Arm Candy

If it worked, it was going to be one hell of a lot more exciting than any race.

JESSICA CHECKED OUT her appearance in the window of the bistro. The weather had been kind to her hair, she’d reapplied lipstick in the cab, and her Donna Karan suit looked as if she’d put it on a half hour ago. Not that it mattered. She was the one doing the hiring, but still. The situation was just awkward enough to have a built-in nervousness factor of ten, minimum.

Dan Crawford. She’d done an Internet search on him, and what she’d seen had taken her utterly by surprise. The man was a very highly paid computer consultant and had worked for some of the biggest financial institutions in the world. His prices must be astronomical, causing her to call Glen back and make sure he hadn’t promised she’d pay the man her entire yearly wage. Glen had assured her that if Dan Crawford did this, it wasn’t going to be for the money. Which begged the question…

Why? Why would he give her odd little proposal a moment’s thought? What could he possibly get out of it, if not money?

She was about to find out. If she could get her legs working and walk inside. After a deep breath and a little pep talk, she yanked on the hem of her jacket, pushed her handbag strap up on her shoulder and walked inside.

Dorian’s was an upscale Wall Street bar. Martinis of all flavors dotted the tall tables in the bar, hoisted by the young and the restless go-getters in their Prada and Emporio Armani. Not much laughter, but a lot of chatter, caromed off walls decorated with three-dimensional art, mostly in shiny metals or rusted copper. It worked, especially with the oak bar and tables.

She walked a little farther, until she was midway between the door and the bar itself, then did a quick perusal. No one looked like Dan Crawford, although one young man to her right bore a marked resemblance to Colin Firth. She kept scouting.

Her reward came seconds later. At the far right edge of the bar, a man, alone, saving a seat, looked up expectantly. He was pretty damn close to Glen’s description. Around thirty-five. She couldn’t tell if he was six foot three, but he had that tall, lanky look about him. Dark hair, smooth, shiny, thick, parted on the right. Wide eyes, generous mouth, and a nose just a wee bit big for his face. Altogether a striking combination. A little too striking.

Glen hadn’t said anything about him being gorgeous. The word hadn’t come into play once. And she knew from experience that Glen knew gorgeous. So maybe it wasn’t Dan.

The man in question waved, quashing her doubts. He stood. Yep. Six-three at least. Smiling, too. A great smile. A smile that multiplied the gorgeous by a factor of six.

She pasted her own smile on her face and made her way through the crowd. He manfully held on to the two bar stools, chasing away a blonde with boobs the size of grapefruits.

“I really hope you’re Jessica Howell,” he said as soon as she was in earshot.

“I am.”

“Good because this is the only empty seat in the place. Guess I should have suggested somewhere quieter.”

“There isn’t anyplace quieter. Not around here at least.”

He held out his hand. Long, supple fingers, strong grip. Warm, but not at all damp. She felt her cheeks heat just from the touch, which wasn’t like her. Not at all.

“Sit. Let me buy you a drink.”

“I should be the one buying.”

“Next round, if you want,” he said. “What’s your pleasure?”

“A Merlot, please.”

He nodded, then turned to get the attention of the bartender as Jessica climbed up on the stool. Being so short, it was always an iffy proposition, but she didn’t flash anyone on her way up. She put her handbag on her lap and glanced at Dan. He was even better-looking close up. It was his lips, of course. Pouty, full, but incredibly masculine. Laugh lines etched on each side. If Marla were here, she’d wax rhapsodic about their kissability. Their smoochiness. Ah, that Marla. She had a way with words.

Dan put his credit card on the bar when the drinks arrived. He’d ordered a German lager, and he didn’t bother pouring it into the iced stein. Instead, he took a long pull from the bottle, giving her an enticing view of his Adam’s apple.

Her gaze moved down to his shirt. White oxford, well tailored, silk, she’d bet. It fit him beautifully, and she liked that he’d rolled up the sleeves a couple of turns. His jeans surprised her, but then she realized he wasn’t tied to a company, and he could wear any damn thing he liked. The jeans got her vote. They were good old-fashioned Levi’s and they fit his tall, yummy body like a glove.

He coughed, and she almost spilled her wine in an attempt to get her gaze up and away from where it’d been focused. Again with the blushing. Good God, what was the matter with her? She must be getting her period. She was never this…aware.

