The Stand-In

by Leo, Rosanna

  “Pretty doesn’t do well in this business?”

  “Pretty is fine. Drop-dead gorgeous, not so much. If you were a bride, would you want to be upstaged on your special day?”

  “I guess not.”

  She scrolled for another minute or so. “Oh! Winn. You should meet with Winn. She’s new, but very good.”

  “Just not drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Margie threw him a look, her blue eyes scintillating with good humor. “You’re a bit of a rascal, aren’t you? It’s no surprise you work for Player.”

  “Yeah, well, I go where the work is.”

  “I’d imagine you have to now.”

  Shit. He was really kind of hoping the Kent woman might not have heard about his disaster at the Torontonian. Clearly, she had. “So you know my tale of woe.”

  “I make it my business to stay informed. Look, I’ve read some of the features in Player. They can be rather sleazy.”

  “I don’t write sleazy articles.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Patrick. In fact, call me a fan. You’re the reason I agreed to this feature. However, if I find out you’ve given my girls and my agency a disrespectful treatment, I’ll sue you, Jake Fowler, and Player.” She smiled. “Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “Splendid.” She glanced at her computer screen again. “Let’s see. Ah, yes. We’ll have you meet with Winn. And by the way, she’s lovely. She has the perfect look for this job. Accessible and fresh, but not intimidating. You’re in luck. She’s in the building right now.” She texted a command into her phone. “I’ll have my assistant send her right in.”

  In the time it took Margie Kent to flash her very pearly whites, a knock sounded on the door. These stand-ins were prompt. He supposed that was good in any business.

  “Come in, please,” Margie called.

  Patrick lifted his gaze toward the door and watched as a pear-shaped blonde entered. Christ. Margie had called this woman unintimidating. He knew a few dozen men who’d be intimidated into next year by her girl-next-door sex appeal. Chin-length golden hair framed her pleasantly round face. Amazing cheekbones. Bright blue eyes and a body that looked made for squeezing. Just the thought of pressing that luscious flesh made him hard. If she was a high-class call girl, and if he had to pay for love, he might be tempted to pull out his wallet. He cleared his throat and thought of the day Jason Dietrich fired him, just to make his boner disappear.

  Margie did the introductions in her singsong voice. “Winn Busby, this is Patrick Lincoln.”

  She stuck her hand out. “A pleasure to meet you.”

  As he shook her soft hand, Patrick waited for the old “that Patrick Lincoln?” but it never came. Thank God. Someone who didn’t know of his ruin. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  They all sat down, Margie at her desk, and Winn took a seat next to Patrick. She crossed her legs and her black skirt rode up her plump thigh. Jesus Christ. Surely this was a brothel of high-class call girls and Jake was fucking with him. He tore his gaze away from the stand-in’s leg.

  “Winn,” Margie began. “I have some exciting news. Patrick is a reporter and is writing a feature on what it’s like to be a stand-in bridesmaid. You’ve become one of our top employees, so I’d like him to shadow you for the next few weddings. You know, act as your escort and go behind the scenes to see you in action. Take him to your appointments and dress fittings, so he can see what a stand-in does. Sound good?”

  The blonde turned to him, her nose wrinkled in a quizzical fashion. “Are you sure about this, Margie? I’ve only worked alone so far.”

  “I’ll stay out of your way,” he assured her. “Silent partner, I promise. You just tell me where to show up, and I’ll play along.” He leaned toward her and winked. “I love dress fittings.”

  She frowned, ignoring his joke. “It’s not just a matter of playing along. I do a lot of research on my clients and gather background information. I can’t be worried you won’t go along with the story.”

  Margie beamed. “Did I mention Winn is an actress? She’s so thorough. She should be on Broadway.”

  Winn offered her boss a tight smile and looked back at him. “If you’re pretending to be my date for these events, you need to be on the same page as me.”

  More time with the blonde. Awesome. “That can be arranged. Teach me everything you know.”

  Margie brought her manicured hands together in a dainty clap. “Then it’s settled. I can’t wait to read your article, Patrick.”

  He chuckled halfheartedly. Right. Jake wanted him to dig up the dirt on her agency and Margie threatened to sue him if he did.

  Some article this would be.

  * * * *

  Patrick followed Winn out of the office building and onto the sidewalk. She ignored him as she tried to hail a cab. In fact, she’d ignored him on the entire elevator ride down from Margie’s floor.

  The stand-in was not amused by his presence.

  When the cabs whizzed by her, careening down busy Yonge Street, he stepped forward and hailed one for her. The vehicle stopped immediately and he opened the back door for her, smiling. She frowned, muttering her thanks. As she slid into the backseat, her skirt rode up and he got another look at her ample thigh.

  Damn. Margie Kent might have top model appeal, but he’d never really appreciated skinny girls. He liked them lush and full and round, just like this Winn. She was the sort of woman his dad would call a “cracker.”

  Rolling his eyes, dismissing thoughts of his father, he got in and sat next to her.

  She turned her blue high beams on him. “Are we starting this shadowing thing now?”

  “No time like the present. So, where to?”

  “Well, I have a dress fitting at Spadina and Bloor,” she mumbled, fumbling in her purse. She handed a scrap of paper with an address to the cabbie and turned back to him. “I suppose you can come.”

  “I think you’re stuck with me, Winn. You heard Margie. I get to be the peanut butter to your bread for the next few weeks.” He shifted in his seat. Why did that image give him an erection? He must be hungry. After the dress fitting, he’d go to lunch and try to forget the travesty that was his career. And then he’d go home and drink himself to death. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Like I said, I always work alone.”

  “But you attend weddings all the time. Don’t you ever bring an escort?”

  “Nope. I have the option, but you have to understand, for me this is an acting job. I have to be ‘on’ all the time. I can’t spend my time chasing my date, wondering if he’s drinking too much or feeling neglected. It’s my job to make the bride feel like a princess on her special day.”

  Whoa. There was no way he missed the tone in her voice when she said “princess.” He peered at her. She looked like any professional woman on the job. Pencil skirt. Cotton blouse, buttoned-up appropriately. Heels, not too high. However, her pleasant face held just a smidgeon of tightness. Right there, around her eyes. He couldn’t miss it.

  Somewhere inside this woman hid a story. In spite of Margie Kent’s threats, he needed to find it. “You must love weddings.”

  She stared at the back of the cabbie’s head. “There’s nothing like a good wedding.”

  He had to hide his own smile as she evaded his question like a consummate liar. Wait until he talked to Jake. There was definitely more happening here than women being paid to act as bridesmaids. He had a feeling Winn Busby sat at the core of a scintillating story, one which, if handled correctly, might hurtle him back into the big leagues. Okay, perhaps not in the political arena, but he could make the pages sizzle again. He’d give the Player readers a fascinating story, the likes of which they’d never seen. He’d sell more than a few magazines with this one.

  Winn Busby might be a good liar, a good actress, but he’d outed superior liars in his time. His nose might as well have been made to sniff them out. After all, he’d lived with the best of them for years. After watchin
g his father in action, and seeing how his mother simply accepted his behavior, nothing made him sicker. Frankly, he was never happier than when exposing them. And after his emasculating experience with Gloria Dietrich, he was definitely in the mood to shine the light of truth.

  * * * *

  Winn sucked in a breath and twirled for Patrick. She’d never tried on a gown in front of a man, and certainly never a man like this. Shithead Mike might be handsome, but Patrick took that word to a whole new level. He winded her every time she so much as looked under her lashes at him. Tall, with the lean musculature of a professional basketball player, he possessed the sort of stature that made a woman forget her good sense. His tousled brown hair and melted chocolate eyes just added to the lady-killer vibe. To say nothing of his roguish smile. She’d always been a sucker for a man with a devastating grin. The sort of smile that hinted at past misadventures and the willingness to partake in more.

