OPERATION BABE-MAGNET / OPERATION BEAUTY

by Kristin Gabriel

  Operation Babe-Magnet

  Operation Beauty

  * * *

  Contents:

  Prologue

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

  * * *

  * * *

  Prologue

  ^ »

  "I want you to jump out of the plane."

  Dexter Kane's ears popped as the small airplane ascended into the sky. So he was certain he'd misunderstood his grandfather's last words. "What did you say?"

  Amos Kane smiled at his grandson. "I want you to jump, Dexter."

  Dexter glanced at his younger brother, Sam, who was flirting with a woman on his cell phone. An inveterate playboy, nothing could keep Sam away from the ladies, whether he was on the ground or in the air. "Time to hang up now, Sam."

  Sam held up two fingers, signaling for just a little more time.

  Dexter turned back to their grandfather. "Did you forget to take your medication this morning?"

  Amos shook his head. "I haven't taken any of that crap for the last month. Made me tired and cranky. But I can see you're a little confused, so maybe I'd better start from the beginning."

  "Good idea." Dexter leaned back in his seat, his hands gripping the armrests. He hated flying. Hated the feeling of being out of control. That was one of the reasons he'd planned out his life so meticulously. After growing up with two parents who spent more time on their yacht in the French Riviera than with their sons, Dexter knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life.

  For the last twenty-eight years, he had been willing to do anything and everything to inherit the family business conglomerate that his grandfather had started over forty years ago with the success of a simple board game. Dexter had started proving himself when he was fourteen years old, working as the office janitor at the Kane Corporation. From there he'd moved on to the mail room, then on to being a courier. After college, he'd started at an entry-level position in the accounting department, working nights and weekends before slowly and steadily ascending to management level.

  Amos had long ago made it clear that the Kane Corporation would be his grandsons' legacy, since he intended to leave the rest of his estate to charity. He wanted Dexter and Sam to make their way in the world, unlike their father, who had frittered away his trust fund.

  Just last week Amos had announced his intentions to retire. Only he hadn't given any indication of who his successor would be. A fact that had made Dexter more nervous with each passing day.

  "We're going to play Chameleon," Amos began, referring to the career role-playing board game that had made the Kane Corporation famous.

  Sam snapped his cell phone shut and leaned forward. "What did I miss?"

  "Grandpa wants us to play Chameleon," Dexter replied, skipping the part about jumping out of the plane.

  "Cool." Sam looked around the cabin of the Cessna 206. "So are we playing the original version or millennium version?"

  "The real-life version," Amos replied, pulling two small, sealed envelopes out of his coat pocket.

  "I'm not sure I understand," Dexter said, although the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach belied that statement. Chameleon was a board game that allowed players to take on different career roles. The path they chose to follow and the decisions they made along the way led them to either victory or defeat. Dexter and Sam had played it often when they were younger, although a fistfight usually ended the game before a winner was declared. Dexter was a stickler for following the rules, while his younger brother was always looking for a shortcut.

  "It's simple." Amos placed the envelopes in the center of the table. "You'll each take on a new job for exactly one month. Each of these envelopes contains a game card listing your new occupation. Whoever can pull it off will win the game. And the company."

  "What if we both pull it off?" Dexter asked, though he knew he had an advantage over his brother. Sam had a commitment problem, whether it was with women or with work. He tended to lose interest fast and move on to something new, although, Dexter did have to admit that Sam had stuck it out at the Kane Corporation for longer than usual. No doubt the freedom he experienced heading the creative team of product development had something to do with it.

  "In the event of a tie," Amos explained, "I will ask each of your employers for a performance review. Whoever scores the highest will be the winner."

  So they not only had to do the job, but do it well. Not a problem, Dexter thought to himself, since he'd been a terminal overachiever since his preschool days.

  "Wait a minute, Gramps," Sam said, his brow furrowed. "Dex and I already have jobs at the company. Why do we have to work somewhere else?"

  Amos leaned back in his seat. "The purpose of the game is to prove how important the family business is to you. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. You might even enjoy it."

  Dexter didn't want to work anywhere else. He'd lived and breathed the business for the last decade. Running the Kane Corporation was a natural for him. He didn't have his brother's charm or his parents' social acumen, a fact made painfully clear to him as he was growing up. After a while, Dexter had quit trying to fit in with the crowd and concentrated on his intellectual skills.

  Now he was so close to achieving his dream. And certainly more qualified than Sam to take over the business. Hell, his brother would probably institute a four-day workweek and a casual dress code. It wasn't fair. Sam had always had everything going for him. Looks. Charisma. Women. All Dexter wanted was the company.

  But to get it, he had to play a silly game.

  Dexter glanced at Sam, all the old feelings bubbling to the surface. They'd been fierce competitors since sharing the same playpen. Dexter had organized their blocks by color while Sam had cajoled their nanny into giving him the extra cookies. They hadn't changed much since then. Dexter thrived on work, while Sam preferred playtime. But they did have one thing in common—they both wanted the family business. And their grandfather was a firm believer in winner takes all.

