Seducing Sarah - Book 1: The Shutterbug: Jimmy

by Ami LeCoeur

  I grinned, keeping my eyes on the proofs. “You think so?”

  “You simply have to find the right ones.” His voice deepening even more. “For instance, which words would I have to use to convince you to have coffee with me?” He stepped closer, leaning close enough that I could smell the citrus of his aftershave.

  My eyes widened at his cheekiness, and I looked up at his lopsided grin. Ordinarily, I’d have shut him down right away. In fact, when I first opened my mouth, I already had a barbed excuse on my tongue. Then Tammy’s latest round of nagging repeated itself inside my head. Again. It had been bothering me for the past two days.

  “You’d have to ask,” I said, tilting my head as I looked him over again. “Just ask.”

  “Will you, then?”

  Well, at least he was direct. “Only if you help me find a pencil to sign off on these proofs,” I said, looking around the table and over at the windowsill.

  “Here.” He reached toward me, brushing my brow with his wrist as he pulled one from where I’d stuck it into my ponytail that morning. “Try this one.”

  I grinned, shaking my head. I liked this guy. He had a way of making me laugh in spite of myself.

  ***

  The next day, we met for coffee at a shop around the corner from my office.

  It was a change of pace for me to be outside the office during work hours for anything other than a client meeting. But I’d promised, and I always kept my promises.

  I discovered pretty quickly that his goofy, offbeat sense of humor went along with the lopsided grin. He kept me laughing most of the time. I relaxed, feeling more lighthearted than I had in a long time. We talked easily—about everything and anything, but nothing deep or serious. I could tell this was a guy who liked a good time.

  He was a shameless flirt, too. He had the barista blushing by the time she brought our drinks to the table. It seemed like harmless fun. In love with life, engaging with everyone he met. The kind of person Tammy would approve of me getting to know better.

  I liked him. I mean, what wasn’t to like? He was good looking, confident, funny, charming. And a good photographer. Plus, he seemed to enjoy my company. He even promised to call once his schedule calmed down a little. I understood about schedules and agreed it would be fun to go out again.

  Maybe things were starting to look up for me.

  On the way back to the office, I passed an open air Farmers Market. I was surprised to see one so early in the season, but imagined I might find some fall and winter vegetables.

  Seeing the market brought up memories of my grandparents and the summers I’d spent on their farm. Those wonderful times from my teenage years teased at me and guided my feet toward the vendors.

  I picked through the vegetables, selecting some beautiful squash, a bunch of radishes and a head of broccoli. The vendors were all friendly, eager to talk, and to tell me about their produce. I felt a kinship with them, even though I’d only worked on the dairy farm during summers.

  Grandma always had her kitchen garden, and there was nothing as good as fresh garden vegetables on the dinner table. My heart ached a little, remembering how good it had been back on the farm.

  As I was leaving, I spied a row of honey jars, and behind them, a couple of bushels of the most beautiful apples I’d seen that time of year. I couldn’t resist. I was only going to get myself a couple, then thought the folks at the office might like some also, so I asked for a dozen. The vendor was friendly and easy on the eyes—despite the bright Hawaiian shirt he wore, which seemed somewhat out-of-place in the middle of winter.

  “How did you manage to get apples this gorgeous in January?” I asked, marveling at their lusciousness.

  “Beauties, aren’t they? Picked them in October, the last of the season. They’ve been stored in the fruit cellar since then. They’ll last there for several more months. It actually enhances their flavor.”

  “Are they from your farm?”

  A proud smile appeared beneath his dark mustache. “You got it.”

  I smiled in return. “I can’t wait to try them.”

  “Would you like to taste one?” he asked, picking up an apple and a knife from the table.

  “Not necessary,” I said. “I’m sure my staff will think they’re wonderful.”

  “Well then, promise me you’ll come back and let me know what they think. I’m here nearly every week.”