  And now, by some sick twist of fate, she had to model her fluffy dress for him. “What do you think?”

  He angled his head and bit his bottom lip, taking her in from top to toe. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s a horrible dress on you.”

  As Winn made a face, her seamstress Carmela rose up off her knees in a flurry of tape measures and flying pins. She proceeded to manhandle Winn’s body, twisting and plumping it.

  “No, no, signore,” Carmela corrected. She ran behind Winn and yanked at the coral sash around her waist until she couldn’t breathe. “We make the waist more piccolo.” She fluffed the coral organza skirt, the one that looked like a toilet paper cozy. “We fix the length.” She attacked Winn’s cleavage, hoisting her breasts together and upward. “We tighten here. We give her more boobies. She will be beautiful.” The woman ended with a flourish, kissing her fingers in dramatic fashion.

  Patrick blinked a few times. “Don’t get me wrong, Carmela. Ms. Busby is very attractive. The dress just sucks.” He turned to her. “You seriously have to wear it?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m paid to wear it and love it. As far as my bride is concerned, I think it’s the most beautiful gown in the world.”

  “And you get to keep it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Lucky you.” The arch to his brow indicated he doubted the value of the perks of her job. He walked over to one of the racks, rummaged through a few dresses, and pulled out a black Vera Wang strapless number. He brought it over and thrust it at her. “Now this would look nice on you. Something to show off your hips…and your boobies.”

  She met his teasing gaze and heat exploded all over her face. “Put that back. It costs more than my car.”

  He feigned shock and pretended to drop it. When Carmela frowned, he hung it back on the rack, a smile on his mug.

  Shoot. She’d have to talk to Margie about this guy. He wasn’t taking this very seriously. Maybe a different reporter was available? Or a different stand-in?

  In the few months Winn had worked for Margie, she’d become one of her top girls. Each month saw increased bookings. She’d finally been able to pay off her car loan and was hoping to upgrade to a better vehicle soon. Hell, she’d even begun to make plans with Enid to take a much-needed vacation in a spot littered with palm trees and flavored with rum. She liked the stability, loved the money, and she didn’t want anyone screwing up her bookings.

  All she needed was Patrick Lincoln to show up at the next wedding, making a fool of her. She wouldn’t allow it to happen.

  In a strange way, her new job satisfied her need to act. It honed her skills and allowed her to do something other than flipping burgers for a living. Sure, she wasn’t treading the boards in the theater district, but it was the closest she’d come in a long time. She didn’t have to endure the humiliation of auditions anymore because Margie chose the bookings for her and kept her as busy as she wanted to be. Sure, it might be kind of sad that so many women approached Margie for a stand-in bridesmaid, but it was none of Winn’s concern. She remained professionally distant, did her job, and counted her cash at the end of the night.

  Why, this was as close to loving a job as she’d ever come.

  And if she had to pretend she believed in the institution of marriage to be successful, she’d do it. Dammit, she would make toasts to her happy couples, wishing them well, knowing more than half of them would become divorce statistics in the first few years of wedded bliss.

  Better them than her.

  She aimed her gaze at Patrick. “Surely you don’t need to accompany me to all my appointments? Can’t we just meet at the wedding?”

  He hummed in disagreement. “I’m sorry, Winn. You’re an actress. You know how important it is to prepare. Consider me part of your preparation.”

  She bit back a sigh. “Fine. But you don’t get to insult any more dresses. What if my bride walked in and heard you?”

  He made a show of zipping his lips. “Understood. And you look divine in that gargantuan dress. So have I seen any of your acting work?”

  “Not unless you hang out with senior citizens.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No acting credits you’d like me to reference?”

  “No, thanks. I prefer not to dwell on the past anyway.”

  “Okay. So how did you find this job? I bet there’s a good story.”

  She shrugged and the entire dress shrugged with her. Carmela looked at her and made a tsk-tsk noise. “Sorry,” she whispered to the seamstress. She glanced at Patrick. “Not really. I answered an ad in the paper.”

  “You really aren’t much for sharing, are you, Winn? I can see I’m going to have to seduce the info out of you.”

  “Yeah. Good luck with that.” Winn puffed out her cheeks and let the air out in a slow stream. She definitely needed to talk to Margie about this guy.

  He made a few notes in a book he carried with him and then tapped his pen on his knee. “So how involved do you become with the grooms at these weddings?”

  “Involved?”

  “You know. Do the men have any input on which bridesmaids their brides hire? Specific requests on height, weight, hair color, that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve really only ever dealt with the brides. Margie makes the initial selection based on the bride’s input and I take it from there.”

  “Hmm.” He jotted down a few more notes. “And have you ever been asked to perform in any way at these weddings?”

  “Perform? Like…singing?” He asked weird questions.

  “You tell me, Winn. You’re the stand-in.”

  “Um, no. Although some of my weddings are theme weddings, so you have to go along with the theme.”

  He pinned her with his piercing gaze. “Themes, huh? Interesting. Do you have any themed weddings coming up?”

  “Yeah, shortly, in fact.”

  “Well, sign me up. I want to see it very much.” He scribbled in his notebook again.

  For the first time, Winn got the distinct feeling he was reading more into her answers than she meant. She’d have to keep an eye on this one.

  Carmela seemed happy with her alterations and had stopped sticking her with pins, so she padded with care back to the dressing room. Shutting the door, she then reached around her back, searching for the zipper. However, because the seamstress had made adjustments, the slider now sat between her shoulder blades at a different angle and she couldn’t make it budge. She opened the dressing room door and poked her head out to call Carmela, but the woman had already moved onto the next customer. Considering the seamstress was now tucked under some bridezilla’s legs, Winn didn’t want to disturb her. She looked around, but the other employees were busy too.

  Her gaze landed on Patrick.

  His brow arched. “Need help getting out of that thing?”

  “Just the zipper, please.”

  He hesitated for a moment, gnawing on his lip. But then he put his notebook down and walked over, taking up a spot close behind her. She breathed in and his pleasing scent wafted over her. She kne
w his cologne. The commercial featured Brad Pitt rolling around on the beach. As hot as Brad might be, he had nothing on Patrick Lincoln.

  As his large fingers met with her skin, charges of electricity zipped through her. She jerked.

  “It’s okay,” he said on a breath, close to her ear. “I won’t ravish you. Besides this dressing room is way too small to make it interesting. I like to move around, use the space.” He tugged on her zipper and the flaps came apart.

  He didn’t move once the zipper was down. Knowing her skin was exposed, Winn knew she ought to thank him and send him on his merry way. Only she didn’t. For some strange reason, she stood still, and enjoyed the sensation of his hot breath making her skin erupt into goose pimples. Plus she was too busy imagining what it would be like to use the space with him.

  It had been some time since she’d exploded into goose bumps because of a man. Sue her for taking a moment to relish it.

  He finally cleared his throat and stepped away. She almost leaned into him as he moved, as if pulled by a magnet. Clutching the bodice to her chest, she averted her gaze. “Um, thanks.”

  “Any time you need a zipper unzipped, I’m your man.” His grin was quickly followed by a frown, as if he regretted his words and their weird moment in the dressing room. He walked out, shut the door and his heavy steps reverberated as he paced the showroom floor.

  Winn stared at the closed door for a moment, as the memory of his fingers on her skin made her head spin. Shaking her head, she stepped out of the ridiculous dress and changed back into her pencil skirt and blouse.

  * * * *

  “So, where will we have our first date?”

  In the middle of sipping her coffee, Winn looked at Patrick and swallowed hard. She put down the beverage and looked in her purse. She was sure she had an extra invitation.

  “You know, I could have e-mailed you the details. You didn’t need to take me out for coffee. Don’t you have other stories you’re working on right now?”

  His tanned face reddened. “Actually, no. I’m completely devoted to this one at present.”