The Cover Model

by Cheyenne Meadows

  A thought struck. Maybe that's why women loved romance novels? They imagined themselves as the heroine, falling in love with the dashing hero, a man above reproach who would cherish her forever. In this fantasy world, true love flourished, adventures proved exciting and exhilarating, and in the end, everyone lived happily ever after. So much unlike the real world of job stress, financial strain, communication difficulties, disease, and death.

  Now that she considered it, maybe she needed to purchase another book and soon. Her life wasn't looking so hot, either. She worked, exercised, paid bills, and went grocery shopping. This conference was the first vacation she'd taken in the past ten years. Her last date, nearly a year ago, fell under the category of a natural disaster. Years sped by, and she had little to report on annual Christmas cards to her friends. No pictures of exotic places. No beautiful family photos to include. No big accomplishments.

  Recalling the earlier conversation, she spoke up. "Can anyone attend the party?"

  The redhead turned her head. "It's a costume party, and you have to buy a ticket."

  "Where can I do that?"

  The girl walked over, the high heels quiet on the thick hotel carpet. Flashes and clicks sounded in the background as the photographer continued on with the shoot. "Hon, that party isn't for you."

  Years of nasty comments from other students prepared her for this very moment in life. Instead of crumpling or running, Fancy's ire raced to the surface. She lifted her chin and met the woman's gaze head-on.

  The girl waved her hand. "There are loose women and men circling the flock, looking for a stunning beauty to select for a night of passion." Her gaze raked over Fancy's attire. "From what I can see, that's not the place for you. All proper and book smart. Always in bed by nine."

  Clenching her fists, Fancy bit her tongue.

  "Go on back to your room, little girl. It's a night for women and decadence, not cookie sales."

  "You little…" Grasping her fury in a tight fist, Fancy reminded herself that slapping the witch would land her probably in jail. The twit wasn't worth the effort or the consequences to follow. Heck, she wasn't even worth the upset. Like she could actually quench the old feelings the nasty-tempered woman reignited with a simple thought. Her confidence took a blow, but she refused to let them see her pain.

  With a glare cold enough to turn a volcano to an ice sculpture, Fancy stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut in her wake.

  * * * *

  "Regina! That was uncalled for," Mitch barked across the room, his glare landing on the younger woman with the sharp tongue.

  She whirled around, shooting him an innocent look with a small smile. "Everything I said was true."

  "Jealousy doesn't become you," he admonished. Anger rode him hard, hearing Regina mock Fancy in such a bullying way. Why his next-door neighbor didn't stay and fight, he couldn't say, but probably leaned toward not wanting to rock the boat or cause a scene or interfere with this important photo shoot.

  Still, he had glimpsed her face when she left. The words stung, and her confidence took a blow as well as set her rage to near boiling. Passion and a backbone resided in her, if someone would take the time to coax it out.

  Guilt weighed on his shoulders along with a sense of responsibility. He would make this up to her. Replace the hurt with a happy smile.

  "Mitch. We need you back on the bed."

  Spinning around, he noted Regina reclining across his bed, her saucy red lips in a wide grin.

  Instead of the typical rush of excitement he experienced when taking a beautiful model in hand, his gut churned in distaste. "No. I'm done."

  Gasps echoed across the room.

  "What do you mean? We have time for a few more shots." The photographer lowered her camera and stared at him in confusion.

  "No. I said I'm done. Everyone out." Striding to the door, he opened it, gesturing toward the hallway. "Go finish somewhere else. Without me." Rightness buoyed his energy, giving him strength and conviction in his decision. Pouts and whimpers carried to his ears. He ignored them all. Men who dreamed of a harem at their beck and call had to be crazy to step into a group of ladies full of pettiness, envy, and temperamental natures. An hour was more than he could handle.

