“Of course he is. I see where he gets his looks.”
She thinks I’m good looking?
His father let out a pleased laugh at the chickadee’s clichéd charm. Jake rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d been fooled for even a nanosecond, or that he’d gotten a kernel of satisfaction from the possibility that Libby Allison thought he was attractive. She was only trying to ingratiate herself with Saul. Her view of Jake as a badly dressed grease monkey was fairly transparent. Clearly, he was not her type.
Jake tuned back into the conversation in time to hear his father officially granting him the next two days off so Libby could whip him into shape.
“Sounds painful,” Jake muttered, already dreading spending the next two days with the perky, fiery-tempered Libby Allison. Image consultant. What kind of job was that anyway?
“Don’t grouse, son,” Saul said. “You could do with a woman’s touch.”
Ain’t that the truth. He doubted his dad had meant the comment that way, but too many nights sleeping alone on the couch had obviously started to get to Jake. Sadly, he didn’t see his reawakened libido being satisfied anytime soon.
And certainly not by the petite, polka-dot-loving blonde he was stuck with for the next couple of days.
Chapter 2
Yes, I Am Wearing That
Don’t waste your time trying to change how your man dresses. Most men don’t give a rat’s ass what’s in fashion this season. And no matter what you put him in, he’s the same primal, testosterone driven animal underneath. You might as well embrace it.
At ten after nine the following day, Jake climbed the stairs to the headquarters of Image Solutions. Situated above an office offering tax returns done while you wait—how else should they be done?—and a pokey store touting vintage clothing—read: secondhand—the office space was understated, which surprised Jake. After meeting Libby, he had half suspected the walls to be painted bright pink and decorated with pictures of LOL cats. But the cream walls and standard black and gold lettering on the glass doors bespoke of a business that took itself seriously.
It wasn’t going to convince Jake to take anything about this situation to heart. He was doing this to get Libby Allison off his back, and to fulfill the promotional requirements of his publisher. A second read through of the contract he’d signed had reminded him he’d agreed to this kind of treatment, should Peony consider it necessary. Best thing to do was get it over with as quickly as possible.
“Mr. McCallum.”
A tall woman who was the physical opposite of Libby approached him as he loitered in the small waiting area. She wore a pair of black-framed glasses that accentuated the remoteness of cool-grey eyes and her black hair was smoothed into one of those immaculate chin-length styles that meant business. The edges looked like they could cut glass. Her pantsuit was black, her silk blouse bleached white. Jake guessed immediately that she had a wardrobe full of the dour-looking outfits—pantsuits aplenty in every color from navy to charcoal.
“One and the same.” Jake stuck out his hand—freshly washed and looking like new.
“Miranda Eastwood.” The woman took his proffered hand in her slender one. Her shake almost crushed Jake’s fingers. “I’m afraid Libby’s been held up a few moments. Would you like to take a seat while you wait?”
“Sure.”
Jake sat in one of the beige chairs placed beside a coffee table stacked with fashion magazines and copies of Business Review Weekly. He tried to temper his look of surprise when Miranda took a seat beside him. She crossed her legs and rested her pale, long-fingered hands on her knee, her body angled slightly toward his.
Her gaze rested upon him, coolly assessing. Her concentrated focus was unnerving. “So you’re an image consultant too?” Jake asked, annoyed that her silence had reduced him to inane small talk.
“That’s Libby’s department. I’m a training and development manager, mostly for corporate clients.”
That explained the Business Review Weekly subscription, but not how a stern woman like Miranda had ended up in business with someone like Libby.
Before Jake could ask about it, Miranda went on. “Are you aware that first impressions form eighty-two percent of a person’s long-term opinion of you?”
“Did you know that seven out of ten statistical quotes are made up on the spot?”
From the downward turn of Miranda’s lips, Jake guessed his little joke hadn’t gone over well. “I don’t mean to cause offense, but you, Mr. McCallum, do not make a good first impression.”
“Why would that cause offense?”
Miranda continued as though she hadn’t heard Jake’s droll remark. “For a start, your clothes are all wrong. But hopefully, Libby can help you with that.”
“She seems determined to try.”
“Wearing jeans and a T-shirt to a professional appointment makes you appear sloppy.”
Jake followed her glance down to his faded jeans and green T-shirt. Across the front of the shirt in white was a cartoon depiction of a man on his knees holding out a credit card to a standing woman. The caption below it read International Symbol for Marriage.
“Nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.” He afforded Miranda’s attire the once over. “Better than looking like a funeral director.”
Instead of the anger Jake expected to see, Miranda Eastwood’s expression remained impassive. In her eyes though, he could swear he detected a flicker of something that might resemble amusement in better lighting. “You’re going to be trouble,” she told him.
“That’s what all the girls say.”
A door behind them opened and Libby Allison stepped out. She wore her hair in a ponytail again, but today it stuck out from the right side of her head. Was that still called a ponytail or did it have a whole other name? Her dress was green and white and fit her like a glove in all the right places, flaring out a little around her knees.
