by Lia London
“Honey, it doesn’t matter if you come across as an idiot here at Conway Comm,” said Adi, taking Maris into a warm side hug. “You work miracles where it matters, so who cares what Claudia thinks? You got the Annex for the homeless shelter, didn’t you?”
Maris peeked up into her friend’s kind eyes. “Thanks, Adi.”
“Anything I can do to help.”
“Want to help me make some phone calls?”
“Nope. Calling you an idiot is as much help as you’re going to get from me today. Your dad gave me a new pile of project analyses to do. See you at lunch.”
Crawford tried not to fidget with his newly-cropped hair as he buttoned on the pale blue dress shirt given him as a costume for his role as an architect in the Recreation Nation brochures and infomercial. “Um, we’ve got a problem here,” he called out to the tiny man with glasses running the shoot.
“Yes?” whined the man from the other room. “I’m kind of busy here.”
“But this shirt doesn’t fit.” He had tried four times to close the collar around his muscular neck.
“Is everything okay, John?” came a feminine voice in the hall.
Crawford darted forward to see who it belonged to and immediately fell into a casual, grinning lean against the door jamb when he saw a pretty blonde with long hair and brilliant blue eyes questioning the scrawny man.
“Oh, Miss Conway.” The little man named John practically groveled. “It’s no trouble. Just the actor fussing about his costume.” He glared at Crawford.
“Costume?” The woman raised an eyebrow and turned, catching sight of Crawford. Her mouth opened in a dazzling smile. “Is John talking about you?”
Crawford’s motors revved slightly, but he kept his stance cool, his gaze connected to hers. “Yeah, they want me to wear this shirt, but I’m popping buttons. It’s made for some pencil-necked geek.”
“He was supposed to supply his own outfit for the job,” insisted John through gritted teeth.
“Hey, I don’t dress nerdy if I don’t have to,” protested Crawford, flashing an apologetic smile when he noted that John wore an almost identical style of shirt and slacks.
With her eyes twinkling, the woman folded her arms. “Popping buttons?”
Crawford stood taller and flexed his pecs. The buttons across his chest strained, and he watched with pleasure to see that the woman took a visible breath. He’d winded another girl. “I’m Crawford Andrews,” he said, sticking out his hand to shake hers. “I’m playing the architect for your little show here. And you are?”
“Maris Conway.” She took his hand firmly, her eyes unflinching even as she gave a shy nibble to her lower lip. “I’m here to help.”
“We’ve got five minutes before the shoot starts,” complained John.
“We’ll get it sorted. Don’t worry,” she assured him.
Crawford let the magnetic attraction pull him a few paces closer. “Maris Conway, as in the Conway that’s signing my check for this gig?”
She stepped back, clearly appraising him. “That would be my father’s department. I’m doing liaison for the project.”
Crawford thought of four innuendos he wanted to throw out, but John continued to scowl at him from behind her.
“Got a tie to cover the gap in your shirt?” she asked.
“Uh, yeah. But I just busted the button in the collar.” He raised his hand to ruffle his hair in his signature move, forgetting the new style left nothing to tousle. Before he could lower his arm again, a button at his chest popped off.
Maris startled. “For heaven’s sake, you’re falling apart at the seams.” Maris’ warm chuckle made him laugh, too.
“Sorry about that.”
“Come on,” said Maris. “Give me the tie, and we’ll see how well we can hide your bulging bits.”
Crawford blinked slowly, letting a flirtatious lilt into his voice. “Good luck with that.”
Maris stooped to pick up the button and set it between her lips while she reached up and laced the tie around his neck. “You really didn’t have your own dress shirt?”
He allowed himself to lean into her as she knotted the tie. “Does this look like my style?”
Her eyes wandered up to his, and the button she held pulled her lips into an adorable pout. She removed the button and shrugged. “We’ve just met, so I wouldn’t know your style.”
