She stood up and paced the length of the room. “I don’t know.” Her mind was racing as she tried to assimilate the multitudinous and wide-ranging ramifications of their outrageous proposition. But she couldn’t ignore the fact that, at the core of the matter, she had no alternative plan but to Armageddon her entire career.
But panicking wasn’t going to solve anything. She took a calming breath and turned to face both men. She gestured to the couch and the two leather chairs that fronted the fireplace. “Why don’t we sit down and discuss the details of this . . . proposal further.”
Jack shook his head. “It’s probably better if I move around. If I stop and sit for too long, I might actually realize just how insane we all are to even consider an idea like this.”
She gaped. “What? You just said—”
“I said I’d do anything to help my friend.” Now he glanced at Eric. “I didn’t say anything about the plan itself.”
“We talked about this,” Eric said, then turned to Valerie. “We discussed it at length and we both agree”—he shot a look at Jack, who reluctantly nodded—”that there is no other way if we both want to salvage our careers and keep all parties involved happy.”
“He’s right.” Jack dropped into the closest chair and looked at Valerie. “I’ll take that beer now if the offer is still open.”
Some prince, she caught herself thinking, half-surprised he hadn’t propped his feet up on the coffee table. He was going to be America’s Prince Charming?
“I’ll take one, too,” Eric said. “You need help with anything?”
“No, that’s okay,” she said, snapping to attention. Busywork was exactly what she needed at the moment. She needed something to keep her hands busy and free up her brain to figure the rest of this out. “I’ll be right out.” Val headed—escaped—to the kitchen. So, apparently Jack was about as optimistic as she was about this endeavor. Great. But he was here, she reminded herself, and she supposed his ambivalence could be a good thing. It proved he was at least attempting to think about this whole thing rationally. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d agreed. Even for close friends, it was a lot to ask.
Stepping over Gunther, who hadn’t moved so much as a jowl fold since she’d left, she pulled two bottles of Sam Adams from the fridge and popped the tops. She glanced into the living room as she arranged the canapés on a tray. She was struck again by how different, yet equally, well, virile they were. Sprawled in her leather chairs, all tanned arms and muscular, denim-clad legs, they looked like two jocks who enjoyed getting together on Sunday with their other jock pals to watch the game. Any game. The kind of guys who thought life was all about beer, chips, and cheerleaders in short skirts. Or men in tight, shiny pants, as the case may be.
And though she knew gay men came in all shapes, sizes, and occupations, she still couldn’t wrap her mind—or perhaps hormones was more specific—around the idea of hunka-hunka Eric batting for the other team. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been laid in . . . well, no sense in actually putting a number to it, right? That was still no reason to drool over a guy just because the sleeves of his polo shirt fit snugly over his seriously well-developed biceps, or because his grin was blistering hot and just as charming. Her gaze shifted to Jack as she loaded a few more canapés onto the tray. Okay, so he was a guy her hormones could also get behind. And on top of. But Prince Charming? She was having a hard time making that association. