Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  Distracted by her pose, coy without trying, he focused on her eyes. “Oh, I … uh. I guess I’m done for the day.” He leaned closer, holding the doors open with his raised arms. When her eyes flickered across his pecs before returning to his face, he met her gaze with a knowing smile. “So what time and where tomorrow night? And should I wear the shirt with the popped buttons, or the swimming trunks?”

  The tip of her tongue got caught between her teeth in an adorable smile. “It’s business casual. I’ll send you the information.”

  “Don’t you need my number?” He lowered his voice, daring to lean even closer.

  She cast him a sideways glance before walking down the hall. “I’ve already got it. I know all about you, Crawford Andrews.”

  Crawford’s inner lion roared as he watched her pony tail swish back and forth in rhythm with her hips. Stepping back into the elevator, he smugly recounted all of his best moves of the day. Yes, he’d be able to put her into the rotating line-up of women who desperately wanted him for a month or two. More than that, and she might get possessive.

  “Maris, what are you snickering about?”

  “Get in here!” cried Maris from her office, a giddy squeal punctuating her order.

  By the time Adi’s hefty form filled her doorway, Maris sat with bouncing knees as she prodded her laptop back to life. “Adi, you have got to see who I got a date with for the auction.”

  Adi’s eyebrow climbed a half inch, and she sidled closer, rounding the desk to view the screen. “I’m assuming you’re not talking about John.”

  Maris let out a raspberry noise and then clicked open the video file of Crawford in the hot tub. She tugged the hairband from her ponytail. “Isn’t he beautiful?” She laughed as her friend’s tongue lolled.

  “He is, indeed,” agreed Adi.

  Maris leaned her chin on her hands and gazed at the video dreamily. “And his eyes are even bluer in person.” She knocked her heels together. “I have a date with Adonis.”

  “Does Adonis have a name?” asked Adi. “Or should I call him Bubble Bath Boy from now on?”

  Maris hummed her approval.

  Adi rolled her eyes and stood up. “Girl, you’ve got it bad. You know he won’t be dressed like that at the auction, right?”

  “I know.” Maris took one last, appreciative glance at him before closing the file and toeing her sneakers off. “But it’ll sure make going to the event a lot more enjoyable to have him beside me, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, no doubt about it.” Adi shuffled towards the door. “What’s his name?”

  “Crawford Andrews.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have that backwards? Andrew Crawford would make more sense.”

  Maris sighed. “No, I checked it twice. Crawford is his first name.”

  “I guess models love to flip everything upside down, including their names. Is he famous?”

  “Wouldn’t we know it if he was?” Maris reached down and pulled off her socks, stuffing them into the sneakers.

  Adi shrugged. “Why don’t you Google him?” She waved. “I have to head back to the real world now. Try not to slobber all over your keyboard and short out the circuits.”

  Maris got up and shut the door behind Adi, and then removed her exercise tank. She tossed it on the corner of her desk and picked up the button-down business blouse she’d draped over the back of her chair when she changed into her exercise attire. Sitting back down at the desk, she threaded her arms through the sleeves.

  Curiosity diverted her fingers from her buttons to the keyboard, and she ran a quick search. The top entry for Crawford Andrews showed his affiliation with PDX Prime Actors & Modeling Agency, and the next few were the standard social media sites. She clicked on the one for Instagram and let a dippy smile take over her face while her fingers went on automatic pilot to fasten the buttons.

  When a knock came at the door, she figured Adi had come back for something. “Come in. I’m decent. You should see him with his hair longer. He’s—”

  Her breath hitched. Crawford stood at the door. “Excuse me, Maris?”

  “Crawford!” Maris bolted to her feet. “What are you doing back so soon?”

  His inquisitive expression blended smoothly into a sly grin. “I thought I might need your phone number, even though you already have mine. In case we need to coordinate anything. Or in case I get lost. I’m not from Spokane, so I don’t know all the traffic jam areas.”