John weaseled his way up to them, tapping his watch. “Time, people. We’re on the clock. Photographers charge by the hour, you know.”
Maris rolled her eyes in a way that only Crawford could see, and he mentally calculated how many minutes it would take him to seduce her once he got her alone. She obviously had the hots for him based on the size of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. He figured forty-two minutes tops.
“I need to go check with the production staff,” said Maris. “Think you can keep the rest of your clothes on ’til I get back?”
Crawford coughed a laugh. He could tell she’d meant nothing by it, and her innocence amused him. “Unless they decide to put me in the role of the guy in the jacuzzi instead.”
“That probably would have made more sense than the old guy they’re using.” Maris grinned and headed back down the hall. “See you around.”
“If you have any sway with the big guy, maybe you can make that happen?” called Crawford after her, but she had already rounded a corner and disappeared.
Maris high-tailed it to the ladies’ room, shoving the door open with a gleeful squeak. Stopping at the mirror over the sink, she caught sight of her own wide-eyed smile and bounced on her heels. “Oh my gosh, Maris. He is so delicious!” She pointed at her reflection. “Don’t screw this up and act like a complete ninnymuggins!” With a fluttering of her fingers, she turned on the faucet and dabbed cool water on her cheeks and the back of her neck. “Got to play it cool, Maris. No teenage fawning. Guys that gorgeous are …”
She grunted and bit her lip, balling her fists on her hips. “No, never mind. Most of them aren’t that beautiful in real life. Dang!” With a fluff of her hair, she practiced what she hoped passed for an attractively nonchalant smile. Satisfied with her rehearsal, she took a deep breath and strode back out into the hallway.
“Oh, Maris. There you are.” John came up with quick, short steps, waving his arms like tiny training wheels. “You disappeared on me. Did I hear something about a cast change? We don’t have time for this. How are we going to keep on budget if—”
“Cast change?” Maris brightened. “Ah yes. If you can please ready Mr. Lawrence to play the architect instead?”
“But—”
“Don’t you think we want someone more mature to portray the architect? That Mr. Andrews seems a bit young for the part.”
“True.” John’s whine extended the vowel. “But the old guy is already in his swimming trunks for the jacuzzi scene.”
Maris placed her hand on her chin in a pensive pose. “And how does he look?”
John hesitated, wincing slightly. “Wrinkly?”
“And how do you think Mr. Andrews would look in swimming trunks?” Even as she said it, she clenched her toes and willed a blush to go away.
John twisted his lips and harrumphed. “Better, I suppose.”
Maris wrung her hands in an appreciative gesture. “Thank you so much, John, for suggesting that brilliant change. It’ll appeal to our target demographic so much better than the silly way we had it before.” She patted him on the back. “Call for me if there’s anything else you need. I’ll be in my office.”
“You’re not staying to watch filming?”
“I have some important calls to make,” she said with a smile. If she was going to look like a professional, drool would completely ruin the effect. Maris knew her limitations. “Send me the rough cuts of the ad for feedback before sending it to the editor, okay?” In the privacy of her office, a little dribble on her chin wouldn’t show.
Four hours later, she received a zip file in her email with a full seve
n minutes and four seconds’ worth of glistening Crawford, lounging with slicked-back wet hair in the foaming bubbles talking about relaxing after a long day in the office. She knew the infomercial would only use about half of the footage, and it would be spread out over the fifteen-minute presentation with other Recreation Nation details, but at least she got to keep a copy of the outtakes.
“How’s it going with the infomercial, Honey?” asked her father, poking his head into her office.
Maris kept her eyes on the screen. “It’s going to be your best bid yet, Dad. People will be flocking to order Recreation Nation suites for their businesses.”
“That’s what I love to hear. Good work, Maris.” He smiled affectionately. “Are you planning to attend the photo shoot for the brochures tomorrow?”
She hid her wide smile behind her hand. “You can count on me.”
“Wonderful.”
