.”

Two steps behind them, I rolled my eyes.

“I was in the right place at the right time,” he said, then slowed and looked back, apparently determined that I should catch up.

I picked up my leaden feet and fell in step next to them. I walked on one side of Sam, April on the other, making a big, juicy Sam sandwich. Sipping lukewarm coffee from my mug, I tried to force from my mind the image of his naked body sliding against mine. I decided it might be a good idea to join the conversation. “I assume you didn’t expect to become such a media sensation, Dr. Long?”

He shot a surprised glance my way. “She speaks.”

I flushed because he knew good and well that not only did I speak, but on occasion, I screamed.

Sam smiled and shook his head. “You’re right. Beyond the local media, I didn’t think about it. Then a freelance writer called and said he’d like to do an interview for a possible segment in your magazine. We talked on the phone for a while, but when I didn’t hear anything else, I assumed the story wasn’t picked up.” He shrugged. “Then two days ago I received a call and a plane ticket, asking me to come to the city to finalize details. So, here I am.” He looked at me with brown eyes that were so deep, I felt a bout of vertigo coming on.

“Is this your first trip to Manhattan?” April asked.

“Yes,” Sam and I answered in unison.

Sam bit back a smile, and April frowned in confusion. I scrambled to cover my gaffe. “I think I read that somewhere.”

“And how do you like the city, Sam—may I call you Sam?” April asked adorably.

“Sure,” he said. “The city is…interesting. More so even than I expected.”

“Will you be staying a few days?” April’s tone indicated she hoped so.

He shook his handsome head. “I arrived yesterday and I’m leaving this afternoon.”

April pouted. “I hope you did something fun last night.”

I lifted my coffee mug for a deep drink.

“Well,” he said, his voice caramel-coated, “the evening started out slow, but it ended with a bang.”

I inhaled sharply, and got coffee instead of air, which my body expelled with a painful snough (sneeze-cough). Worse, I spilled coffee down the front of my—er, his—snowy-white shirt. The brown stain spread like a virus until it was the shape of the state of Texas and nearly as big.

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” I said, wiping futilely at the stain with my hand. “I’ll have it cleaned.” Then I froze and lifted my gaze. “May I, um, call you Sam…Sam?”

He pushed his cheek out with his tongue. “Sure.”

April was looking at me as if I’d gone mad. “Kenzie, I’m sure Sam couldn’t care less about your shirt.”

“I m-meant that I’m sorry to have caused such a mess.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said, then made a rueful noise. “Too bad about the shirt, though. It looks custom-made.”

I balked. “It is? I mean—it is. But I’ll contact the tailor and order another one.” As soon as I could afford it.

Sam smothered a smile and nodded toward the restrooms we were approaching. “Do you need a moment, Ms. Mansfield?”

I needed a drink, but a moment would have to do. “Thank you.” I race-walked into the ladies’ room and leaned into the vanity, trying to pull myself together. I could get through this. The man could have blown my cover a half-dozen times by now, and he hadn’t—there was nothing to fear.

So why was my heart racing like a bike messenger’s?

Because I had assumed I’d never see him again, much less at work.

Work—that eighty-hours-a-week pastime that paid for groceries, rent, medical insurance and the occasional Dior accessory. I really needed not to be fired for fraternizing with an upcoming feature.

I puffed out my cheeks and studied my reflection—big-eyed and blotchy, wearing an exceptionally stained, stolen shirt, my hair skimmed back with a banker’s clip. I had looked better. I poured my coffee down the sink drain—no more caffeine for me—then I practiced a few deep-breathing techniques. I needed to calm down, or Sam might think that last night had meant something to me. So our one-night stand had turned into a one-night-and-next-day stand—so what? A few more hours, then I would never see him again.

I splashed cold water on my wrists, tried to blot out the stain, then walked out feeling refreshed if not relaxed. April stood in the hall alone. I had a panicky thought that Sam had spilled the beans and vamoosed.

“Dr. Long had to make a phone call,” April said.

Oh, God—he was calling the police.

“Some kind of animal emergency,” she added in a bored voice, then inspected her manicure. “Listen, Kenzie, if you want to bow out, I’ll make your excuses when Sam comes back.”

I had to hand it to her—she had the innocent act down pat. “Nice try, April, but you heard what Helena said. She wants me to learn more about the business.” And to chaperone.

April’s innocent act vanished and she gave me a pitying look. “I guess this is a step up from dog-sitting.”

I gritted my teeth.

“But keep your hands off this puppy,” she warned. “He’s mine.”