  When the last woman walked out, Mitch stripped the bed, called the front desk asking for clean bed linens, and sat down to formulate a plan. He never could stand bullying of others, having been put down himself as a kid. That's one reason he worked so hard in school in order to pursue his dreams to become a lawyer, to have the power and position to even the odds against those that thought they ruled the roost, or at least even the odds for someone else.

  Fancy's crumbling face popped into his mind, evidence of how much simple words angered and stomped on her self-confidence. With the image came a firm resolve. One way or another, Fancy would become the belle of the ball before the convention wrapped up and wear a smile to outshine all the others as she walked in on his arm.

  But first came lunch and another opportunity to search for Donna the embezzler.

  Chapter 8

  Checking his watch, Mitch strode out the front door of the hotel, entering the sunny and cool day outside, immediately glancing around, and searching for potential eating establishments to visit for lunch. The past couple of days, he had relied on the hotel cafeteria for his nutrition needs, but the thought of returning there today zapped his appetite. He needed a change, not just for his taste buds but for the hefty hit on his wallet due to the overblown prices the small restaurant charged. Though the FBI picked up his entire tab for the convention, he still hated to hand over big bucks for marginal meals. He'd been raised by parents that worked as teachers with limited incomes. He knew the value of money, how hard one had to work to earn the currency, and still clung to a more frugal philosophy despite his decent lawyer salary.

  He tugged his jacket closed against the chilly breeze and set off across the street where a flashing light advertised soup and sandwiches. Within a few steps of the entrance, he smelled the delicious fresh baked bread along with cookies right out of the oven. Both sent him to salivating.

  Entering, he found the restaurant warm, cozy, and the perfect size for a casual lunch without the hustle and bustle of larger establishments. He stepped up to the counter, ordered his meal, then looked around the room for a quiet place to sit and eat.

  Spying a figure sitting in the back corner booth, he did a double take. Sure enough, Fancy sat facing him, slowly nibbling on a sandwich and chips. As he watched, she picked up her drink and sipped from the straw, the action somehow sexy and alluring.

  "Sir? Sir?"

  He faced forward once more, smiled at the attendant, paid for his food, and picked up the tray, heading directly toward the far seats, not stopping until he stood at Fancy's side.

  "Is this seat taken?"

  She startled and looked up at him, recognition crossing her features after a quick beat. "Umm. No."

  He smiled down at her, relieved she didn't reject him outright, placed his tray on the table, and slid into the booth seat across from her. "Thanks." Taking a moment to unwrap his food, he considered where to start the conversation. "I take it you're not here for the convention?"

  "Not the one you're talking about, no."

  "There's another?" He tilted his head while wrapping one hand around his sandwich.

  Fancy popped a potato chip in her mouth and chewed. "A meeting of the regional Genome Project follow-through. I had to present the latest research my lab is working on."

  "Wow." He blinked. Of all things she could be, he had never labeled her as a genetics researcher. Yet now that he knew, it somehow fit her and explained a few others things as well. His little wallflower possessed a great mind, high levels of education, and worked to find cures to deadly diseases. Definitely something to be proud of. "That's impressive."

  She shrugged. "Thanks."

  "Where do you work out of?"

  "Denver."

  His mouth fell open.
"Seriously? Me, too." Taking a bite, he waited for her response.

  Her eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "I thought you were a cover model?" She shook her head and waved a hand. "Never mind. I guess you could work primarily out of one locale and travel as needed."

  Swallowing, he grinned at her. "I could and do. However, I'm not just a cover model."

  Her gaze met his and locked. "What else do you do?"

  "I'm a lawyer."

  Her eyes widened while her mouth gaped open. Astonishment showed easily on her expressive face.

  Mitch chuckled, delighting in the fact he shocked her and knocked her off balance. Always a good idea to keep women on their toes and guessing.

  She studied him closely. "What kind of law?" Her tone reeked of skepticism. "And which agency?"

  "Contract law. Real estate. Wills. That sort of thing. More paperwork and less standing before a judge." He bit down on a pretzel. "Brokers, Cally, and Moran."