“Thanks for giving me the assignment.”
He winked. “You’re a big help, Honey. Don’t work too late now.”
“What time is it? Oh!” She snapped her laptop closed. “I guess I can take this bit of work home with me.”
“I love how your enthusiasm for the business is growing, Maris. This is most encouraging!” He pulled a fatherly pose. “You know, when you find something you love doing, it keeps your blood pumping, doesn’t it?”
Maris grinned and smoothed her hand over the laptop. “That it does. That it does!”
Chapter 2 ~ Publicity Stunts
Crawford pulled his arm across his body in a tricep stretch and surveyed the small gym. “Sweet. I never knew desk jockeys used workout spaces like this. You’ve got some legit equipment here.”
“I’m thrilled that you approve.” The weinie guy, John, didn’t sound thrilled. He’d been copping an attitude with Crawford ever since the boss’ daughter switched the casting around.
Crawford had been disappointed that she never came back to see him in the jacuzzi. He’d done enough shower-product commercials to know he scored high on the Sexy-O-Meter when wet. Crawford knew what to do in front of the cameras and women. He could have scored two wins in one shot.
“So, you guys going to have me workout on a bunch of stuff, and you’ll just take pictures of me?”
“Not exactly,” said John. “We only want a shot at each featured item, so they can see it in use.”
“Me in every shot?”
John growled under his breath. “We were supposed to have a young woman in here, too, but she called in with the flu today. Miss Conway said she’d get someone else in here, but I don’t see any signs of the replacement.”
“Oh, hey. Speak of the devil,” called Crawford, glancing up to see the boss’ daughter enter. His brow shot up at her attire: sports tank and knee-length lycra pants. Her hair, up in a pony tail, still hung past her shoulders. “Or should I say angel?” he added with a husky lilt.
Maris bobbed her head. “I actually get called that a lot.”
John stared at her. “Am I to assume this means you’re the female model for the photo shoot?”
She shrugged. “I tried getting someone else in here, but I knew you were on a time crunch. It came down to me or Adi, and she’s got a major deadline.”
Scoffing, John threw up his hands and called down the hall for the photographer.
Crawford pulled his shoulders back and swaggered a little closer. “Is this your debut in the modeling world?”
She wrinkled her nose self-consciously. “I guess so. How hard can it be?”
The corner of his mouth dropped. Once again, people assumed any idiot could be a model. He set his ego aside, hoping for a return on his flirtation investment. “You’ve got the bod for it anyway.”
“Gee, thanks.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m so buff.”
Crawford pressed his lips shut, picturing her on the treadmill. He’d wager that all the right parts would jiggle, and the rest would remain taut. “So, how do we decide who does what machines and stuff?”
“I say we let John boss us around and just have fun with it.”
He grinned. This was his kind of girl: beautiful, playful, and rich. “Agreed. Here comes our task master now.”
John bustled back into the room with a potato-faced photographer who smacked his gum loudly and fiddled with the dials on his telescopic lens. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Crawford and Maris took turns posing with various free weights, sometimes standing, sometimes using the bench. John and the photographer barked orders back and forth and moved the lights and reflective umbrellas around to make up for the gray light filtering in from the northwest sky outside. Crawford used every chance he could to swipe his hand through his hair, knowing what it did for the ladies to see his abs, pecs, and biceps all playing together in one sculpted vision of manhood.
“You know, if your bangs are bugging you, we could spike your hair up or something to keep it out of your eyes,” said Maris. “It’s probably not your usual look, but you could pull off the studly jock type.”
Crawford blinked. Not his look—studly jock type? If not that, then what? Was Maris blind?
Maris approached him with a small spray bottle. “Here, let me.”
She aimed to squirt it at is head, but Crawford held up his hand. “Whoa, whoa. What’s that?”
“Just water.” Maris sprayed some in her mouth to prove it before spritzing his hair and dropping the plastic bottle to the floor. She reached up and mussed his bangs, tugging with her fingers to style them.
