Her Wish--A Playboy Genie Romance

by Sophie H. Morgan

  Kate passed a disapproving frown over her, then pressed the green button. “Hello?”

  Charlie ignored her as she rubbed her chest in circular motions, breathing past the blockage. Her heart hammered beneath her ribs, every breath a minor feat. She literally felt a trap closing its teeth around her. Memories she’d padlocked away tried to pick their restraints as she blew out a slow breath.

  “Sure, she’s right here.” Kate held out the phone.

  “I’m not talking to them.”

  “Don’t be rude, Charlie.”

  In response, Charlie turned her head away. She didn’t care if it was childish. She hadn’t asked to be picked. All she wanted was to get on with her normal, everyday, human life. No Genies allowed.

  Kate had obviously put the phone back to her ear. “Sorry, she can’t talk right now. Yes, excited. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” She gasped, bringing Charlie’s head back around. Kate’s hand fluttered at her side. “Really? Omigosh, that’s amazing. I’ll tell her. Yep. Yep. Uh-huh. Thank you so much. Okay, bye.”

  She hung up and clutched the cordless to her chest. “Jax Michaels is coming to the store. Monday.”

  As the Tweedles squealed like piglets and Ian muttered in the background, Charlie stood and walked into the kitchen. There was only one cure for a disaster this huge.

  She grasped the box of Aunt Mabel’s fudge chunk cookies from the side and headed for her room.

  * * *

  “And we’re out,” called the producer, and a shrill bell rang, signaling they were free to talk.

  Jax smiled with lazy charm at the pretty brunette who’d just asked him to sign her left breast. He tucked his thumb into the front pocket of his denim jeans as he surveyed the admittedly excellent canvas.

  “I would, darlin’,” he drawled. “But I’m not supposed to do that anymore. I’ll sign a bit of paper.”

  As the brunette pouted, Winston Morris pranced over in his spiffy navy-checked suit. He folded his arms across a chest Jax knew for sure was padded. The obscene bulge at the front of Winston’s pants was his own business.

  The host nudged Jax with his shoulder, smiling with conspiratorial glee. “Great show, huh? The ratings are always high when you’re on. Got to keep the ladies happy, eh, Michaels?” He boomed a laugh, wiggling eyebrows as bushy as the black hair he stiffened with hairspray every five minutes.

  Elvis would spin in his grave if he weren’t sipping mai tais on some secret Hawaiian island. Check off yet another satisfied winner.

  Jax ignored Winston. He took the paper the brunette offered and scrawled his name, adding a location and time. As she went to take it, he let his fingers brush hers. With a slow, take-me-now grin, he held her stare. “Be there tomorrow and I’ll reconsider the first request.”

  Her cherry lips parted on a breath. Eyes gone slumberous, the brunette smiled back. “I’ll be there.”

  She swiveled and walked away, extra sway for his benefit. His eyes lingered on the sweet curve of her backside.

  Damn shame he had a meeting or he’d have taken her up on her offer, and they’d be in her apartment right now. But duty called. With every quarter came a new strategy, though he knew what it would all boil down to: him. He was WFY’s strongest weapon, the It guy, the man all women ached to sleep with, the guy all men longed to be.

  Winston whistled. His elbow jabbed Jax in the ribs. “What a babe. You tapping that?”

  “I never kiss and tell.”

  The host brayed a laugh. “So how ’bout we go out for a beer, huh? Two single, good-looking guys out on the town. The babes would be all over us.”

  “Sorry, got a meeting with my Handler.” Jax smiled at the petite aide who arrived with the winner’s list. “Hey, beautiful. That for me?”

  A fiery blush spiraled into the aide’s cheeks. “Ah, yeah.”

  “You’re new, right?”

  “Yeah, I, ah, started today.”

  “Well, everyone’s real friendly. You’ll get along great.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Michaels.”

  “Well, that makes me sound old.” Jax let his seductive dimple dance in his cheek.

  Color drained from her cheeks faster than a snap of his fingers. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just, I meant . . .”

  His chuckle was gentle. A beautifully formed pink rose materialized in his hand, and he held it out to her. “I’m joking with you . . .”