  “Oh.” She laughed breathlessly, like a teenager caught kissing her boyfriend behind the bleachers. “Right. Sure.”

  Crawford stepped all the way in, now wearing jeans and a long-sleeved blue t-shirt that accented his eyes and the breadth of his shoulders. He pulled a phone from his back pocket. “Fire away.”

  Maris felt herself inexplicably drawn closer as she recited her name, its spelling, and her phone number.

  He nodded and finished tapping in her contact information. With a twinkle in his eyes, he scanned her from head to foot. “I like it. Kind of mash-up the first two times I saw you.”

  “Mash-up?” Maris stared down at her bare feet and noticed with horror that her blouse buttons were misaligned by two all the way down. Her hair hung in rumpled waves, and she still wore the lycra pants. “Gaaaah!”

  She fumbled with the buttons, trying to fix them without revealing too much, and her words spilled out in an awkward rush. “I’m not actually an idiot. I just come across that way about 90% of the time because I’m not paying attention to things like buttons or shoes. I’m so sorry, I—”

  “No worries,” said Crawford, holding up a hand. “I am an idiot, but no one knows because they’re too busy checking out my hair.”

  “Yeah.” She snapped back to the task of righting her blouse. “I saw the pics of you with longer hair. What made you cut it?”

  “This job. I was supposed to be the architect, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “It’ll grow back,” he said, smoothing the locks by his ears.

  Without thinking, Maris reached up and fingered his bangs. “Still, I feel we should make it up to you. It’ll take months to get it back.”

  Crawford’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me while I grow it out again.”

  A naturally smiley person, Maris found her lips working extra hard to split her face in half. “All rightie, then. See you tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night,” he answered, his eyes intense.

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Sweet.” Crawford winked and backed out of her door.

  Maris chuckled at the way he sounded like a surfer dude from the cheesy movies. Stepping into the hall, she waved good-bye as he reached the elevator.

  Claudia Fremont exited the breakroom next door and glanced in Maris’ direction. “Don’t you ever wear shoes?” She shook her head with obvious disdain before prancing back down to the corner office opposite Mr. Conway’s.

  Normally, this would have wounded Maris, but today she didn’t feel normal. She felt dizzyingly wonderful, because despite being a blithering fool in front of Crawford, he still acted interested in her. Could she have found a sensitive guy at last? One who could love her for her bumbling self and not try to push her past her comfort zone?

  Spurred on by the good mood this thought gave her, she managed to procure twenty-six spectacular items for the auction by the end of the day. If all went according to plan, it would be a night of unparalleled success for her: a date with the yummiest man in Spokane, and enough money raised to buy cots and blankets for the homeless shelter.

  Chapter 3 ~ The Starting Bid

  Crawford grinned at the account balance on his ATM receipt. Bran had really scored him a good gig this time. Loads of cash and a date with the boss’ beautiful daughter.

  On the way back to the motel, he decided to swing by a Fred Meyer store and pick up the architect costume he should have provided in the first place. That way
he’d fit in with the elite money makers at the auction.

  Staring at the rack of dress shirts, he wondered what color and decided to score some points with Maris before the date even started. He thought for a moment and then composed a text: Hey Maris, I thought we should look extra good at the auction tonight. What color shirt should I wear to bring out your beautiful smile?

  He nodded smugly when the reply came almost instantly. Blue. Like your eyes.

  “Oh yeah, Crawdaddy,” he muttered, snagging a pale blue button-down in his size. “You’ll be scoring tonight.”

  ***

  Crawford pulled up in front of the Spokane Convention Center ten minutes early and took in the sight. Both the river drifting by and the curved wall of windows sparkled with light from the setting sun.

  Before he could locate the entrance, Maris texted him. Are you here yet?

  Yes. Just pulled up.

  I’m waiting by the waterfront under the trees. Blue dress. You’ll see me.

  He paced in a full circle, scanning the paved area. “Over here, Maris!” he shouted, raising a hand.

