by Roz Lee
When Home Shopping Network had come to her with an offer to feature their products in an exclusive late-night showcase, she’d been flattered, but she’d also seen the possibility in the idea. If the popular home shopping network thought they could sell their products, then there was money to be made. Why not make it themselves?
She’d done her research before presenting the idea to Ford. It would be less expensive to rent studio space, but they already had an entire building not being used. The red-brick structure she had in mind had been the original home of Adams Manufacturing and had been deemed structurally sound by the people from the state historical society who had come out to see if it qualified for listing on their registry. Renovating the space would cost them up front but, in the long run, would be an investment in the future and a feather in the cap for Butte Plains. Once completed, the building could be home to a new state-of-the-art studio with plenty of room for offices and the distribution center Ford had correctly listed as an expense. Removing the cost of land and constructing a new building out of the equation made the start-up bottom line a nice shade of pink instead of bright red.
Until the new studio could be completed, she planned to begin production in the conference room in the present building. Some soundproofing would be necessary to prevent rumblings from the factory bleeding into the sound feed, but the renovation wouldn’t cost much. Besides, she fully intended to start small. No sense dumping a lot of cash into what she had to admit could be a bit of a risky venture. No one had ever attempted to sell adult toys on television. The concept might be a complete flop, but she didn’t think so. She knew marketing, and the success of various niche home shopping networks told her this one would be well received by the buying public.
Especially if you had a sexy-as-sin person hawking the wares. And Ford Adams was sexier than sin.
~~~
Ford had to admit the conference room turned studio looked pretty good. Not fancy, but thanks to the magic of television, the viewing public would never know. The part of it they would see had clean lines, and above all, looked classy.
“Is it worth all the noise you had to endure the last few weeks?”
Ford hadn’t gone along with the idea of launching their own adult toy shopping show easily, but he’d seen the miracles Becky Jean could achieve when she set her mind to something. If she said it would work, then it would work. He turned to his business partner. “It looks good.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
God, he loved to push her buttons. When riled, she turned a becoming shade of red, and Lord, if the sight didn’t set his blood on fire.
He had no business toying with her, though. He’d long since decided their professional relationship wasn’t enough to keep him from taking what he wanted, but every time he thought about acting on his desires, something happened to remind him his stint here would end soon. The last time he’d spoken to Ronnie—over a week ago—she’d pumped him for information about when he would find a buyer for the company and get the hell out of Dodge. He’d reminded her Dodge was in Kansas, not Texas. She hadn’t been amused.
Truthfully, he’d begun to like it here. He was having more fun than the law allowed, as his dad used to say, designing sex toys and watching his company grow. His company. Not his dad’s, not his family’s. His. Yes, he’d built on the bones of the ones who’d gone before, but in all fairness, there hadn’t been much left. He’d take partial blame for the condition he’d found the company in. If he’d returned to Butte Plains after college, he might have helped his father turn the company around before things became desperate. If his father had asked, he would have come. But Ken Adams knew his son, and, in keeping his difficulties to himself, he allowed Ford to seek his own happiness.
He’d be eternally grateful for the opportunity. His dad had been one in a million.
So, coming to the realization he wasn’t exactly bored with his life in Butte Plains came as a bit of a shock. He’d yet to decide if he wanted to stay permanently. He still had eight months before he could sell out, so he didn’t need to make a decision until then. And, if he did decide to keep the place, Becky Jean had proved more than capable of running the entire shebang without him being present. He could design products anywhere in the world. If they needed him in the initial stages of product development, he could pop back in for a while.
Looking around the room once again, he admired Becky Jean’s ingenuity. She’d made something out of nothing, and done it in record time. “How deep are we into this project?”
“I put the expense report on your desk this morning.” She had, and he’d glanced at the bottom line, but telling her so would make her suspicious. She thought he didn’t read the constant stream of financial reports she sent his way, but that wasn’t entirely true. He read the bottom line on all of them, if not the details. He’d never told anyone about the second mortgage he’d taken on his house in New York. Those first couple of months had all but drained his personal reserves. Thanks to their success with the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System, he’d paid off both mortgages on his home, and he once again had financial reserves. Becky Jean Parker had as much to do with it as anyone. Adams Manufacturing had gained solid financial ground, thanks to her marketing skills and her ability to be everything to everybody. The earning potential of the company was through the roof, the cash flow robust, and their debt low. Now would be the perfect time to look for a potential buyer.
So, why are you still here?
He’d asked himself the question a million times, and the only answer remained—he was having fun. He was designing for himself for the first time in his professional career, and he had the means to watch those designs leap from the page, become reality then go out into the world for millions to enjoy. One day, he’d have to go back to the business he’d built with Scott right out of college, but for the time being, he owed it to himself to enjoy the life he’d dreamed of since he drew his first invention at the age of seven.
He glanced at the woman who made it possible for him to do nothing but draw all day. Becky Jean solved problems across the spectrum—from production snafus to missing paperwork. Everyone, including him, relied on her. “You did?”