  Her tongue dampened her bottom lip as she took the rose. “Jenny.”

  “Jenny.” He smiled again, a suggestive I-know-what-you’re-thinking curve. “Pretty.”

  “Ah, I . . .” She heaved in a breath. The floral sundress she wore over her skinny frame shuddered as she thrust the paper at him. “They said to give you this.” With that, she fled.

  It happened sometimes; his charisma was too much for some.

  Jax scanned down the list of names. Next to each one was a passport-sized photograph of the winner. Contrary to what every Jane and Joe on the street might believe, not everybody was suited to have their wishes featured on television.

  “Any babes?”

  Jax ignored Winston as he ran his thumb across the only female on the list. With skeptical eyes, he studied the unsmiling photo of a woman he’d guess to be in her late twenties.

  Average was the first word that came to mind, boring a close second. Dark brown hair hung straight as a ruler to her shoulders. Her bangs cut across her forehead and framed a pair of light brown—possibly hazel—eyes. A long straight nose cut down to pink lips. There was nothing extraordinary about the girl, nothing that would make Jax take a second look if he was out at a bar. Yet there was a vulnerable quality in those eyes, that half turn of the head.

  With a shake of his head, he dismissed her.

  “No,” he answered Winston, who was still hanging on for an answer. “There’s only one woman, and she’s . . .” He pressed his lips into a tight smile. “ . . . not what we’re looking for.”

  “Let me see.” Winston jerked the paper out of Jax’s hands and peered at it. The hair he’d slicked up and styled with spray quivered like a mountain of dung in a storm as he hooted. “I bet I can guess what her wish is going to be.”

  Jax gestured, and the paper flashed from Winston’s hand to appear in his. “I wasn’t finished,” he said mildly, reminding Winston that although he put up with the inane human for the good of WFY, there was a reason Jax was the Genie and Winston the host.

  Winston swallowed. “Ah, yeah, sorry, man. Just wondered if there’d be a feature in there. Y’know, that sappy shit women eat up. Denise has been riding me about doing more fluffy stuff.” Winston winked as he said in an aside, “Not that I’d mind if she was really riding me.” He laughed as he rocked back on his heels.

  As Winston finally pranced off to his briefing, Jax flashed the paper to his apartment, then hooked his thumbs in his pockets. If he wasn’t committed to his job, he’d have punched the weasel on his first day. Those expensive teeth were looking a little too perfect these days.

  He sauntered toward his dressing room, tossing smiles at every woman who looked his way—which, might as well face it, was every woman he passed. He couldn’t help the way he looked; it was nature. And he wasn’t above using nature to get him where he wanted to be in life.

  “Jax! Oh, sorry, I didn’t see your bag there. Jax. Oof. Yeah, no, that didn’t hurt at all. Honestly, I get whacked in the face all the time.”

  A genuine smile touched Jax’s lips at the familiar clumsy excuses of his twenty-year-old assistant, Josh Lovett. He half turned and waited as Josh ducked and weaved through what had to be a minefield for him, what with the cables and cameras and people. A clumsier person Jax had yet to meet. The kid could be sitting tied to a chair and still manage to fall over.

  Josh bounded up with the enthusiasm of a puppy, nudging his thick yellow glasses onto the wide bridge of his nose. In his other hand, he held a sheaf of papers, including one identical to the sheet the pretty aide had given Jax.

  Jax for
estalled Josh by flashing back his own copy. “I’ve got it already.”

  “Oh, no. I mean, oh, yes. I know. I told Jenny to give you a copy. This is the one with the times and addresses. And your schedule for tomorrow, too.”

  “Let’s see it.”

  Josh held out the stack of papers, then groaned in despair as all of them flooded to the floor in a tidal wave of white. “I’m sorry.”

  Jax’s lips quivered. “It’s okay, Josh.”

  “No, it’s not.” The kid sighed as he stooped to gather the papers and arranged them in a slapdash fashion. “You must want to fire me ten times a day.”

  “Only nine.” Jax noticed Josh’s foot about to slide on a renegade paper and quickly gestured. The paper slid to the side. Josh carried on, unaware he’d been saved from yet another spill.

