Jessica, I loved the gag. Let’s talk. Breakfast tomorrow before Bloomingdale’s? I’ll be in the coffee shop at six.

The note wasn’t signed, but of course she knew who it was from. At least she knew she’d be having breakfast in the suite.

“Cool basket,” Dan said. “From Owen?”

“Yep.”

“I see chocolate. I see champagne. Excellent.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s worried. By the time the party’s over tomorrow night, he’ll be totally convinced.”

“I hope so.”

“Trust me.”

She tossed the card on the table and looked into Dan’s eyes. “You know what’s completely weird?”

“What?”

“I do.”

MARLA CHECKED her clipboard for the fiftieth time in the last hour. Everything had gone like clockwork at the makeover, which made her very nervous.

All ten of the lucky winners had been coiffed, massaged, facialed and made up with New Dawn cosmetics, and they all looked fabulous. Pictures had been taken, the media had been cooperative, and all in all, the first leg of Operation New Dawn had been a smashing success.

Now, while Jessica was doing her last-minute thing at the Panorama, Marla was in charge of collecting the models and getting them spruced up and prepared for the night’s soiree.

No problem. Except, of course, for one thing. In Marla’s not-so-humble opinion, the model, no The Model who was the star of the campaign wasn’t Sheree O’Brien, although she was making almost five million dollars a year as the New Dawn woman. The real star was none other than Shawn Foote. He wasn’t as famous as Sheree, but he was much, much better-looking. In fact, he was the single most handsome man on the face of the earth. Marla knew this, because she’d seen a lot of people, and none of them came close to Shawn’s gorgeousness.

Just thinking about him made her palms all sweaty, which sucked because she might get to touch him, and she didn’t want him going “Ugh” first thing. First impressions, and all.

But, oh, he was so…She sighed. His hair, honey-wheat and thick, tumbled around his face in the sexiest possible way. His brown eyes were sweet and soulful. She sighed. She was going to be a gibbering idiot when she met him, she just knew it.

Checking her watch again, she saw the models were due in, like, two minutes. They had taken over half the salon at the hotel, and cordoned it off. A whole lot of lookie-loos were standing outside the barricade, waiting to see what was going on. Also some paparazzi, but she wasn’t worried. Publicity was the name of this game.

All she had to do was not trip or throw up or something. Act like a professional. Act like Jessica. She could do it. At least she could try.

A limousine pulled up under the awning, and a uniformed bellman went to the door. Marla’s heart started thumping in her chest and she wiped her hands on her skirt. Pasting on a smile, she walked to the curb, but it was just Sheree. Of course, the throng went a little nuts, and the flashbulbs exploded all around, but she’d met the supermodel before, and Sheree even remembered her name. Marla escorted her to the waiting stylists, made sure she had coffee, then skedaddled back outside.

Two more models showed up, and Marla hustled them inside, and then, it happened. He arrived. The only male model, there to show off Daybreak cologne, he stepped out of his limo wearing worn jeans, a Joe Boxer T-shirt and scuffed Skechers. Her heart skipped, jumped, leapt as he turned her way and smiled. Oh, God! That smile. That face. That hair. She couldn’t take it. She was going to die, right here, and that would be okay because Shawn had smiled at her as if she was a real person or something.

“You must be Marla,” he said.

His voice. It was just as she’d imagined. Soft, low, perfect. She managed a nod.

“Great to meet you. I’m Shawn.” He held out his hand.

She panicked. Sweat. Ugh. But she couldn’t wipe it again. Not while he stood there. So she just swallowed hard and stuck it out there.

His grip was gentle, but not wussy. He hesitated for just a few seconds. She knew because she counted every heartbeat. Then he let her go, at least her hand. Not her gaze. That he held, and she was lost. Lost.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I don’t…Oh. Uh, this way.” She spun around, almost losing her footing, but she didn’t fall, thank God, and she somehow walked him past all the photographers and gawkers until he was inside the salon.

Terry, the lucky dog, was going to put on Shawn’s makeup for all the pictures and stuff. There were going to be tons of TV cameras and photographers. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just sat down, grinned and said, “Have at it.”

Marla watched as Terry put a big cape over his body, then ran her fingers through his hair.

That was it. All Marla could stand. If she watched for another second she would expire from the sheer magnificence of it all.

She tore her gaze from the mirror, then from the back of his head. She forced herself to take a step, then another until she was around the corner. She slumped against the wall, desperate to get her breathing back to normal. She still had a lot of work to do. But for the moment, while she recovered, she could think about the way he’d smiled.

She sighed. It was going to be a weird and wonderful week.

Why do men get married?

So they don’t have to hold their stomachs in anymore.

What are a woman’s four favorite animals?

A mink in the closet, a Jaguar in the garage, a tiger in the bedroom and an ass to pay for it all.

How do you get a man to do sit-ups?

Put the remote control between his toes.

What’s the difference between men and government bonds?

Bonds mature.

Why are married women heavier than single women?

Single women come home, see what’s in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what’s in bed and go to the fridge.

Source: Thompson, Dave “More Dumb Men Jokes”

http://ijmc.com/

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6

DAN LOOKED at himself in the mirror, and straightened his tie. He liked the Armani tux and thought it worth the extravagant price he’d paid. The tailoring was so fine he felt completely at ease and ready for the night ahead.

He expected to find Jessica waiting for him in the living room, but the bedroom door was still closed. She’d gotten home an hour ago, given him a brief report on her day, including Owen’s insistence that Dan wasn’t really her boyfriend, and then she’d closed herself in to get ready for the gala.

He’d stared at the door for a long time, aware of the urge to walk in on her, to watch her as she dressed. In his mind’s eye he’d imagined her sorting out her things, preparing herself layer by layer. Dressed in nothing more than a long royal-blue kimono, she’d passed by on her way to her shower. When she reappeared, her hair was fixed in a sensual updo and her makeup made her blue eyes seem startlingly vivid and her full lips moist and ripe as just-picked strawberries.

She’d disappeared again, leaving him to get dressed, and he’d taken his time. They were to be at the party a full hour before the first guests should arrive so that Jessica could take care of any last-minute details. Marla had called once, and Jessica had taken it in the bedroom. Other than that interruption, he’d been left to his own thoughts, which had gone in one very narrow direction.

Last night, after Jessica had gone to bed, hadn’t been a restful one. The question he’d asked her had tormented him, giving rise to image after image of him tying her to his large four-poster. In some scenarios she was naked, but in most she wore something. A bra and panties, white lace or black. A bustier complete with garter and dark hose, and as he’d tied silk scarves to her graceful ankles, he studied her four-inch stilettos. Still another version had her in business garb, a slim skirt he’d hoisted to the junction of her thighs, the better to spread her legs. Her demure jacket unbuttoned and open, revealing a thin teddy that couldn’t hide the hard buds of her nipples.