  How could I resist such a request? I told him I’d see him next time around, then walked back to the office, a smile on my face and a swing in my step. It was rare that I got the chance to talk about anything other than work in the middle of the day, and with two great looking guys. Things were definitely looking up.

  Feeling almost giddy, I told myself I should make a habit of stepping out like this.

  Chapter Four

  As the week progressed, the store displays turned increasingly red and pink with the approach of Valentine’s Day.

  Chandler’s Chocolates was thrilled with their ads, as were the rest of our clients. The insert had gone into Sunday newspapers right on schedule, the week before the big day. The following morning, I got a gushingly positive phone call from the owner. Another successful project, another happy client.

  As I hung up, I remembered that Jimmy hadn’t called me since our coffee date. That thought dissolved a bit of the satisfaction I’d been feeling. Oh, well, I thought. He was a nice, if somewhat temporary, distraction.

  At nearly that same moment, a squeal came from outside my office door. I had to investigate. If somebody’s watching a video of puppies and kittens becoming best friends, I swear…

  I opened the door to a massive bouquet of roses on Rhonda’s desk, and I understood the commotion. I couldn’t blame her. I’m sure I would have lost it, too, if something that gorgeous had been delivered to me. There were no less than three dozen enormous, blood-red blooms in a crystal vase. A handful of girls gathered around, twittering like little birds as they admired the blossoms.

  “Whoa, Rhonda. These are gorgeous! What did Brent do this time?” I winked. Brent was her fiancé, notorious for sending flowers to the office after a screw-up, but I’d never seen him send anything quite like this. Rhonda laughed and shook her head.

  “No! Read the card.” She thrust it at me. I can’t wait another week. I want you to have these now, it said. My heart felt a little twinge that I hoped wasn’t jealousy.

  “Smooth move. He’s a keeper.” I handed the card back with a smile and faded back into my office as more of the staff showed up to admire the bouquet. Rhonda was beaming with happiness. Somebody would be getting lucky that night.

  The roses made me think of Grandma again. She’d been on my mind off and on, ever since my stop at the Farmers Market. And now, well… Gramps used to send her flowers, often for no special reason. Sometimes, he’d put a single rose in a vase on the kitchen table for her to find in the morning. I sighed. They were my romantic ideal—crazy in love after nearly fifty years of marriage, right up until the day Grandma died.

  Watching them together had been a delight. She was always warm and loving, forgiving him for being her ‘bull in a china shop’ when he got overzealous about something. And he was always so protective of her, even though she was highly competent on her own. They seldom raised their voices. Instead, they had a way of teasing each other that was more endearing than blaming. She’d call him Ferdinand in that special tone of voice, and he’d burst out laughing, calling her Petunia in return. They had tons of secret little inside jokes that only brought them closer together.

  Sometimes, like today, my soul ached to see her again. To just sit across the table from her, sharing a cup of tea and chatting as she crocheted another scarf or sweater for someone’s birthday present. I missed her more than words could ever express. How old had she been when she passed? I was barely twenty, away at college when I got the news, That would have made her… sixty-six.

  That was enough to give me pause. Sixty-six? She had seemed so much you
nger. Damn, I would be thirty-three in six short months. Half Grandma’s age when she passed away.

  Did that mean my own life was already half-over?

  Stop it, Sarah Jean, I berated myself. You’re being morbid.

  Maybe so. But even if I lived to be a hundred, that meant my life was already one-third over.

  What a sobering thought.

  I sank into my desk chair. Thirty-three, or practically, and I had no one in my life. My. Life. It was maybe half over, and I still hadn’t met anyone I wanted to share the remaining second half with.

  What did that say about me?

  I swiveled my chair toward the large window behind my desk. I was surprised to see a young, trim body, smooth skin, golden hair reflected back. Inside, I was already feeling like an old woman, my heart hardened from disappointment, my body withered and sagging.

