"I want Sydnie, Vanden Bosch."
"You can't force her to do it."
"She'll be more than compensated."
Compensated? In what way—the privilege of being his majesty's concubine? “Money isn't everything,” he said instead.
"No more buts. Sydnie models the Venus Bra, or I'll take my business elsewhere.” Mars held up his hand, closing the subject.
Damn! What the hell kind of ultimatum was that? Mars wasn't playing fair.
And Trevor knew why.
Mars was jealous.
Dammit. If he'd kept his personal feelings for Sydnie in check, he wouldn't be in this new no-way-out predicament. Trevor racked his brain for some other excuse to tell Mars that asking Sydnie to model the Venus Bra was a bad idea.
A very bad idea.
But the only one he could come up with was, the truth.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Good morning, Mr. Vanden Bosch. I'm Milford Humphrey. If you'll come this way, we'll get started,” the silver-haired photographer said as he led Trevor into the studio.
An assortment of hand and power tools cluttered a table off to the side of a large grey backdrop. Okay. This wouldn't be so bad, Trevor thought. He could do this. He could pose with a Black & Decker circular saw. No problem.
"The dressing room is over there,” the elderly man said as he pointed a boney finger to the opposite side of the room. “When you're ready, take a seat on that stool.” He scurried around the studio like a busy mouse, turning on and adjusting a variety of spot lights.
"I don't need a dressing room. I'm wearing this,” Trevor said as he tugged at the collar of the plaid flannel shirt he'd gone out and purchased last night for the occasion.
Milford stopped his preparations and looked up at Trevor through pop bottle thick glasses. “There must have been a miscommunication. You need to remove your clothes. There's a robe in the dressing room you can put on in between shots."
"What?” A lump formed in Trevor's throat. “Are you nuts? I'm not taking off my clothes."
Okay. So this wasn't going to be so easy.
"In spite of the rumors you may have heard, I'm quite sane,” the man said defensively. “And I have a letter signed by my doctor attesting to that fact if you wish to examine it."
"Hey, that's okay.” Trevor lifted his hands and took a step back. “I believe you. But, about the clothes, I'm—"
"Miss Riley was very specific about getting shots that, I believe the word she used was smoldered, with sensuality. And I have every intention of giving her what she's requested."
Trevor gritted his teeth. No way was he stripping for grandpa here.
This was the last straw. He'd get even with Syd for this one. Yeah, it was payback time.
"Look, I've got a better idea,” Trevor said with a calm he didn't feel. “I'll unbutton my shirt and ruffle my hair up a little. I can put on my best Elvis sneer, and Voilá! We're done."
The man frowned, his bushy eyebrows drew together, but he appeared to give the notion consideration. “All right. I'll do it your way. I wasn't too thrilled about taking nude photographs of men, let me tell, ya. But you've got to promise me that I'm not responsible if Miss Riley doesn't like the results. I have a business at stake. If word gets out that I don't deliver what the customer wants, I'm jeopardizing future business."
"Sure. That's cool. I'll handle Miss Riley. But, hey. You're probably getting ready to retire anyway, right?"
"On the contrary. I just opened my doors about six months ago."
"Really? Wouldn't you rather be fishing, golfing, having lunch at the senior center, that sort of thing?” Trevor asked as he took a seat on the stool and undid a couple of buttons on his shirt.
"Nope. I've done that for the last twenty-five years. I'm tired of hanging around old fogies. All that talk about Medicare cuts and pre-funeral arrangements started to depress me. I needed a change of scenery, wanted to get back into the scheme of things. Maybe start dating again."
Dating? If a person got too old to make out in a car, didn't they ever reach an age when they were too old to date?
"Looking for a woman, huh, Milf? Just how old would you be?"
"Turned ninety-two last month. Why? Do you have a hot grandma, by chance? I'm not picky either. She can be younger, older, blue-haired, hell, I don't care. As long as she's a female, I'm game. I don't go for that other stuff."
"Ah ... no. Sorry, I don't,” Trevor said, taken aback by the man's openness.
"Oh,” he said clearly disappointed. “What a shame. A man gets tired of trolling for babes at church and the funeral homes. There's got to be other places to meet women. A young good-looking guy like you ought to know all the hot places. Can you clue me in?"
Trevor couldn't argue with Milford's logic about the woes of finding a nice woman. And it was good to know that the younger generations weren't the only ones who faced dating dilemmas.
"Sorry I can't help you, Milf. I haven't had the best of luck in the dating arena myself.” That's what happens when you only have eyes for one girl, and she happens to despise you.
Milford ruffled Trevor's hair and reached for the buttons on the front of his plaid shirt.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?” Trevor leaped off of the stool.
"Trying to make you look like Elvis, remember? Now sit. And unbutton your shirt down to your waist."