“Glen filled me in on your dilemma.”

“So he said, but I want to make sure you understand completely before we go any further.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s really an acting job. I assumed he’d know someone out of work who could use the money. I can’t imagine why you’d be at all interested.”

“I’ll tell you. But first, let me hear what you expect.”

She sipped some wine, felt it melt all the way down, easing a bit of her nervousness. “I’ve got a boss who’s completely out of control, and I need someone to pretend to be my lover for the week. We’re launching a line of cosmetics with a huge press bash and back-to-back junkets. Whoever I hire is going to have to be available for any or all of the events. For meals. For anything, all the while acting like we’re the couple of the decade.”

“Yep, that’s pretty much what Glen said.”

“Okay, so why would you be interested? I have to tell you, I almost didn’t come. He twisted my arm, made me promise to see you. But I don’t get it.”

“Well, Jessica, I think there’s something we could do for each other. I see your problem, and while I’m not an actor, I think I could play the part. I’m a quick study, and I have no social ties that would interfere.”

“But?”

He smiled with those lips of his. She almost giggled like a coquette.

“Here’s what I want,” he said, studying her eyes. “I want access.”

“Access?”

He nodded. “To you.”

“Pardon me?”

“To your thoughts.”

She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a kind of cluck.

“All of them.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughed. The sound was rich and deep and almost enough to make her stop questioning his sanity. Almost.

“Okay, let me explain.”

“Please do.”

“I’m a curiosity junkie. Can’t help it. It’s a long, long story, full of interesting tidbits about my eccentric upbringing and my parents’ radical philosophy, which I’m sure we’ll discuss in detail over the next week, but the upshot is, I live to get answers to the big questions. I studied physics with some of the greatest minds on the planet, and theology in Rome and Israel. I’ve challenged my senses, my abilities, and always attacked the major problems of my life head-on. I might quake in my boots, but I do it until I’m satisfied. Which doesn’t mean I’m always successful. But I never wonder what would have happened if only I’d dared.”

“And what has that got to do with pretending to be my boyfriend?”

He laughed again. “Everything. Because what I want from you is answers.”

“To what questions?”

“All of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“All of them about women.”

“I don’t know all the answers about women.”

“But you know the answers for you.”

She gave him a long look.

He grinned back at her. “No, I’m not certifiable. Nuts, yes. But not quite at the padded-room stage.”

“You want answers about women?”

He nodded.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I get to ask you anything. No holding back. No thinking twice about propriety. I ask, you answer. Honestly. To the best of your ability. All the questions I’ve wanted to ask but haven’t dared.”

“You’ve never dated?”

“Oh, I’ve dated. Many times. I’ve had relationships. All of which have failed. Mostly, I fear, due to my fumbling. My lack of understanding. Seriously, I don’t get it. Screw physics and the Big Bang theory, the great imponderable isn’t God, it’s women. Who are you people? The books are useless. Believe me, I’ve read them. Everything from Men are from Mars to Dr. Phil. And I still don’t get you.

“Every time I think I’ve figured you out, I’m totally thrown for a loop. Take Tamara. Great gal, an incredible dancer. I was crazy about her, and she swore she loved me. We lived together for two blissful years. So what happened? Right after I proposed, and we’re talking days here, she moved in with a drug addict who beat her for a hobby. And she’s just the tip of the iceberg. I ask other men, and they either throw up their hands or give me advice that lands me in the doghouse. It’s nuts, and it’s crazy, and dammit, what I want is to once and for all get it.”

Jessica heard what he said. She was a little taken aback by his earnestness and enthusiasm, and completely certain this wasn’t going to work at all.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t make up your mind yet. Please.”

“I just don’t think—”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but really, it’s not. It’s like a research project. An in-depth study. Think of me as an anthropologist. It won’t be scary, I promise. And I won’t use the information to hurt you or anyone else. But come on. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’d never get this kind of access. In real life, I’d be too afraid to ruin a relationship. Or if I paid for it, I’d never really be sure I was getting the real juice, you know? But this way, when we both can win, and there’s no feelings to hurt or wound, then, well…

“Not to be immodest, but I think I can convince your boss or anyone else that I’m your man. I won’t embarrass you. I know my way around the press, and I won’t cost you a penny. All you have to do is answer me honestly. If you don’t know the answers, great. No sweat. But if you do know, then I want them. No political correctness. No shading or hedging. Just what’s what.”