Oh, man. Not that Jake didn’t like a slim-fit pair of jeans on a woman, but the way Libby poured herself into a dress about knocked his socks off. Too bad she hated him. Pursuing her might have been worth the romantic challenge.
“Jake, sorry to keep you waiting.”
She crossed the waiting room to stand in front of him. Jake felt himself shooting out of his chair, years of lecturing from his mother on the importance of gentlemanly conduct overriding his unfortunate inability to make a good first impression. “No problem.”
Libby’s blue irises had flecks of gold in them. It was an unusual enough color combination that Jake found himself staring into the silky-soft depths. She held his gaze, her pupils dilating almost imperceptibly. Whatever she’d done with her make-up made her lashes seem particularly exotic and lustrous.
Lustrous? Geez, Jake, you sound like a cosmetics commercial.
Miranda cleared her throat, making Libby start. She straightened her spine. “Shall we go? We can take my car. I can write off the parking costs.”
Before he could verbalize an agreement, Libby was striding out of the office, expecting him to follow. Jake watched her exit, his gaze lingering on the sway of her hips, the unexpected lushness of her behind in the fitted dress. He followed, if for no better reason than to keep her in his line of sight.
It was one of life’s cruel jokes that a woman with an ass like that could be a royal pain in his.
They descended the stairs in silence, coming out in a small underground parking garage. Jake recognized Libby’s older-style convertible from yesterday—a model that was more looks than substance. People usually bought cars that reflected something about their personality, didn’t they? That’s her, Jake. A lot of pretty upholstery but nothing interesting under the hood, so stop wondering what it would be like to take her for a test drive.
As Libby turned the car into the flow of traffic with a screech of tires, Jake asked, “So how did you and Morticia end up in business together?”
Libby flicked him a frowning glance. “Miranda is a really wonderful person once you get to know her.”
“Because she reminds you of Morticia Adams and I’m more like…who?”
“That chick from the movie where she takes her Chihuahua to law school in a Prada handbag.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Jake wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant it as one, but Libby did have a particular kind of vivacious sexiness that wouldn’t be out of place in front of a camera. The way she dressed with her own brave sense of style, the effervescent aura that surrounded her—she was like a tropical bird whose purpose in life was to garner the attention and admiration of lesser species.
Too much trouble, Jake reminded himself, trying to resist the temptation to check out her legs now that her skirt had ridden farther up her thighs. Damn. Not so easy to disobey that particular urge. Thank God for dark sunglasses.
“Miranda and I met at university when we answered the same ad for accommodation in a share house with three guys. We bonded over our mutual annoyance that the toilet seat was perpetually in the upright position.”
Jake groaned. “Women have such a thing about that. Why don’t you just put it down again?”
“Why don’t you?”
He really didn’t know, so he steered the conversation away from that potential minefield. “How did you end up hanging out a shingle together?”
“We kept in touch after we graduated. I told you, Miranda is a good person once you get to know her. It’s just that men tend to be a little intimidated by her confidence.”
“Yeah,” Jake muttered. “That’s what it is.”
“Anyway, about a year and a half ago, we both unexpectedly found ourselves out of a job—the economic downturn and all that. We were commiserating over ice cream and tequila shots when the idea for Image Solutions was born. I didn’t think it would come to anything, but while I was sleeping the day away, regretting my decision to combine boysenberry ripple with Cuervo, Miranda was drafting a business plan.” Libby smiled, the expression full of pride. “She’s unstoppable.”
“Kind of like a cyborg.”
“And she’s my friend.”
There was a distinct note of warning in Libby’s voice, and the message couldn’t be clearer—lay off Miranda. Jake accepted the censure as his due and made a zipping motion across his mouth, turning his fingers to indicate his lips were locked on the subject from now on. Libby rolled her eyes before returning her attention to the road—just in time to slam on the brakes to prevent rear-ending a late model SAAB.
Jake looked at her but she didn’t seem the least perturbed by the near incident. “Are we in any particular hurry?”
“No. You’re my only appointment for the day.” She seemed obscenely gleeful at the prospect of having him at her mercy for what could end up being all day. “Why?”
The traffic light changed to green and Libby accelerated with a roar, immediately changing lanes to go around the SAAB. She began tailgating some other unsuspecting motorist in a Peugeot.
If Jake had been Catholic, he might have crossed himself. Instead, he leaned back in the passenger seat and concentrated on the view of the Brisbane River passing by. All the better to avoid noticing the wealth of potential hazards on the road ahead of them.
“No reason,” he replied, sensibly refraining from taking aim at her dubious automobile handling skills. She was an erratic driver in a good mood. He didn’t want to know what she was like in a bad one.
* * * *
Four hours later, Libby’s enthusiasm for this project was flagging. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Jake McCallum was turning her off shopping.
“Just try it,” she urged for the umpteenth time that morning. She was afraid her jaw was going to set in a painful lock from the effort of clenching her teeth. “What could it hurt to put it on?”
Jake eyed the shirt as though he found it personally offensive. “It’s purple.”
“It’s lavender.” Honestly, the man must be color blind if he couldn’t tell the difference between purple and lavender.