  Except… mostly, I loved my life. Sure, I worked hard. It was the only way to get where I wanted to be. It helped that I loved my work, too. I’d gone into college pursuing fine art before discovering a passion for advertising. Even back when I spent summers helping my grandparents, I took to the business side of the dairy farm “like a fly takes to honey,” as Gramps would say. I enjoyed helping Grandma with the books almost as much as I enjoyed wandering in the fields or playing in the streams.

  Luckily, I had taken my father’s advice when he told me I could do anything I put my mind to. I liked being more than one dimensional, and business and art were equally part of me. Through hard work and focus, I was blessed to now be sitting in the corner office of my five-million-dollar advertising agency. And I’m pretty sure that put me in the ‘multi’ category when it came to millionaires.

  Yet, at that moment, with my memories of my grandparents’ closeness swirling through me, I would have given almost anything to be sitting on the other side of the office door, with a huge bouquet of flowers on my desk and a fiancé who loved me.

  Chapter Five

  It was a rare night at home before nine, and I was making the most of it. For me, that meant curling up on the couch in my pajamas with a mud mask and a glass of wine, flipping through channels for something mindless to give my brain a break.

  The thing about February was the overabundance of sappy romance movies dominating the channels. Romantic comedies, romantic dramas, romantic tearjerkers. ‘Love Story,’ ‘Titanic,’ the Hallmark Channel, ugh. I scrolled through page after page of familiar titles, my heart sinking a little further with each new choice.

  Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back against the cushions, shutting out the TV screen and cutting off the endless lists. I felt limp and exhausted all of a sudden, my body in a kind of catatonic stupor.

  I wasn’t sure why I felt so out of sorts. Business was booming. I’d worked my butt off to get where I was today, and I liked the rewards that came with being successful. I wouldn’t have traded a minute of it. I was my own boss, and my work was respected. I’d seen a lot of firms come and go in the years since I’d started. I knew how lucky I was to have survived, though realistically, luck had nothing to do with it. I was successful because I was always willing to go the extra mile, and I never let ‘okay’ be good enough.

  Only, that extra mile left my gas tank empty when it came to taking care of myself, especially lately. Somehow my ‘self’ had fallen by the wayside. Far too often, I felt like I was on someone else’s treadmill.

  In all honesty, I normally worked from the time I opened my eyes in the morning til the time I closed them when my head hit the pillow. Even most of the dreams I could remember centered around work. I was so used to focusing on business that I’d become pretty one-sided. I’d lost my self along the way. Food, showering, loading the dishwasher—everything else happened on autopilot in the few minutes I grabbed here and there. My entire life revolved around work. This was, literally, the first time in months I’d sat around doing nothing.

  The sick part was, I felt guilty not being focused on work. There were several tasks I could be finishing up, and that ambitious part of me resented my sitting there with my eyes closed. Then a sadness rolled over me. I remembered Rhonda’s face and the happy chattering women in the office admiring her roses.

  I have to snap out of this workaholic zombieland. I have no friends other than Tammy. No life other than work. No one to come home to, or snuggle with, or even just to talk things over with, make love to…

  That depressed me even more, thinking about how long it had been since I’d had anyone in my life other than my best girlfriend. My shift from wanting a relationship to avoiding them happened just before I’d immersed myself in building my business.

  No wonder I was tired of being alone. More tired than I’d have thought possible. I’d thrown myself into my work to get away from the pain and distraction of that last disastrous relationship, but I hadn’t realized how long it would be until I began to resurface.

  A thriving business was cold comfort in the middle of the night when my bed was empty except for me. What was the point of making money when I had nobody to share it with? Or of seeing the world, if I ever went so far as to take a vacation, all by myself? Being single had its perks, but you couldn’t prove that by me—I didn’t even have a social life.

  I’d even missed out on my prime hookup years. While women my age were staggering into work after partying all night, I was staggering into my office after working all night.

  Usually, I felt powerful. Invincible. I was the responsible, hardworking ant from the old fable, preparing for winter, laughing as the grasshoppers fooled around.