Crawford couldn’t think about hair with his heartrate on the rise. She was so close, and so pretty, and the way her hands massaged his scalp drove his pulse into off-road-adventurer mode.
Maris stepped back, her hands at her waist. “Yeah, that’ll do. Looks good on you.”
Was her smile shyer than a moment ago?
He reached for her hair flirtatiously. “Do I get to do the same to you?”
“Oh no, you don’t!” She jumped back and grabbed the water bottle, brandishing it. “Stand back, or I’ll squirt.”
Crawford smirked and took one step closer, his arms raised like a bear on the attack.
She sprayed him in the chest and then gasped and covered her mouth. “Oops! Sorry!”
He playfully snatched the water bottle from her and returned the favor. It was only a dash of sparkle that clung to her collarbone, but his pulse reacted. “And you look … hot.”
Maris laughed, clearly not registering the compliment. “Right. Because we’re all sweaty from the workout. Okay, are you doing the treadmill or the stationary bike?”
Crawford didn’t get the chance to vote because John came over and ordered him over to the elliptical instead.
An hour later, he strolled beside Maris down the hall, ready to make a move, or at least seal a date for the evening. She’d been cute and funny through the whole photo shoot.
They passed a man wearing business casual clothes and talking on a Bluetooth phone about marketing charts. Glancing down at their athletic attire, Crawford wondered why the man ignored their sporty clothes. “You guys really do come down here and workout?” he asked.
“Yup. That’s the whole point of the Recreation Nation campaign. Dad’s trying to sell the idea of mini-gyms for all kinds of office spaces. He wants to keep people who have desk jobs moving, so they stay healthy.”
Crawford squinted. “Is that his goal, or yours? I thought your old man made a killing on real estate development.”
Her lips formed a small frown before bouncing back to a cheerful smile. “What difference does it make? As long as we get the people moving. It’s good for them, you know?”
Crawford nodded appreciatively, adding sporty to the list of her positive attributes. He might even keep her around more than a few weeks.
“So, what do you do around here when you’re not putting together commercials?”
“I’m the head of the philanthropic outreach stuff we do. All the pro-bono work.”
�
�Oh? What does that mean on a day-to-day thing?”
She shrugged and pressed the up button of the elevator. “It varies. Last week, I secured a location for a homeless shelter that we’re going to sponsor.”
Crawford’s mouth fell open in a practiced look of astonishment. “Really? That’s sweet!”
Maris dipped her eyes and tightened her pony tail. “Thanks. It sure beats hanging with all the executives.”
He followed her into the elevator, and the door slid closed. “You don’t like them?”
“I’m just not into all the money talk.” She pressed the button for the third floor. “I mean, unless it’s for a fundraiser or something.”
“You guys do a lot of those?”
“Sometimes, yeah. We’ve got a dinner and silent auction coming up to raise funds for shelter supplies.”
Crawford leaned back against the wall. “Impressive. You sure get things done.”
She smiled sadly. “I try. Sometimes I think I’m floundering.”
“Sounds like you’re awesome at it.”
He knew his compliment hit the mark when her gaze met his with shining eyes. “Thanks.” She hesitated. “Hey, I don’t suppose you’d want to come to that dinner-auction thing?”
“Uh.”
“It’s on Friday.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, short notice. I mean, you’re welcome to come if you don’t have a date already.”
Crawford’s opportunity radar beeped loudly within him. “You mean I don’t already have a date with you for dinner and an auction?”
Her smile spread. “Tell you what. I’ll get you in free if you promise to bid on something, so we can help drive up the prices. You won’t win and have to pay or anything. Just prime the pump. We’ve got a bunch of rich clients coming, and I want to get them digging deep in their wallets.”
“Is there anything worth bidding on?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “There will be.” The door opened. She paused half way through. “Were you planning on coming to my office with me, or are you done for the day?”