  Maris turned toward the sound of his voice, and his heart thumped in his chest at her angelic quality. Pulled back from her face in a graceful sweep, her hair tumbled down the back of her flowing, blue dress. With the golden light of the setting sun behind her, she almost glowed, and he imagined she floated over to where he stood before responding.

  “Crawford, I’m so glad you came. This’ll be way more fun with a date.” Her eyes widened comically at her own comment.

  “You don’t usually have a date for these things?” Crawford heard himself speak, but his voice sounded far away, drowned out by a rush of blood in his ears. Her skin radiated a delicate, exquisite quality, as if made of glass.

  “Um. No comment?” She gave him a shy grin.

  He shook himself back into the present. “I’d think you’d be the most popular girl in town.”

  Maris let out a musical laugh and gestured at a door in the glass wall. “Shall we go inside? People are gathering in the breakout space.” She tugged him forward, her touch sending an unfamiliar rush of warmth through him, more than the usual fire of sensual attraction. Though he definitely wanted to get as close to her as physically possible, Maris emitted a different vibe. Gentler. Classier.

  They stepped inside an enormous area, open to the roof with walls of glass. Above them, a thin, corrugated metal sculpture hung like waves or clouds. He wasn’t sure which.

  “Wow. This place is fancy.”

  “Isn’t it? It’s a good venue for this sort of thing. When everything screams rich, people give bigger donations.” She winked and nudged him. “I’m sneaky that way.”

  “You little scamp,” he teased. “You’re just playing them for what you can get out of them.”

  The dance of her brows made him chuckle. “It’s for a good cause, right?” She chewed her lip. “Homeless people need their beauty rest, too, you know.”

  Crawford stared at her. How many times had he played a girl for what he could get, yet never for any cause but his own gratification? The realization stung, and he began to suspect Maris was too good for him. Too smart and kind.

  He preferred them empty-headed and full-chested, right?

  “Fingers crossed,” whispered Maris. “Let’s hope we can put everyone in a good mood and raise lots of money tonight.”

  As Crawford followed her across the floor to a cluster of people, he noticed he still held his phone poised to accept a call. Glancing down, he saw another text pop on the screen. Jessica B this time. Crawford squinted and tried to remember if this was the Jessica with the cute nose, or the one with the interesting birthmark. He twisted his lips in thought.

  “Is something wrong?” Maris’ voice held real concern.

  Crawford met her shining eyes, thrown by their joyful intelligence. “Hmm? Oh. No. Nothing’s wrong.” With a few swipes and taps, he deleted the contact. Whichever Jessica it was, she couldn’t compare at all to the girl in front of him.

  Girl? Woman? Though an adult, Maris seemed younger. More innocent.

  She smiled, tilting her head. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”

  He straightened, surprised to feel flustered by her penetrating gaze. “Oh, sorry. I …” His hand circled vaguely. “You could be a fairy princess or something.” He gestured at the hanging art above them. “I mean, up in the clouds or something.”

  Maris grinned. “Or something.”

  Crawford frowned at himself. He knew he often sounded stupid. After all, he’d barely graduated from high school, and only got by now thanks to his muscles and charm. But this wasn’t his usual stupid. It escalated to a tongue-tying that hijacked his normal charismatic mechanisms, and he had no idea why except it had to do with the way Maris smiled at him. Not flirty. Not sensuous.

  Sweet, but not like the sugary candy that came in bold colors and artificial flavors.

  “Like a good tangerine,” he muttered.

  “I don’t know if they have any,” said Maris, extending her hand to him. “Want to peek at the appetizers before we mingle?”

  Crawford’s grip absorbed her fingers. “Yeah.”

  The lavish spread of fruit, complete with a cheese fountain, would normally tempt him, but he moved through the line with a singular thought: Could the rest of Maris possibly be as soft as her hand?

  Seeing Crawford dressed as one of her colleagues instead of the lead in a Sports Drink commercial changed her body’s reaction to him. Instead of spazzy heart thumping and weak knees, warmth bloomed in her chest each time he gave her a secret wink or flashed his gorgeous smile.