  With the schedule in his hands, Jax scanned the appointments. As was normal for this time of year, it was packed with publicity events, as well as the winner’s visits. “So, I’m visiting the New York winner at her work on Monday? The Book Nook,” he read off. “On the Upper West Side.”

  “Yeah, that’s at ten a.m., after your showing on Good Morning America.” Josh nodded. His glasses slid to the end of his long, bony nose. “I don’t know which winner you want to televise yet, but if you decide, I can organize the crew now.”

  “I’ll let you know.” Jax scanned the rest. “I’ve got the night off tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes, but remember you have WFY’s charity ball next Thursday.” Josh’s skinny body, all angles and points, shifted as he slid his organizer out of his jeans’ pocket. The denim sagged on him, emphasizing his leanness, and his size fourteens bounced in their Converses as he glanced through his electronic device. “Yep, a week next Thursday. You haven’t picked a date yet, so when you do, let me know her address and I’ll send the usual roses.”

  Jax’s grin was easy. “Where would I be without you, Josh?”

  “Rocking in a corner, screaming.” The kid looked up with a wide smile. He always seemed sunny, no matter the mishaps or incidents he stumbled into, no matter how much stress and responsibility Jax piled onto him. It was part of the reason Jax had hired him over more qualified assistants. He knew WFY would have probably preferred him to hire a good-looking assistant for image purposes, but Josh, with his neon-yellow glasses, his angular body and too-large feet, his gingerish hair and smattering of boyish freckles over tanned skin, was worth more than a hundred groomed kids whose talents were limited to preening in the mirror. Besides, Jax didn’t need someone for image—he could hold up that end all by himself.

  “True,” he replied to Josh. He checked his watch—Armani, this season—and muttered under his breath. “I’d better go—I’ve got a meeting with Luka.”

  “What?” Josh’s expression fell somewhere between alarmed and annoyed. “That’s not on your schedule.”

  “Josh. Relax. Go do whatever normal kids your age do. You got a pretty girl stashed away yet?”

  To Jax’s amusement, Josh’s cheeks fired red. He kicked out one foot, making no sound on the carpet. “Yeah, right, Jax.”

  “Hey, I keep telling you, it’s all about confidence.”

  “And not falling flat on your face,” Josh said wryly. He shook his head. “No, I’m destined to die a virgin.”

  Jax swore his heart stopped. “Never, ever say that to me again.”

  Josh grinned. “You sure you don’t need me tonight?”

  “Nah, you go on. Have some fun. I’ll see you tomorrow at the studio.”

  As Josh nodded, Jax dematerialized.

  * * *

  Charlie waved at the couple as they left the store. “Thank you. Call again soon.”

  She slumped once the little copper bell that hung on the door announced they were gone. Her breath puffed out as she lowered her forehead to the gleaming wood of her counter. And beat her head against it.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  Kate was frowning when Charlie straightened, hands on her hips.

  Charlie propped her elbows on the counter and puffed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. “I gave them personal attention for twenty minutes and all they walked away with was a Roald Dahl paperback and two chocolate cupcakes.”

  “It’s a sale.” The eternal optimist, Kate shook back her curls and gestured at herself. “Do I look okay?”

  Charlie wiped a hand down her face, trying to scrub from her mind the red ink that totaled today’s “profits” so far. “You look beautiful.” Her eyebrows drew together as she took a closer look. “Why are you so dressed up?”

  Kate pulled a face. She smoothed her hands down the closely fitted black pencil skirt that hugged her hips. The silky, scarlet shirt she wore with it glimmered under the intimate lighting. “Charlie.”

  “Why am I getting the voice?” Charlie flicked a piece of dust off the counter and straightened. No point moping. The staff recommended section needed updating. Who knew—maybe it would bring in a few more sales.

  So would retouching the paint on the mauve walls and installing a new carpet to replace the sable brown that stretched from corner to corner and was starting to look thinner than her advertising budget. But wishful thinking wouldn’t help anybody.

  As she came around the counter, Kate’s face fell like a kid’s who was presented with a birthday carrot. “Charlie.”

  “What?”