“What’s what, huh? Well, I know one thing.”

“Go on.”

“I need a much stronger drink.”

Dan held his grin steady, and made sure not to look too satisfied. She was gonna go for it. A minute ago he’d thought all was lost, but now? She was intrigued. From what Glen had told him about her, he’d hoped she’d be curious. “What kind of stronger drink?”

“A whiskey sour, please. Make it a double.”

“Good choice.” He signaled the bartender again, and while he waited his turn he took his time looking her over. He’d been so busy studying her body language that he hadn’t properly appreciated her body.

She was little, but not girlish. In fact, if he’d had to describe her, the word that would fit the bill was vamp. Sort of a throwback to an older age, Rita Hayworth, say, or Veronica Lake. The red hair had something to do with it, maybe the soft way it curled on her neck, or the swoop over her right eyebrow. Her lips, too, seemed naturally full, not collagen-injected like so many of the tonier crowd. And if they had been helped? Who cares. She was lush and her skin seemed silky, and the intelligence so clear in those blue eyes made him want to start his week tonight.

Not that he was going to actively pursue more than his stated objective.

“What’ll it be?”

He started at the bartender’s voice, ordered her drink, and himself a single-malt scotch, neat. When he turned back to Jessica, she pushed her hair back behind her left ear. Her hand, neat, tiny, feminine, captured his gaze and held it. He watched as she put her fingers around her wineglass. Rubbed the rim lightly.

Okay, so maybe he would pursue something more. Hadn’t Glen said she’d been solo for quite some time? Hadn’t he himself been entirely too celibate for longer than was healthy?

“Dan?”

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do with this information, assuming you get it?”

“Use it.”

“For a book? A degree?”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I wouldn’t rule out the idea. Actually, I’m doing this for my own personal edification.”

“Meaning you’re looking for a wife?”

“Wife, lover, significant other. Yeah.”

“I’d think women would be banging down your door.”

“Not the problem. Quality is the issue. I’m looking for what my parents had. Which, in my naiveté as a young man, I figured all parents had.”

“A good relationship?”

“Much more than that. My folks were, and you’ll pardon the cliché, two halves of the same whole. They were married thirty-nine years, and were more crazy about each other when my father died than the day they met. That’s what I want. A partner. A best friend. All of it.”

“Tall order.”

“Don’t I know it. Hence, the quest.”

She gave him a half smile. “I’ve never been part of anybody’s quest before.”

The drinks arrived right then, and Dan handed the whiskey to Jessica. “So you’ll do it?”

She took the glass, sipped, closed her eyes, opened them again. “I’ll do it.”

He toasted her, the clink ringing clearly against all the muddled noise around them. “Fantastic.” He brought his own drink to his lips, then hesitated. “So when do we begin?”

“Monday.”

“The Willows?”

She nodded.

“Great. I’ll check in that afternoon.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “Whoa, cowboy. Check in?”

He downed his scotch, ready for this. “Well, sure.”

“No, no, no. You’re not staying there. Just appearing when needed.”

He gave Jessica his most innocent, sincere smile. “That would be a royal pain in the ass for both of us. Much simpler to be there. But don’t worry. You have nothing to fear. I know the suites there and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She gave him an “I don’t know” look.

“Check with Glen. He’ll tell you I’m harmless. Besides, I don’t want anything getting in the way of the research. And sleeping together would really screw things up.”

Her eyes softened. The internal debate went on a few more seconds, then she sighed. “It would keep Owen off my back.”

He nodded. “This is gonna be great.”

“That is highly unlikely. I’ll be happy if it’s survivable.”

“Come on. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

Jessica shook her head, causing her hair to shimmer in the lights. He hadn’t lied when he’d said sleeping with her would screw things up. But maybe he could ask all his questions real fast.

Five things you’ll NEVER hear one guy say to another guy:

1 Does my butt look fat in this?

2 I’m tired of beer.

3 Yours is bigger than mine.

4 You know what always makes me cry? Those long-distance commercials.

5 Our team lost 10–1. But we tried our best, and after all, that’s the important thing.

Source: Thompson, Dave “Things You’ll Never Hear” http://www.ijmc.com/archives/

3

“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.