  "The game will end at midnight exactly one month from today," Amos continued. "We'll meet at my office to crown the winner. There are only three rules to follow. First, you cannot tell anyone you're playing the game or your real occupation. Second, you cannot contact each other during the duration of the game." He smiled. "And third, you must follow the directions of any game card you receive along the way. So expect a surprise or two in the next few weeks."

  "Well, count me in," Sam said. "It sounds like a blast." He held up his envelope. "Can I open it?"

  "The sooner you do, the sooner we can start the game," Amos replied.

  Sam ripped the seal and pulled out his game card.

  "Well, look at this." He flipped the card around so Dexter could see it.

  "Salesman for Midnight Lace?" Dexter read aloud. "You have to sell ladies' lingerie?"

  Sam grinned. "Now that's what I call a dream job."

  Dexter carefully slit open his envelope, then pulled out his game card. He looked at it, then blinked and read it again. This had to be some kind of joke.

  "Well," Sam asked, leaning over to look at the game card, "what's your new place of employment?"

  Dexter swallowed. "A male escort agency."

  Sam grinned. "You mean my brother is going to become a gigolo?"

  Dexter turned to his grandfather, ready to argue for a different occupation. He was the last man qualified for such a job. He wasn't even sure it was legal.

  But the parachutes in Amos's hands made the objections die on his lips.

  "Here you go, boys. Put these on, then you can hit the ground running."

  Sam frowned. "What are those for?"

&nb
sp; "To break your fall when you jump out of the plane." Amos handed a parachute to each of them.

  Sam glanced up at Dexter, then back to their grandfather, who was affectionately known as Crazy Amos around the office. And for good reason. "Did you forget to take your medication again?"

  Amos waved the question away. "We've covered that topic already. I think jumping out of this plane is the perfect way to start the game."

  Dexter glanced out the window. "Where exactly are we?"

  "Just outside of Pittsburgh," Amos replied. "Lots of grassy pastures and flat farmland around so you shouldn't get hurt when you land."

  "But how are we supposed to find our way back to the city?" Sam asked.

  "That's part of the game." Amos rubbed his hands together. "This way neither one of you has an unfair advantage. You both start from the same point."

  One of the co-pilots emerged from the cockpit and helped Dexter and Sam strap on their parachutes, giving them a crash course on skydiving at the same time. As Dexter was strapped into the harness and learning new words like altimeter, free fall and static line, he wondered if this was some kind of nightmare brought on by pulling too many all-nighters at the office.

  But the next thing he knew, they were standing near the open door of the airplane. The pilot announced over the intercom that they had reached an altitude of thirteen thousand feet and could jump anytime.

  "You go ahead, Dexter," Sam yelled over the roar of the plane. "You're the oldest."

  Dexter wanted to argue, but his pride prevented him from backing out now. He took a deep breath, then moved toward the door, his fingers fumbling for the rip cord of the reserve parachute. His life flashed briefly before his eyes, filled mostly with images of him hunching over textbooks in the college library on Saturday night and working long hours at a computer terminal. He hadn't come this far, made this many sacrifices, to give up now.

  "Need a push, big brother?" Sam asked with a grin.

  Dexter ignored him, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it. The moment that he'd been waiting for and working for his entire life.

  All he had to do was take the first step.

  He leaned forward, his right hand tightly gripping the top of the door frame. For one brief moment, he panicked, realizing he couldn't recall any memories other than school or work. No special moments. No special woman. But what did it matter now?

  Then he jumped.

  * * *

  1

  « ^ »

  Kylie Timberlake hit the ground hard as an arrow flew over her head and imbedded itself in the towering fir tree behind her. She inhaled the pungent scent of pine needles and heard the menacing growl of the Doberman pinscher chained up on the front porch of the secluded cabin.

  "That was just a warning shot," called a gravelly voice from the open window. "You're trespassing on private property. Next time I won't miss."

  She lifted her head far enough to make certain the dog was still tethered. "It's me, Mr. Hanover. Kylie Timberlake."

  As she lay on the damp ground, she wondered if her family was right. Maybe she was too impulsive. Maybe she wouldn't even be in this predicament if she'd ever paused long enough to consider all the consequences of her actions.

  But it was too late for regrets now. She'd based her reputation and her brother's livelihood on a promise to make Harry Hanover a household name. She intended to do just that—with or without his cooperation.

  "Warn me next time before you sneak up on me like that," Harry shouted. "I told you I don't like visitors. So you can go on back to Pittsburgh and leave me alone."

  Kylie gritted her teeth. She hadn't spent the last two hours driving up narrow, winding mountain roads just to turn around and go back home again.

  She took a deep breath. "You know why I'm here."

  "I already told you no on the phone. No way. No how. I'm not doing it."

  "But…"

  "Goodbye, Mizz Timberlake."

  Kylie sighed as she stood up, brushing the damp soil and dead leaves off her camel silk suit. She'd ruined her favorite outfit, her flourishing career as a publicist, and her brother's business all in one fell swoop.

  The Doberman growled menacingly at her movement.

  "All right, already. I'm leaving." She turned toward the white Honda Accord she'd left parked on the side of the road. She'd almost reached the driver's door when she heard Hanover call out to her.

