"Oh, stop it. I won't listen to this. The right man will come along for you, Terri. Don't give up hope."
"What are we giving up hope on now?” Casey asked as she entered the room.
"Our usual topic,” Terri answered. “We were commiserating over the lack of eligible, decent, good-looking men in our lives. I hate to say it, but I'm disappointed. I thought this Studs for Hire business would be like a full-fledged feast of hot men set out before us."
"Give it time,” Sydnie said.
"Oh, my stars! Whose glorious bouquet?” Casey picked up the flowers and drooled over them almost as much as she drooled over any genuine gemstone.
"Sydnie's."
"You got flowers like this, and you're boo-hooing?"
"I wasn't boo-hooing."
"She's afraid they might be from someone on her long list of jerks,” Terri giggled.
Sydnie glared at her friend.
"So, who are they from?” Casey asked.
"I don't know."
"Don't know? Isn't there a card?"
"Yes, but I haven't opened it yet."
"Well, what are you waiting for? Rip that baby open. I want to know who the man is that sends this kind of bouquet. And then I want to meet him ... that is if you don't want to date him, Syd."
Sydnie stifled a groan. She wanted to know who he was, too. But she had to admit, she was afraid to find out, and afraid of being disappointed like so many times before.
Sydnie pulled the red and gold glittery envelope off the package and slit the flap with her trusty letter opener. An equally glittery card was folded inside.
Her heart did a double take before stopping completely. She lifted the flap and read ... Don't call me. I'll call you.
She couldn't help letting a frown of disappointment tug at her lips. Great. Just great. The guy liked to play love games, or figured she was psychic.
"Well? What does it say?” Casey asked.
"Don't call me. I'll call you,” Sydnie read aloud with about as much enthusiasm as if she were reading this year's tax laws.
"That's it? No name? Not even a hint?” Casey plucked the card from between her friend's fingers.
"That's all it says."
"Who do you know that has exotic enough taste to send these kinds of flowers, not to mention whose wallet is thick enough to pay for them?” Casey asked.
"No one. Well, maybe ... but no.” Sydnie shook her head. “He has no reason to send me flowers now."
"Open the package,” Terri said excitedly. She picked up the box wrapped in red foil paper with glittering gold stars and matching ribbon. She held the package close to her ear and shook with all the enthusiasm of an excited child on Christmas morning. “Maybe this will give you a clue as to who it's from. Don't you just love surprises?"
"She's right.” Casey snatched the box from Terri and shoved it at Sydnie. “Open it."
Sydnie took a deep breath and pulled at the tails of the big, fancy bow adorning the entire top of the box. With her fingernail, she slit the tape on the ends and removed the pretty paper with care. She took another deep breath and slowly lifted the lid. Tissue paper that matched the outer wrapping filled the inside. She peeked beneath the paper and ... swallowed. Heat pricked her cheeks, her ears, her neck, and just about everywhere else on her body.
"Well?” Terri said impatiently. Syd lifted the sparkling tissue so her friends could see. “Holy cow! Will you look at that."
"Well, now. Sexy lingerie. I'd say this has to be from someone you know quite well,” Casey drawled. “You've been holding out on us."
"If I've been holding out on you, then I've been holding out on myself, too,” Sydnie quipped.
"Take it out of the box. I want to get a better look,” Terri said.
Sydnie lifted the matching bra and thong panty out of the box and held them up to the light. Well, what there was of them. And that wasn't much. The lingerie was nothing more than a few morsels of black knit and sheer lace. In fact, the flourescent lights in her office shone right through the fabric. A small pair of ruby-red lips accented the upper left side of the panties and the word Venus was stitched below in a flowing script.
"Very pretty.” Casey smiled and winked. “Very sexy, and very ... inviting. This guy doesn't mess around, does he? He knows what he wants and gets right to the point."
Terri grabbed the red tag dangling by a gold thread from the bra. “The Venus Bra. Stardust Lingerie."
"Stardust Lingerie! So these are from Alfred. I'll be damned."
"Alfred? You mean Alfred Mars the pro wrestler turned lingerie mogul?” Casey asked.
"The one and only."
"I remember you said he always sent you exotic flowers after a successful ad campaign as a thank you. But why would he be sending you flowers now? You don't work at Smythe and Jones anymore,” Terri said.
"I don't know. Maybe he misses me,” Syd joked.
"Well, whatever his reason, I guess you'll have to wait for him to call you to find out,” Terri added.
"Wait! What for? He's obviously interested in you. Why don't you go ahead and call him, Syd? The man is mega rich. Snatch him while you can."
"No way. I'm not calling him, Casey. I'll do what the card says—wait for him to call me."
"Oh, phooey. Waiting is boring,” Casey said.
"But that's what the note says to do."
"Getting back into an old habit of listening to men, are we?” Casey tapped a red polished fingernail adorned with an American flag on the desktop.
"No. I'm not. I'm just playing it safe. I could be wrong here. Alfred might not have sent this. I'll play it cool for a few days and see what happens. I'd really rather not embarrass myself if I can help it.” Syd plunked down in her chair, placed her feet on the desk, and admired her flowers. “Besides, he could have another surprise in store for me. I wouldn't want to spoil it, now would I?"
Uneasiness twisted in the depths of Sydnie's stomach. Yeah, like wearing his lingerie for him! And then taking his lingerie off for him! Oh, boy.
"I bet he does plan on surprising you again,” Casey said with a tone that echoed Syd's exact thoughts.
Uh-oh. Maybe she was in some serious trouble here. She liked Alfred. She really did. But she never pictured them together as a couple ... or as lovers. He was always just a client to her. Could she ever look at Alfred in the same light as she saw Trevor? Light? What exact kind of light did she see Trevor in?
"I watched Mars wrestle a few times on TV before he retired,” Terri said, interrupting Syd's thoughts. “Must be nice to retire at thirty-two. But anyway, the man is huge. A regular Goliath. He'd crush you, Syd."
Sydnie swallowed hard. Terri was right. Alfred was a giant. And that probably meant he was a giant ... everywhere.
Oh, dear.
CHAPTER FIVE
Trevor double-checked the address on the work order Sydnie had shoved into his hand before she pushed him out the office door. So much for spending this rainy afternoon getting intimate and snitching Sydnie's advertising ideas. He couldn't think of a better way to spend a dreary day than snuggling in the arms of a hot redhead. A nice warm fire, a bottle or two of aged, smooth wine, and hours to kill with a woman he fantasized about on a minute by minute basis, sounded perfect to his ears.
But no. Here he stood in the drizzle wondering if he was the one being played for the fool in this fiasco.
More than a little aggravated, Trevor brushed at the droplets hitting him in the face and glanced at the address adorning the porch of the red brick home. He was at the right place. Time to get to work.
It didn't look like there was any major emergency here. The two story house appeared well kept, and the yard was recently mowed.
But a funny feeling gnawed at his gut. Something was off here, and he'd bet his brand new, fresh-out-of-the-case, cordless drill he was right. In fact, he'd rather have a root canal done than climb those steps leading up to the front door and discover what awaited him on the other side.
; What if this woman had the wrong idea like the last one and thought he was a stud for hire? For some reason Trevor never pictured himself in the same vain as a highly sought after prize thoroughbred.
He rubbed the tense muscles in his neck and sighed. The ordeal with Mrs. Whitcomb yesterday was beyond bizarre, so he was more than a little gun shy. He never thought he'd dislike being the object of a woman's desire. But then he never thought he'd face the occasion when a seventy-plus woman was the one doing the desiring. The fact the woman was old enough to be his grandmother twined his stomach into knots.
Maybe he shouldn't have eaten that second apple turnover this morning. The Danish were rich, surgery sweet, and now sticking to his stomach like carpenters’ glue.
A crash of thunder rumbled overhead and Trevor squinted up at the grey sky. Damn. There was no sense in putting off the inevitable any longer. If he wanted to get close to Sydnie, he had to do the jobs she put him up against. And do them well, and do them fast. The clock continued to tick whether he made any headway with Sydnie or not.
He reached for his tool box in the back of the truck and cursed silently as his hand gripped the wet handle. If this rain ruined any of his tools, he was going to make his boss replace them. It would serve Smythe right for insisting Trevor drive this pile of rust on rust.
"Hello there. Are you the carpenter I called for?” a sultry voice asked.
Trevor turned toward the direction of the voice. An attractive brunette leaned against a pillar on the front porch and waved at him.
A surge of relief washed over Trevor. She didn't look like a sexed-crazed, seventy-year-old. And to be honest, she looked pretty darn sexy standing there in her short black skirt and skin tight red sweater.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.
He strode down the walk, up the porch steps, and was greeted by cleavage that would make any man's testosterone kick into high gear. Hunger simmered in the woman's vivid blue eyes as she checked him out from head to toe.
"Yum.” She licked her lips and smiled. “The ad says Studs for Hire. They weren't kidding. You look delicious enough to eat, big boy."
Great. Just great. Trevor took a quick step back to put some distance between them, but it was a futile effort. She sauntered closer and ran a perfectly manicured nail along the collar of his wet T-shirt. Before he could gather his wits, she stroked his jaw with an index finger.
"Ah ... well, thanks,” he coughed behind a fist. He tried not to pay attention to the plunging neckline or the buttons threatening to pop on her sweater, but it was impossible. So much skin and cleavage showed that if she moved her arm to the right, a mere fraction of an inch, she'd fall out and none of Omaha would need Pay-Per-View.
In spite of the damp, cool air, an embarrassing heat spurred at Trevor's neck like hot flames. He was really going to have to speak to Sydnie about her advertising strategies. All these women were getting the wrong impression about Studs for Hire.
Now, if he could get Sydnie to come onto him like this, he'd be in business.