  “Couldn’t you have worn your nice suit? The beige one with the little slit in the skirt?” She pressed her lips together. “Maybe some heels?”

  “Why?” Charlie straightened a stack of books as she walked past them. She glanced down at herself. Same as usual: smart jeans and an oversized cream sweater. “What’s so special about today?”

  “Charlie.”

  “Okay, you’re gonna need to stop that.” Charlie leaned her hip against one of the large, square tables that she rotated the week’s bestsellers on. She’d crowded four of the tables into the small store, creating what she liked to think was a cozy atmosphere. “What’s with you? You’re all fidgety and nervous, and—” She broke off to sniff. “Is that the perfume Ian bought you in Rome?”

  Said that he bought you in Rome. Read: the local drugstore.

  “Quit messing around—he should be here any minute.” Kate quivered, the silver earrings at her earlobes glinting as they swung.

  As it hit her, Charlie actually felt her stomach drop. Just . . . whoosh. Her toes curled in their sensible black flats. “Oh, God.”

  “Well, almost.” Kate caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she smoothed her skirt for the second time. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to meet Jax Michaels.”

  “I can hardly contain myself either.” Charlie tried to ignore the flutters, nausea washing her throat as she began stacking the books to remove from the recommended section. Her fingers fumbled as a thought popped into her head.

  She spun back. “Kate, when you talked to them on the phone Saturday night . . . they didn’t say we were getting the TV spot, did they?”

  Kate’s eyes grew as round as oranges. Her jaw trembled open. She struggled to breathe—if the hand clutching her throat was any indication.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Charlie took a moment to thank any and every god. Bad enough she’d have to deal with the playboy of Genies without it going live to every person in America. Everybody tuned in to watch Jax Michaels grant a wish.

  She stacked books and lifted them, anchoring the pile with her chin. Sending a look at Kate, she walked toward the counter. “Remember, I’m not wishing for anything. So he’ll be here a maximum of five minutes, unless he takes one look at you and falls at your feet.”

  “He might go for you instead,” Kate said loyally.

  Charlie stemmed the smile. “Right.”

  She set the books down, cursed as the top few tumbled off and thumped to the carpet. She steadied the remaining books and rounded the counter. “Did they say what time the great man himself would show?” She squat
ted to gather the few books.

  “Ten a.m. It’s already eleven.” Kate’s voice was beginning to fray like a three-year-old’s knitted sweater. “You don’t think they forgot?”

  “One can dream.” Charlie stretched for a copy of the latest Nora Roberts that had fallen facedown.

  “Sorry?”

  The little bell rang above the shop door with a bright jangle.

  Charlie sensed Kate move to greet the newcomer, probably with one of her beaming smiles.

  “Hi, welcome to . . . to . . .” Kate’s voice trailed off.

  Charlie paused. Her hand hovered over the book.

  “Well, hi, there.” It was a man’s voice, a drawling, rich baritone with an ingrained note of amusement. Charlie recognized it instantly.

  “You . . . you’re . . .” A light, feathery laugh whispered from Kate’s lips. “Jax Michaels.” As though a god had walked into the store.

  “The one and only. But please, call me Jax.” Charlie heard him take a few steps farther into the store. “Forgive me for staring, but your picture didn’t do you justice. You’re amazingly beautiful.”

  A noise somewhere between a laugh and a whinny came from Kate.

  “I made the wrong decision on the TV crew,” he murmured. “Everyone would be privileged to lay eyes on such beautiful skin, such lustrous eyes. They’re like diamonds sparkling from a deep, velvet blanket.”

  Charlie pressed her fist against her lips to keep from laughing. What a line.

  “T-thank you.” Apparently, that was all Kate could manage.

  “Listen, Charlotte, after we get the business side of this sorted, maybe I could take you out to dinner?” A strategic pause. “In Paris?”

  “I—I, well, I, ah . . .”

  Charlie took pity on her stammering friend and pushed to her feet. She placed the gathered books on the counter and met the surprised cerulean eyes of the most famous Genie in the world.

  “Sorry,” she said, combing back her hair with a hand. “Wrong woman.”

  2.

  Into the humming silence that followed, Charlie added, “Besides, Paris is overdone, don’t you think?”