“You know I did.” Her tone made it clear she’d lost all patience with him. He needed to come clean.
“Yes, I know. I read the report. You’ve kept the cost down on the project, and I appreciate it. I’m not entirely convinced this is going to be a success, but at least we won’t lose our shirts on the deal.”
“High praise from you,” she said.
“It looks like you’ve got everything under control.” He ran a hand over one of the boxes containing lighting equipment that had arrived earlier today. “Your report listed the technical people you hired, but I didn’t see a spokesperson. Haven’t been able to find anyone?”
It was one thing to stand in front of a camera and talk about cookware or jewelry, and quite another to talk about butt plugs. Not to mention, finding someone to fill the role in Butte Plains seemed an impossible task.
“Uh… no. I mean, yes.”
Her stammering made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Everything from the flush of her cheeks to the way she pretended interest in the papers on her clipboard told him she had something to hide—something he wasn’t going to like. “Which is it?”
“Which is what?” She wandered around the room until she’d maneuvered a stack of boxes between them.
He hadn’t seen her this nervous since the night she’d called him to her house to help her remove the prototype of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System. “Becky Jean.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” she pleaded. “The demographic research suggests more than 75 percent of all adult toys sold are purchased by women.”
He’d read the same statistic somewhere. Probably on one of the reports she’d sent his way. “So? What does that have to do with our spokesperson?”
“Well, it needs to be a guy.”
“Good!” She smiled the biggest smile he’d ever seen then made her way out from behind the wall of boxes. “It’s all settled, then.”
“Wait,” he said, putting himself in between her and the door. He could almost feel the weight of the boulder dropping out of the sky, aimed straight for him. “What’s settled?”
“Our spokesperson, of course. You’ll be perfect.”
Wham! Splat! She’d played him like a fiddle. He raised both hands, palms out. “Whoa. Back the wagon up, little lady. I am not going to go on TV to sell butt plugs.”
“Well, someone has to, and who knows the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System better than you?”
Logic wasn’t going to work on him. Not when it came to making a fool of himself. “That’s not the point, and you know it. I’m a product development engineer, not an actor.”
“Who said anything about acting? Remember when you were trying to sell me on the idea?”
He nodded, recalling how difficult she’d been to win over. In the end, it had been the product, not anything he’d said that had convinced her to jump on the bandwagon.
“You convinced me, and I’d wager the phones will be ringing off the hook with women wanting to buy anything you’re selling.”
“Don’t bet the company on it, Becks.” He used his most menacing, don’t-fuck-with-me voice. He trusted her judgment regarding their business, would do anything she said—within reason. This was not within reason. Not even close.
“I’m not, but even if I did, it’s a safe bet. No one is more passionate about your designs than you. Our sales took a noticeable jump after the article about you appeared in Texas Monthly. And, at the risk of inflating your already-considerable ego, you aren’t bad to look at. The female audience is going to eat you up.”
He stored away the fact she thought he was good-looking for another time and concentrated on the more pressing matter. “What about the male audience? Don’t they matter?”
“Truthfully? Not as much. Women do most of the purchasing in this country. They’re the ones we have to appeal to.”
“As a male of the species, I’m offended.” And screwed. As usual, she knew her facts.
“Get over it, Ford.” She glanced over her shoulder at the boxes. “The technicians will be in this afternoon to set everything up. We’ll have a dress rehearsal at six this evening. If everything goes well, we’ll go live next week.”
“Live?” Out of necessity, he’d long ago gotten over his aversion to public speaking, but live television? Not his idea of a fun time.
“For now. If sales warrant, we’ll invest in taping equipment, but until we see if this is going to work, our shows will be live broadcasts.”
He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He wished he’d put his foot down on this project when he’d had the chance. “What if I say no?”
She huffed out a breath. “Look. You wanted me to keep expenses down, so I have. I’ve compromised on everything, including the studio I really wanted. On-air talent is expensive.”
“How expensive?”
She named an hourly wage he could barely comprehend.
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“I wish I was. Plus, the agents I spoke to all insisted on lengthy contracts. I want this to work, but I’m realistic, too. We’re launching to a small, localized market. It could flop, and I don’t want to be on the hook for any more than we have to be.”
He couldn’t fault her for being practical. She was a hell of a businesswoman and a marketing genius. Adams Manufacturing was lucky to have her. He was lucky to have her. For better or worse, they were in this together. She’d left him little choice. “I’ll agree on one condition.”
“Anything you want.”
For the first time since she’d sprung her crazy-assed idea on him, Ford smiled.
~~~
I can’t do this. Standing on the mark the director indicated, Becky couldn’t ignore the testosterone tower next to her. Since Ford had taken to wearing jeans and worn-out MIT T-shirts to work—something she blamed on his friend Scott—she’d almost forgotten how breathtaking he looked in the tailored suits he’d worn when he first returned to Butte Plains. Between his distracting presence and the display of butt plugs on the table next to them, she was as nervous as an armadillo crossing a six-lane freeway during rush hour.