He took another step back, snuck a deep breath, and prepared himself for what was to come. “I understand you need a door repaired,” he said, trying to take charge of the situation.
"Sure do, big boy.” She snuggled close and her breasts rubbed lightly against his chest. Trevor swallowed hard and tried to remain calm, cool, and collected. He sure as hell hoped his deodorant kicked in like the commercial claimed it would when under intense pressure.
He tried to move farther back, but his body met up with one of the pillars. Dead end.
Stealing a glance to his right, then to his left, he prayed no one was out in their yard gaping at them. A clap of thunder crashed across the sky. No one would be crazy enough to stand out in this weather to watch this little scene transpiring on their street. No. They'd all be peeking from behind the warmth and security of their living room curtains.
Fortunately, it was after one o'clock in the afternoon. Everyone on this block should be at work somewhere.
"I do admire a man who can drive a nail home,” she purred into his ear right before she sucked his earlobe between her teeth.
Damn. And double damn. He was beginning to feel like a choice cut of prime beef.
"Doreen!” a deep voice bellowed.
The woman jumped back as though she'd been stung and quickly smoothed her skirt and adjusted her cleavage.
"Doreen! Where the hell are you?” A man the size of an NFL linebacker strode from the south side of the wraparound porch.
"I was just checking out his credentials, Donny."
"Yeah, I bet you were,” the man grumbled. He eyed Trevor with a look that said touch my woman and you're buzzard bait.
A fierce growl filled the air and Trevor knew that rumble wasn't coming from the linebacker's stomach. He glanced down and saw the man held a lug chain that led to a collar that was around the neck of one massive, angry-looking Rottweiler.
Oh, shit!
Dogs and Trevor never did get along the best. He preferred to admire them from a distance. A great distance. Especially dogs that could out run, and out weigh a small horse.
"Nice dog,” Trevor said. “What's his name?"
"Rocky.” Figures. “But he'll answer to Rock, too. It's about time you got here, carpenter. What took you so long?” He continued to study Trevor through slitted eyes.
"Sorry about the delay. I got here as soon as I could. We've been swamped with calls.” The dog growled again and showed his incisors as if to tell Trevor he knew he was lying.
"Cool it, Rock,” the man said and tugged on the chain. The dog quieted immediately and sat down on his haunches, but his lip continued to quiver.
Trevor wanted out of here. Now!
But there was no escape. He'd have to jump the railing and land in the bushes a good four to five feet below. The yard dropped off so sharply, that he'd probably end up falling on his ass and rolling down to the street and out into oncoming traffic. Becoming road kill wasn't one of the items Trevor had put on his list of things to accomplish in life.
"I'd love to stand here and chat,” Trevor said, “but I'm on a tight schedule today. What door needs fixing?"
"I'll show you,” Doreen said with a smile.
"No, you won't,” the linebacker ordered. “I'll show him. Heel, Rock.” The man and his beast headed back around the south side of the house and Trevor followed.
"Later, big boy,” Doreen whispered in his ear as he passed. She smiled and boldly placed a quick kiss on his cheek.
Rocky whirled around so fast that Trevor didn't even realize the dog had a death hold on his jeans until he tried to scramble to his feet.
The dog tugged and pulled and snarled as he made confetti out of Trevor's clothes.
"Let go, Rock,” the man ordered. At once the dog loosened his hold on Trevor's jeans and sat down. “Rocky is like me. He doesn't cotton to anyone messing with things that don't belong to them."
Trevor wanted to shout that he didn't want to touch Doreen. Doreen was the one doing the touching here! But he knew he might as well tell it to the dog for all the more good it would do. The best thing to do in a situation like this was keep his mouth shut.
But he hoped Sydnie's insurance was paid up and that her policy covered beatings by enraged boyfriends, and dog maulings.
* * * *
Sydnie glanced at the small digital clock she'd placed next to her I Dream of Jeannie bottle and saw that it was well after nine.
For the past six hours she'd been laying out brochures, business cards and ads for the business on her computer. She needed a well-deserved break. Too bad she couldn't be like Jeannie and blink everything done. Having magical powers would save a person a ton of stress. How nice it would be if the only thing she had to worry about was how to get a good-looking astronaut into her bottle.
She saved the last changes to the ad she'd been working on, leaned back in her chair, and enjoyed the music playing softly through the stereo speakers. The office was enshroud
ed in darkness except for a small circle of light around her desk. The tension in her neck muscles began to ease and she realized she could fall asleep right here in her chair.
A whiff of fragrance from the flowers she'd received earlier that day drifted in the room. The bouquet stood regally on the coffee table where Terri had placed them, reminding her the man who had sent them, would be calling.
The exotic flowers really were beautiful and expensive. But she still didn't understand why Alfred would send them to her. Since she no longer worked for Smythe and Jones, she didn't have anything to do with Alfred's account anymore. Sure, he'd sent her flowers in the past, but those were nothing more than thank yous for a job well done.
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 01] Page 5