“I don’t wear girly colors.”
“Just because you haven’t worn something before, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. I think it would look great with the charcoal suit. Not at all girly.” Libby held the shirt up against Jake’s chest, picturing the garment on. Girly—ha! Like Jake McCallum could be mistaken for anything other than one hundred percent testosterone-fueled, aggravating male.
“Is that right?” There was a different quality to Jake’s voice that made Libby glance up. Holding the shirt up to his chest had brought her too close to him. She could feel the heat of his body on her knuckles where they rested against his shoulder. There was firm muscle beneath that material. There was also a wealth of knowledge in the green depths of Jake’s eyes, as though he’d read in her face the awareness that suddenly gripped her body.
Libby took a purposeful step backward. It wasn’t the first time today a spark had arced between her and Jake. It had been happening at odd times since that moment in the office when she’d found herself unable to break eye contact with him. His eyes weren’t merely green, they were pure green, undiluted by any other color. Green like a rainforest or lush moss. And when he smiled, they glimmered and crinkled at the corners in a way that made a girl’s heart take notice.
Miranda had often accused Libby of being a magnet for losers—or fixer-uppers, as she referred to them. Men who required a little refurbishment before they became acceptable relationship material, men who were sexy and charming but who hadn’t quite grown up yet. Men who appealed to her innate need to nurture and care for things.
Men like Jake McCallum.
Perhaps she ought to get a cat. It might cure her of her penchant for picking up strays of the human male variety.
“Just try it on.” Her roiling thoughts made her voice flinty, but she was beyond caring. Cajoling and flattery had gotten her exactly nowhere with this man, which left her with few options besides outright bullying.
“All right, I’ll do it,” Jake groused. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
“My panties are perfectly unbunched, thank you very much. Not that you’ll ever find out the condition of my underwear.”
“Testy, testy.”
The half smirk on his face told Libby he was intentionally provoking her and taking some satisfaction from watching her unravel. Libby narrowed her eyes. “You are an awful, awful man.”
“Aw, come on. I’m actually a good person once you get to know me.”
With a wink, he took the shirt and suit into the changing room and pulled the curtain across. Libby willed herself to get her anger in check. It was past lunch time and her tummy was rumbling, shortening her temper. But she couldn’t call it a day with Jake until she made some progress in the outfit department. They’d been in and out of menswear stores all morning, and they hadn’t yet managed to agree on anything.
Libby waited outside the booth, staring into space and formulating a plan of attack for the rest of the day. She wasn’t looking at anything particular, just…staring…at the change cubicle. There was a gap where the modesty curtain didn’t reach all the way to the edge. It wasn’t wide, but it gaped enough so she could see the mirror inside the space. In that mirror she saw an arm—a bare arm, then a naked chest as Jake hauled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.
Oh. My.
She’d thought there was firm muscle beneath those clothes, but she hadn’t been prepared for a full frontal view of Jake’s chest. Nice, well-developed pectorals lightly dusted with soft-looking brown hair. Strong, muscular biceps. A trail of dark brown hair ran from his lower sternum to his navel, getting darker and thicker as it disappeared into the waistband of the trousers he’d already put on, the snap left undone so she could see the top of his grey underwear.
She
was not going to look any farther down. She was not.
Well, okay. Maybe a peek.
He seemed to be built well there too, not that you could tell much through a pair of pants. Besides, size had never been a priority to Libby. Most of the guys she’d dated…
Her thoughts trailed off as the sensation of being watched began to raise hairs on her nape. Oh, no. Please, no. But when Libby reluctantly lifted her gaze, it connected in the mirror with Jake’s amused, all too knowing one.
She was sprung. She’d been checking out what he was packing below his waist and he knew it—and she knew he knew it. Libby couldn’t have been more embarrassed if he’d seen her half naked.
With a start, she whirled away, the action too hasty to project the casual dismissal she wanted it to. Her shoulder bag swung wide, connected with a rack of silk evening shirts and knocked several of them off. The designer garments sprawled out on the marble floor. Hastily, Libby dropped to her haunches and began to gather them up. This was not the kind of store where one could be cavalier with the products.
She sensed the saleswoman’s disapproving glance. “It’s okay. I’ve got them,” Libby assured her. Standing quickly, she started placing the shirts back on the rack. It was amazing how difficult it was to wrangle a coat hanger when you were flustered. It took her several tries to line up all the shirts the way they had been before.
If it wasn’t bad enough she’d been caught ogling the most annoying man in the known universe, she didn’t possess the sangfroid to be cool about it.
“You’re not exactly the most balanced individual, are you?”
Libby forced herself to meet Jake’s eyes even while she knew her face must be as red as a traffic light. “Everyone stumbles occasionally.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound like he believed a word of it. “So what do you think?”
Libby gaped. “What do I think of your…” She waved an arm helplessly and then abruptly stopped when she realized she was waving it in the general vicinity of his crotch.
Jake smiled, clearly amused by her discomfiture. “I meant what do you think of the suit?”
tippingthescales_GEN Page 8