Trevor did as ordered. Milf scanned the collection of tools on the table before selecting a long aluminum level. So much for exuding his raw masculinity with the circular saw.
Milf shuffled over and placed the level in Trevor's right hand. He grabbed Trevor's shoulders and twisted him every-which-way before deciding on a pose that left him cockeyed and teetering on the edge of the stool.
"Now, sneer. And don't move.” Milf scampered over to the camera. “Come on, Elvis. Let's see some of that smoldering sensuality!"
"Well, thank you very much,” Trevor crooned like the King of Rock-n-Roll. A series of flashes lit up the room.
"You know, I have Sydnie to thank for all of this,” Milford said as he snatched the level from Trevor and indicated the studio with it.
"Sydnie?"
"Yes. She's my great-niece. She's the one who encouraged me to go for it. Nice girl, don't you think? She'll make some man a fine wife. A very fine wife.” Milford winked.
There was no one Trevor would rather make his wife than Sydnie Riley. But he'd probably have better luck witnessing an Elvis siting. “Sure. But I don't think she'd settle for the likes of me. We haven't always gotten along the best over the last few years."
"Have you asked her if she's interested?"
"Well ... no.” If only it were that simple, Trevor thought silently. Her great-uncle had no idea how complicated things were between the two of them.
"There's your problem. You don't know until you ask. All it takes is courage, my boy. These days a man can live a damn long time. If you find the woman you love, and I mean truly love, hold on to her as tight as you can and never let go. That love is worth all the risks in the world."
"Thanks, Milf. I guess I needed to hear that.” Trevor smiled, fully realizing what it was he needed to do. “Now. About that circular saw."
* * * *
"Went shopping, I see,” Casey said as she joined Sydnie at the copy machine. “Smart choice. That knit top will have Trevor panting big time."
"You don't think it's too much, do you? It shows so much cleavage. I feel like I'm going to fall out. And I'm not used to this draft around my stomach,” Syd said, referring to the exposed area of skin created by her jeans and top. The clerk at the clothing store assured her that low rise jeans, and V-cut, skin tight tops, were the way to a man's libido.
"Quit fretting. It's perfect. The man will be hard pressed to keep his hands off of you."
"We'll see.” Syd grabbed the papers from the copier and headed for her office.
"By the way, I've got about a dozen or so guys lined up for more interviews this after
noon,” Casey said, following Syd. “Some hot prospects, too."
"Good. Go ahead and use your judgement on hiring. I'd like to interview them as well, but we really don't have the time to go through that right now. Keep me posted on what you decide. Oh, and be sure to line up their photo shoots with my uncle Milf right away."
"Will do,” Casey said. Syd tossed her papers on the desk and fetched them each a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “So aren't you going to fill me in on how it went last night?” Casey accepted the water from Syd.
"How what went?"
"Oh, come on. I know Trevor went over to your apartment. You did see him, didn't you?"
"Yes, I saw him."
"Did you have a chance to put any of my suggestions into action? Did things get hot-and-heavy between you two?” Casey smiled and arched a perfectly shaped brow.
Syd twisted the cap off the bottle and took a long swallow. For some reason, revealing information about their attempted tryst in the car bothered her. “Kind of,” she said at last.
"Kind of? They either did, or didn't. Which is it?"
"Okay, okay. For a few brief minutes, things got pretty hot-and-heavy."
"Minutes? Why only minutes? You didn't try any of my suggestions, did you?"
"Sure I did. It's just that we got ... interrupted,” Syd admitted. The whole scene was still kind of embarrassing.
Casey rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Do I dare ask what that interruption was? Do I really want to know?"
"Some college kid caught us necking in my car and said we were too old to be ... making out in the car."
Casey burst out laughing. “In your car? Where were you that someone saw you? The mall parking lot."
"No. My apartment parking lot."
"Really. And you just happened to park under a street light I suppose. Don't you know you're supposed to park in the shadows if you're going to do that?"
"Actually it wasn't a street light."
"Yes?"
"It was broad daylight."
"Woo-hoo! Syd, girl, I didn't know you possessed such a wild side. All these years you've kept it so well hidden."
"It was a total accident,” Syd said defensively. “Trevor caught me by surprise and one thing led to another and well ... we got carried away."
"Carried away? Tell me more."
"Things got interesting. And shoot! That kid brought the whole ... rendezvous, or whatever you want to call it, to a screeching halt.” Syd shrugged her shoulders and took another sip of her water. It probably was a good thing, though. I got a major crick in my neck from my head being lodged between the seat and the door. I fought a headache the rest of the day because of it. And Trevor pinched a ... nerve on the gear shift."
"Oh, this is too funny. That kid was right. You are too old."
"And I suppose you're not!"