  Once they’d loaded their plates with goodies from the gathering buffet, she jerked her head towards the long tables arranged for the silent auction. “Come on. Check out what I got people to donate for the cause.”

  He nodded, popping a cube of melon into his mouth with a frill-tipped toothpick. “Silent auction, huh? How does that work? Hand signals?”

  “No, there’s no gavel-banging or ‘Sold to the gentleman in the polka dot tie!’” she explained. “We have the displays set up.” She pointed to the one advertising a three-night stay in a luxury suite at the Skamania Lodge in the Columbia River Gorge. “People write down their bids, each one going higher than the line before. Whoever is the last one to sign up wins.”

  “No matter how low the bid?” Crawford bent lower to examine the pictures.

  “No matter how low,” she said. Sidling closer, she added, “Though, you’ll see I put a minimum bid down for each one, always priced a little below its real value.”

  “Wow, you did a lot of research.” His gaze panned the wide arc of displays. “You really got this many people to give you all this stuff?”

  “They’re not giving it to me.” She fingered a triangle of cheese. “They get a tax write-off and the proceeds go to the philanthropic fund at Conway to pay for the homeless shelter Annex.

  “You must be some kind of a magical-guru-genius person to get people to donate stuff, though.” He flourished his toothpick at the Skamania Lodge display. “I’ve driven by that place. It’s… wow. Super spendy and nice.”

  “Is it? I’ve never been.” Her ankles jiggled with excited energy. “I’m glad to hear it looks as good in person as it does online.” She scratched the side of her nose. “So, you want to bid on it?”

  “What?” Confusion morphed to comprehension on his face. “Oh yeah, right. That was part of our deal. I’ll bid on stuff to help get the ball rolling.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this one. There are plenty of other things.” She hoped she didn’t sound pushy. “Chances are exceedingly low you’ll win anything because the high-rollers will come along at the last minute and outbid everyone for the stuff they want.”

  “All right.” Crawford picked up the pen lying beside the clipboard. “This one needs a first bidder. Why not us?” With a flourish, he signed the first line and put down a bid.

  As he sau
ntered on to the next display, Maris stole a glimpse at the price. He’d listed it for $50 more than her minimum, a generous but reasonable bid.

  “Did I get it right?” he asked from beside a giant basket of designer lotions.

  Maris balanced her plate carefully, so she could hold two thumbs up. “Perfect.”

  “Sweet.” He picked up the pen beside the lotions to make another bid.

  Glancing back to study his signature, Maris gasped. He had written Crawford Andrews and Maris Conway. She blushed at the gesture and then laughed it off. They wouldn’t win anyway, so it didn’t matter. He only wrote it to get the bidding started.

  It took twenty minutes for them to work their way down the line of displays because she gave a little pitch for each item, speaking loudly enough for others to benefit from her enthusiasm. Twice, Crawford piped in with the news that he’d done modeling jobs for the companies, and it drew the attention of some of the women in the room.

  Including Claudia Fremont.

  She came clicking over in high heels and a form-fitting black dress with a spray of sequins at the shoulder that no one would ever notice because of the plunging neckline below.

  Maris suppressed a frown as Claudia’s free hand crept up Crawford’s bicep as she spoke. “Did I overhear correctly you’re the model for our new Recreation Nation campaign?”

  “I was one of the models, yes,” said Crawford. “But I think it’ll be Maris here that ends up selling it. She rocked the treadmill shots.”

  A bubble of joy rose in Maris’ stomach. “Aw, thanks.”

  “You were in the photo shoot, too?” Claudia’s disbelief might have shattered Maris’ confidence on another day, but the way Crawford beamed at her gave her wings.

  “I go where I’m needed,” she said proudly.

  Crawford laughed approvingly, his eyes never leaving Maris, and she felt giddy that he hadn’t taken Claudia’s bait. Claudia often schmoozed men at these kinds of events, and it made Maris’ stomach churn to think how far she might go to advance her career or make a sale.