I was, oh, so tempted to tell her that not only had I had already put my hands on this puppy, but I had a duplicate of his bone in my bag upstairs. Still, I couldn’t resist asking, “What makes you think Dr. Long is even available?”

“Every man is available.”

“He’s leaving after lunch.”

“Plans change,” she said, her voice shrill. “Besides, I think he likes me.”

Jealousy tweaked me. I couldn’t stand April, but from a male point of view, what was not to like? She was gorgeous and voluptuous—and did I mention gorgeous? If April had been at Fitzgerald’s last night, Sam would have stepped over me to get to her.

“It’s never good to mix business with pleasure,” I said, knowing how lame my words sounded. And hypocritical.

April gave me a look of disgust. “When was the last time you got laid, Kenzie?”

A cough sounded behind us. We turned to see that Sam had returned. I closed my eyes briefly—how much had he overheard?

“Sorry about the interruption,” he said. “Minor emergency back home.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Fine, thanks. Jeremy Daly’s pig swallowed a spoon, but it’s no big deal—I can take care of it tomorrow.”

Spoon-swallowing sounded serious to me, but he looked cheerful enough. “Alrighty then—shall we proceed to the studio?” I sneezed ferociously—three times.

Sam removed a handkerchief from an inside jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Are you getting a cold?”

“Allergies,” I mumbled.

5

“I THINK I’m in love,” April breathed.

Looking around the studio, I decided that every single person present was mesmerized by Dr. Sam Long, hometown hero. The photo director had decided it would be a good idea for editorial to finish the interview during the shoot, so the pictures would look more natural. I was happy for the chance to see a staff writer in action, but I had to admit that I was also perversely interested in the information being drawn out of said subject.

“I grew up in upstate New York. I went to Cornell to study veterinary science, and after I graduated, I wound up in Albany specializing in equine research.” His engaging smile then faltered a bit. “I loved my work, but the pace was hectic. A couple of years went by and I began to have chest pains. I was diagnosed with a faulty heart valve.”

I felt an inexplicable stab of alarm.

“Did you have surgery?” the writer asked.

“No. The problem is inoperable, but my doctor said I’d be fine as long as my lifestyle improved.” He lifted his arms in an appealing shrug and the photographer clicked away. “So I looked for a small town where I could start a vet practice, and Jar Hollow was the place I found.”

“Sounds like Mayberry.”

He nodded. “It’s a quiet lifestyle, but I enjoy it.” Then he laughed. “Actually, I started feeling as if I had too much time on my hands, which is why I became a volunteer firefighter.”

“That doesn’t present a problem with your heart condition?”

“Not for as infrequently as I’m called,” he said. “My doctor said the real danger is constant, prolonged stress.” He grinned. “That’s why I’m still single.”

A round of laughter sounded, and the photographer clicked more shots. I swore his gaze flickered in my direction.

“He looked at me,” April said, sitting up straighter. “I told you he was interested.”

I glanced sideways at her. “It would never work out between you two.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t like dogs, remember?” I made a mock regretful noise.

She smirked. “Probably just as well—with a heart condition, he wouldn’t last one night in bed with me.”

I frowned. How could she do that—insult me without even knowing she was insulting me? I decided I would have to tell Jacki to add a new ground rule: determine if your one-night stand has a heart condition before signing on.

“Tell me about the nursing home fire,” the writer said to Sam.

“I was in town picking up supplies. I drove by the nursing home, saw the smoke, and called 911. But the building is an old wooden structure, so I knew I couldn’t stand by and wait for the fire truck to arrive.”

“What did you do?”

“I had my gear in the back of my pickup—”

“He drives a pickup,” April whispered. “Isn’t that exotic?”

“Shh,” I hissed.

“—so I began the evacuation.”

“You make it sound routine,” the writer said.

“It was,” Sam said easily, “until some of the patients became confused. I went in and led them to safety.”

“Again, you’re very blasé about it.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not trying to make light of a serious situation, but I only did what anyone would have done under the circumstances. I’m just very glad that everyone is okay.”

“Correction,” April said with a moan. “I know I’m in love.”

I might have been ready to swoon myself, if I hadn’t been wound up as tight as a twisted rubber band. I looked at my watch, willing the hands to speed along. Every minute I spent in this man’s company, I grew more and more antsy. I couldn’t look at him, and I couldn’t look away. I vacillated between wishing last night had never happened, and wishing it could happen again—which was absurd. Oh, sure, the more the man talked, the more I admired him. But the more he revealed about his life, the more he painted a picture of a world vastly different than mine. Plus my body’s defense mechanisms had kicked in—my nose ran and my eyes watered painfully. Still, snatches of scenes from the night before replayed in my mind, as if I were pushing a feel-good button over and over.