  Her breath whooshed out. "Oh my god. Your office is just down the street from the lab."

  "Mitch Moran at your service." He held out a hand to shake. She took it with a solid grip, her eyes never looking away from his face.

  "I thought the women called you Mitch Jameson?"

  "My modeling name. Just like the authors have pen names to protect their true identities from stalkers and overly avid fans, models have modeling names. I wouldn't want a mob of women beating down my front door at all hours of the day or night or following me to and from work each day for a picture opportunity or an autograph."

  "Makes sense. So how did you start modeling?"

  Grabbing his plastic cup, he drank deeply. "I started in college. One of my buddies dated a female model. She took him to a session, and the photographer latched onto him. He mentioned it to me, told me how much they paid, and I went along for the ride. Next thing I knew, the photographers were calling me frequently for more sessions. I enjoyed the work, it paid well, and could wrap up in a few hours." He thought back for a second. "I managed to pay most of my tuition by modeling."

  "Even law school?"

  "Even law school," he echoed.

  "And you still model, obviously."

  "Yep. Not as much as the agency would like, but enough to put extra money in my pocket and contribute to my early retirement fund."

  "Wow. Now, I'm impressed. A lawyer. I'd never have guessed."

  His lips twitched. "Most people wouldn't, definitely. I like to keep both careers completely separate." He winked. "I'm not just a pretty face, after all."

  She snorted and ate another chip. "Pretty face to go along with that hunky body." Her gaze flew up to his as if just realizing what she said.

  The corners of his mouth curled up. "Too late. No taking it back now."

  A pretty blush flashed across her cheeks for a long moment before fading as quickly as it came. "You have more than enough ego. I don't need to be adding to it."

  "Uh-huh." Finishing his sandwich, he shunted the topic of conversation back to her. "I've heard of the Genome Project. You work with human DNA, right?"

  "We are one of several labs trying to locate, identify, and map genes that cause specific diseases such as cancer, schizophrenia, Alzheimer's, and several others. More like the second generation Genome Project, to be accurate, with a focus on diseases rather than simply discovering and mapping out human genes. If we can identify the gene or genes responsible, then we can start working on how to rectify the situation in order to prevent, manage, or cure the disease."

  He caught the pride in her voice, the hope she carried in doing just that. Spending her days locked away in a lab in an effort to benefit large chunks of the worldwide population. His respect for her grew enormously. While she might be a squirrel at times, squawking at him over silly things and playing her naïve card, she beat all the models he knew hands down in the humanity and brainpower department.

  "You going to the party tonight?"

  She shook her head. "No."

  "Why not? It'll be fun. Dress up as your favorite 'other' being." He did the quotation marks in air.

  "Not my thing." She shrugged, taking another drink from her straw. "Besides, I have nothing to wear and no ticket."

  Mitch scanned her face, trying to decipher the flash of emotions across her features. He made a mental note to call in a favor or two. As a VIP, he could surely acquire an extra ticket to the nightly events. "There's a costume shop close by. That's where I rented my costumes for the party."

  "Sorry. Vampires and werewolves just don't appeal to me." She set her teeth into the sandwich and bit off a chunk. "What are you going to be anyway?"

  He grinned sheepishly. "A werewolf. Complete with synthetic fur gloves and a head piece with ears and a pointy nose."

  Fancy's lips twitched before she began to giggle.

  "What?"

  "Oh, nothing. Just imagining the pickup lines the women will be using on you tonight."

  His grin matched hers. "Oh, yeah."

  "My, what big… eyes you have."

  "That's the PG version." He waggled his eyebrows. "Some of those women are quite blunt, down, and dirty."

  "You worried there will be a hunter in the forest tonight? Or perhaps someone with a silver arrow? What about fleas?"

  "Nah. I don't do parasites. Nasty. And even if there are hunters and silver sharps around, a dozen women would throw themselves before me, begging for my life to be spared."