"I gave up cars years ago. Take it from me, do yourself a favor and stick to comfortable places. Far less embarrassing and less painful the next day."
"Yeah, well, at this rate, I'm never going to find out what Trevor's after. I'm not cut out for this temptress stuff.” Sydnie ran the tip of her finger along the stem of a Bird of Paradise. “I have to face the facts. I'm a failure in the man department."
"You get bouquets like that and sexy lingerie to boot, and you think you're a failure with men?! Maybe you should seek counseling."
"Thanks for that vote of confidence, friend.” Syd laid down on the couch and cuddled with a pillow. “It's been days since those flowers were delivered and Alfred still hasn't called. I have this crazy feeling they were sent to me by mistake.” Syd covered her eyes with her hand and moaned.
"Stop already. Gifts like this aren't sent by mistake.” Casey sat on the corner of the coffee table and looked down at Syd. “The man had a definite reason for sending them to you. Syd, if there's one thing I've learned, men don't spend money on women unless they want something in return. Trust me. He'll call."
Casey's reasoning made Syd's mind click into suspicious mode. Her friend was right. Men always had a reason, a motive for everything they did where women were concerned.
"So are you going to call him?” Casey asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because...” Syd sat up straight and studied the bouquet, sensing a rat in her midst once more. “I'm not so sure Alfred is the one who sent them."
"But if he didn't, who did?"
"Take one guess."
* * * *
Sydnie studied her notes for the television segment she'd lined up with local anchor woman Vanessa Clausen of Wake-Up, Omaha. At least she could say there was one good thing that had come out of her tenure at Smythe and Jones—clout.
Syd had worked with Vanessa on a number of occasions while developing promotions for Stardust Lingerie. Vanessa loved unconventional endeavors, making Stardust Lingerie, and now, Studs for Hire, a perfect topic for the morning talk show host. But the woman was smooth, and past experience told Syd she needed to be prepared for anything and everything once the camera started rolling. Vanessa was known for her quick, quirky wit, and wasn't afraid to mix a little spice in with her questions.
With Vanessa's drawing power, and the unique concept of Studs for Hire, they were bound to be successful.
"Knock, knock,” Terri said as she came into Syd's office. “I double checked with the vineyard. Everything is all set. They'll be here at ten-thirty Friday to set up for the grand opening celebration.” She glanced at the steno pad she held. “And I picked up the business cards and the entry blanks from the printers this morning."
"Great. Did you have a chance to make out those gift certificates yet?"
"Working on them as we speak."
"Super. Everything is coming together nicely. Is there anything we're forgetting?"
"Not that I can think of.” Terri took off her glasses and chewed on the tip of the bow in thought. “Oh, wait! I have a special delivery for you."
"Oh, not another one.” Syd shoved aside the yellow legal pad she'd been using to write her to do list. “Please tell me it's not more flowers and lingerie."
"So sorry to disappoint you. It's nothing of the sort. But I have to say, I'd take this any day over flowers.” Terri dropped a large manila envelope on Syd's desk.
"What's this? Is it safe to open?” She smiled and winked at her good friend.
"If you're asking if that envelope will explode in your face when you open it, well then I'd say that all depends upon the beholder."
"Terri, sometimes you confuse me."
"That makes two of us. But at least Thomas O'Malley understands me. Amazes me how smart that cat really is. Do you suppose he could be a reincarnate of Einstein or someone super smart?"
"I guess it's possible if you believe in that sort of thing. So what's in here?” Syd asked as she carefully picked up the package.
"Pictures. Your uncle Milford dropped them off a few minutes ago."
"Milford was here and he didn't come in to say hi? How dare he ignore me,” she said good naturedly.
"He said to tell you he was running late and to extend his apologies. He mentioned something about meeting a woman down at the French Café for an early lunch."
"Sounds like a date. I hope it works out,” Syd said as she undid the clasp on the envelope and lifted the flap. “Milf deserves a nice woman in his life."
"Your uncle is ninety-two and he's dating?” Terri groaned in frustration.
"Yep."
"Oh. Life is so unfair. A ninety-two-year-old man is out and painting the town while I, barely thirty, sit at home with my cat and watch TV murder shows every night. What am I doing wrong?"
"Milf likes to get out. And you have to get out in order to meet people, Terri,” Syd said as she pulled a collection of eight by ten, black and white photos out of the envelope.
"I get out."
"Going to the grocery store doesn't count.” Syd switched her attention to a brief note her uncle had attached to the pho
tos. Syd, hope these smolder enough for you! Love, Milf. She removed the clip holding the contents together and froze. A handsome Trevor grinned up at her from the photographs.
"Whoa!” “Pretty nice, eh?” Terri said. “Kind of got an Elvis look going there. Trevor is very photogenic. And I like the level. Nice touch."
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