  "Wait just a minute, Mizz Timberlake."

  She turned around, his words igniting one last spark of hope inside of her. Then her breath caught in her throat as the Doberman, free of its chain, bounded off the porch and barreled straight toward her.

  She backed up against the car as the dog leapt up, planting its huge, muddy front paws against her chest.

  To her relief and surprise, the dog didn't go for her throat. Instead, he tried to asphyxiate her with his fetid doggy breath.

  "Take the newspaper clipping," Hanover called, still invisible behind the cabin window. "I stuck it in Eugene's collar."

  Eugene? She glanced warily at the slobbering Doberman, then noticed the ragged clipping tucked underneath the thick leather collar.

  "Don't worry," Hanover said. "He won't bite."

  Now he tells her. Still leery, she carefully reached out and pulled the clipping free. "Nice doggy."

  Eugene lapped her chin and lower lip with his wet tongue.

  "Thanks a lot," she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Harry whistled, causing the dog to drop down on all fours and run back to the cabin.

  Kylie unfolded the cupping, surprised to see it was some kind of advertisement. Frowning, she turned it over in her hand, then looked toward the cabin. "What is this?"

  Hanover emitted a low chuckle from his hiding place. "The answer to all our problems."

  Thunder rumbled in the sky as Dexter stood in front of his potential new place of employment. The storm had followed him from the country into Pittsburgh, soaking him to the skin. If he was the least bit superstitious, he'd take it as a sign that this fiasco could only lead to disaster. But he didn't believe in omens. Or in fate. A lucky charm or a palm reading couldn't replace the value of simple, honest, hard work.

  He and Sam had parted ways before they even hit the ground, Dexter landing in a cornfield a couple of miles away from his brother. But he had no doubt Sam had found a ride into Pittsburgh—his brother's lucky streak was legendary.

  Dexter, on the other hand, always seemed to do things the hard way. He'd jogged half the distance to Pittsburgh in the rain before a sympathetic trucker had picked him up and hauled him the rest of the way. After a quick stop by his apartment to change into dry clothes, he'd hurried down to the business address listed on his game card.

  Dexter winced up at the bright blue neon sign above the front entrance. This was the company his grandfather had specifically chosen for Dexter to prove himself as the right man to steer the Kane Corporation into the new millennium.

  Studs-R-Us.

  The plate glass windows were plastered with huge posters of men in all types of attire. One wore a tuxedo. Another was bare-chested, wearing only tight denim jeans and a cowboy hat. But at least he looked better than the guy in the Speedo swimsuit.

  He shook his head in disgust, wondering if the owner would be open to some basic marketing suggestions. Dexter reached up to straighten his tie as the idea evolved. Perhaps that was the answer. He could work as a business consultant for Studs-R-Us instead of as a male escort. Give them the advantage of his financial acumen and administrative skills. That would both fulfill his grandfather's mandate and keep Dexter from thoroughly humiliating himself.

  With a new sense of purpose, he squared his shoulders and walked through the front door. A melodic chime announced his entrance and the receptionist looked up at him with a flash of irritation, as if his arrival put a glitch in her busy schedule. She blew on her fingernails, newly polished a burnt orange to match her teased hair. A tiny portabl
e television sat on her desk, tuned to a talk show featuring pregnant mud wrestlers.

  She recapped her fingernail polish. "Did you want something?"

  "I'd like to apply for a job."

  Her gaze skipped over him. "Here?"

  His jaw tightened. "Yes."

  She slapped an application in front of him, the words Are You A Stud? were emblazoned in bright red ink across the top. "Fill this out, then leave it in the basket."

  He looked at the wire basket on the corner of her desk, stuffed full with other job applications. His instincts told him they'd been there awhile. Not willing to leave his fate to a receptionist who had her calendar turned to the wrong month, he took a step closer to the desk. "Look, filling out a job application would be a waste of my time and yours. I have … very unique qualifications that I can bring to Studs-R-Us."

  She raised an orange brow. "Kinky stuff?"

  "Perhaps I should speak to your boss."

  With an aggrieved glance at the television set, the receptionist got up and tapped on the closed door behind her. Then she disappeared inside.

  Dexter could hear the voices of two women, but couldn't discern their words. No doubt the receptionist was describing Studs-R-Us's newest applicant. He flinched at the sound of their laughter.

  Dexter D. Kane was once again the butt of the joke. He should be used to it by now, considering the numerous taunts he'd endured growing up. The D in his middle name stood for Dependable, following a Kane family tradition of giving each newborn a virtuous name. Both he and Sam had been involved in numerous playground brawls thanks to their unusual middle names.

  Strangely enough, the name did seem to fit his personality. Dexter was dependable to a fault, which made him the first person people called when they needed help, whether it was an elderly neighbor with an errand to run or a business associate who wanted him to head a charity drive.

  Unfortunately, Dependable wasn't one of the names he'd been called as a youth. A variety of nicknames had stuck while he was growing up. Noodle nerd. Boy Wonder. And his favorite, Frankenbrain. All monikers he probably deserved, since he'd spent more time at the library than the local hangouts.