  Except… I was suddenly very tired of being the ant. Of working myself to the point of exhaustion, with no relief in sight. It was a lonely life, and it had swallowed up any sense I’d had of my self.

  I deserved better. I worked hard. I deserved to enjoy the rewards of that hard work, and someone to share those rewards with. I wanted to be the grasshopper, for once.

  The only thing was, I had no idea how to start.

  Sighing deeply, my eyes still closed, I did a little counting in my head. My last relationship ended—surprise!—six months after I started my business. That would make it seven years. Seven years. No wonder I was lonely. And the last time I had sex was… gulp… two years later.

  Wait—that couldn’t be right! I thought hard. No, that was it. A blind date. One of my rare one-night stands. I’d been too busy to turn it into anything more than that, even though he pestered me for weeks afterwards. It just seemed like too much work.

  I buried my mud-covered face in my hands, trying to hold back the tears of dismay about my current situation. How had so much time slipped away without me even noticing?

  I thought again about Grandma, and my age in relation to hers. When she was my age, she’d already been married to Gramps for almost seventeen years. I couldn’t imagine it. By the time I came to spend my summers on the farm with them, they’d already shared a lifetime together.

  I smiled in spite of my dark mood, remembering how sweet they were. It was teamwork, every day, that kept their marriage strong and their business profitable. And they’d found ways to keep the romance alive. Love notes. Flowers for no reason. Every night, they’d take a little time to sit together on the front porch, talking quietly. Sometimes I’d see them exchanging a sweet, secret smile or stealing a kiss when they didn’t think I noticed.

  If they could do it, why couldn’t I? There had to be somebody out there for me, someone who would support my goals the way Grandma and Gramps did for each other. There had to be! I couldn’t end up a withered old-maid-prune-lady.

  Well, I still had six months before my birthday. Maybe that was enough time to change things up. I was strong, smart, pretty enough to get by, and I still had my figure. Literally anything could happen in half a year’s time.

  Besides, I told myself, it wasn’t like I needed to find my one true love by my birthday. Maybe I could get some balance back into my life—add a little fun, a little spice, a little companionship.
/>
  I remembered Tammy’s advice—a lifelong commitment wasn’t the goal here. Getting out there and having fun along the way was. That shouldn’t be so hard, even for me. All I had to do was get the ball rolling. I always worked better under a deadline. All it took was one small step to get started.

  And I was ready to take that step. In fact, I was long overdue for a little fun.

  Chapter Six

  There was no denying it, Jimmy was charming and sweet, and definitely velvet-tongued. So smooth, in fact, that he’d easily swept me off my normal non-committal self, and into a kind of fantasy that I hadn’t ventured into in years and years. At least five, to be exact, but who was counting?

  “Oh, come on,” he crooned at me. “You know you love chocolate. I saw you at the shoot. You can’t fool me.”

  My heart raced as my blood pulsed through my temples, making me feel weak in the knees and weak in the head, all at the same time.

  “Are you this direct with all your dates?” I asked him, doing my best to maintain control over my emotions.

  He laughed. “Only when I need to be. Not everyone is a hard-headed businesswoman who pushes away compliments.”

  I tilted my head at that, eyeing him with just a touch of skepticism and wondering if this was his standard line.

  “Is that what I was doing?”

  “You tell me.”

  I had to admit that he was right. I was a skeptic. I didn’t want to be, but there it was.

  I licked my bottom lip and watched as his eyes followed the movement. I felt powerful when his pupils flared. “Okay,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave lower. “What do you suggest for a cure?”

  “How about this.” He leaned forward, a chocolate truffle in his fingers. “This creamy delight is for you. Only for you. Now open for me, open wide. Take your time. Taste the flavor. Savor it. Softly, gently. With your tongue. Mmmmm, that’s right, lick the lusciousness. Show me how delicious it is, how much you are enjoying it.”