Anything you want, her conscience mocked. Whatever possessed you to say such a thing?
“I’m ready. How about you, Becky Jean?” Ford’s deep voice held a hint of mockery, too. And why wouldn’t it? She’d opened the door, and he’d walked right through, dragging her into the pit of humiliation she’d dug for herself.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” She wiped her sweating palms on her skirt.
“This is a rehearsal. It doesn’t matter how you look,” Ford said.
Easy for you to say, Mr. Perfect. “Still no reason to be a slouch.”
“Just relax,” Justin said. The kid just graduated college with a degree in filmmaking, and he was eager to put it to use. The idea of being on the ground floor of something as innovative as the Adult Shopping Show appealed to the young man. Even the pittance she’d offered him hadn’t discouraged him from accepting the job as producer/director/master-in-charge of getting them on the air. “Everything is on the teleprompter but feel free to improvise.”
“I think I’ll stick to the script,” Becky Jean said.
“Not a problem. It gets the message across.”
It should. She’d written it herself.
It took over an hour to get through the half-hour segment. Justin continually stopped to adjust the lighting and remind them to relax. Remind her, she amended. Despite his initial resistance, Ford proved to be the natural she’d predicted he would be. She was the mess.
“You should do this alone,” she said as they wrapped up the second run-through.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ford said. “If I have to do this, you have to do this.”
“I’m worse than Lucy Ricardo trying to sell Vita-Meata-Vegimin.”
“You’ll be fine,” he stated with a finality that said he wasn’t going to let her off the hook.
“I’m going to remind you, you said that when social media starts lighting up with scathing reviews of our show.” As she stomped off the set, she wished she’d never had the idea in the first place.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Becky Jean had to be the worst spokesperson he’d ever seen, but Ford knew exactly how to fix the problem. He didn’t know shit about teleprompters, but, being mechanically gifted, he could figure out most anything. Arriving early to the makeshift set, he disabled the reading device. Without it as a crutch, Becky Jean would be obliged to interact with him instead of just reading scripted lines. She’d never had any trouble telling him exactly what she thought, so, he reasoned, if he could keep her attention focused on him, she’d forget all about the camera and the audience, and things would go much smoother. He hadn’t convinced Justin, but the younger man agreed to give it a shot after Ford added another percentage point to the man’s commission off sales made through their new 800 number.
“Don’t let on you know this is a setup or she’ll walk,” he cautioned their jack-of-all-things-television.
“My lips are sealed, Mr. Adams.”
“Seeing as we’re partners in crime, why don’t you call me Ford?”
The kid nodded. “Ford it is. You really think your partner is going to be able to pull this off?”
“If there’s one thing I know about Becky Jean, it’s she can do anything she sets her mind to. Just remember, no matter how mad she gets, keep the cameras rolling.”
“Whatever you say, Ford.”
Becky Jean breezed in. Earlier in the day, she’d had on a cute dress that reminded him of summer picnics. The suit she’d changed into screamed cock-bl
ock. If she buttoned up any tighter, her eyeballs would bulge out.
“Oh, hell, no.”
“What?” She stopped in her tracks. “Is something wrong?”
“Where’d you get the Mary Poppins’ suit?”
She glanced down at herself. “Nordstrom’s in Dallas. Why?”
“It’s hideous.” Judging by the color in her cheeks, he’d pissed her off and he hadn’t uttered a single lie. “Is it the same one Lucille Ball wore in the Vita-Meata-Vegimin commercial?” It damn sure could have been. It was that ugly.
She lifted the skirt thingy hanging over her hips. “Peplums are very much in style, I’ll have you know.”
“You wearing something under that hideous thing?”
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish as she absorbed the insult and contemplated her answer. “Of course.”
Just as he’d thought. Buttoned-up Becky Jean would have more than one layer of armor. “Then take it off. Style or no style, the jacket has to go.”
She turned to Justin, silently asking his opinion. The younger man didn’t miss a beat. He shook his head. “I’m with Ford. Take it off.”
“Well, I never—” She removed the jacket, then hung it carefully on the doorknob. “Satisfied?” She spread her arms wide to show off a silk blouse. It wasn’t anywhere near as ugly as the suit coat, but it still screamed uptight bitch, not sexy woman.
“It’s not great, but it’s better.” Ford motioned her over to her spot beside him. They would open with a wide shot of the two of them then narrow to a close-up as the two introduced themselves and welcomed viewers to their new show. Later, they would move to the display table and spend the last twenty minutes talking about today’s product—the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System.
Becky Jean had done a credible job with the script she’d prepared for the sabotaged teleprompter, but it had nearly bored Ford to death. If they had any chance of this network idea working, they were going to have to grab any viewer’s they had by the short hairs and refuse to let go.