  She snorted. "Conceited much?"

  "Perhaps a little." Her laughter sounded like angels singing while her playful teasing put a smile on his face and washed away his worries for the time being. Something about her just felt right.

  As much as he considered bowing out of the event that evening, he couldn't go through with it for a couple of reasons. First of all, he needed to keep his eyes open for the woman the FBI knew had to be hanging around the convention. Although it wasn't likely he could spot Donna, especially if she changed her appearance and added an outfit to match the night's activities. Add that with the fact that his agent would chew his rear if he missed one of the advertised events he had agreed to attend, and he didn't have a choice.

  His shoulders slumped before another idea to meet Fancy popped into his mind. "Tomorrow. It's Old West night. You can find a nice dress to wear at the shop. Heck, a normal Sunday dress should work if you wanted."

  For the first time, she showed signs of perking up. Interest showed with her rapt attention on his face, her eyes sparkled with excitement, and she radiated a sense of hope and opportunity. "I'm not sure…"

  Pressing his advantage, Mitch nudged her toward acceptance. "Come on. Go with me. The party starts at seven. I'll get you a ticket. We can meet at our rooms and go down together."

  Her eyebrows shot up. "You want me to go with you? To a party? Like as a date?"

  His lips twitched with the incredulous tone of her voice. "Yes. Yes. And, yes. I want to escort you to the party, to dance with you, spend the evening with you."

  "Wow. I don't know what to say." She worried her bottom lip.

  "Just say yes."

  Her gaze leveled on his before a slow smile appeared on her face. "Yes."

  Chapter 9

  "Mitch! Oh my god. It's Mitch!"

  Mitch pasted on a smile as two more women rushed to his side, showering him with praising prattle. Polite, he answered their questions before excusing himself to move around the room, his gaze on the search for Donna. Like I can find her in this mass of costume-clad women. Talk about the odds of finding a needle in the haystack. Yet he refused to relent, figuring one of the women who recognized him and darted over might just be the one he sought.

  Always before, the devout attention from the fairer sex stroked his ego and he easily managed to line up a hot, willing woman to spend the cold fall night in sensual activities. He was a man, after all. Single and more than happy to pass away the hours in sexual playtime with a woman who tickled his interest.

  Tonight proved different. The ad
oration chafed his nerves, the flirting, the blatant requests for some alone time with him left him cold and bored. The women were pretty enough, but he couldn't manage even half-hearted interest. Not when his mind continuously crept back to his impromptu lunch date today.

  Fancy. She intrigued him. A mixture of brains, beauty, and an innocence that he hadn't seen since his first year in college. More than likely, she spent most of her college life in class or the labs, striving to get ahead, to crack mysteries, and make the world a better place through her work and discoveries. He certainly respected her for her dedication, but felt she was missing something important: a social life.

  Once again, he recalled the photo shoot. Fancy's momentary interest until Regina's snarkiness shot her down. The cruel statement must have stung, but Fancy appeared resilient enough earlier, not mentioning the event and even sharing a few laughs with him. He gave her credit for guts and the ability to put things behind her, at least for now.

  "There you are." Jennifer, one of the models from his photo shoot, sauntered up. "I've been looking for you."

  He'd been with her before, would be again except the sight of her didn't spark the least bit of interest. "Why?"

  She ran her index finger from his chest up to his lips. "Having you touch me in front of the others today left me hot and bothered. I couldn't wait for tonight."

  "Jennifer…"

  She shushed him with her finger. "I can be Little Red Riding to your big bad wolf."

  Any other time, those words would send a spark of heat straight to his groin. Now, they simply came across as corny and unflattering. "No thanks."

  "What?" Her mouth dropped open.

  "I'm sorry, Jennifer. I have other plans for tonight." Without bothering to explain, he strode across the room and straight out the door. Screw the party and the rest of the evening. He wasn't likely to recognize his target this night, and if another woman threw herself at him, he might just snap.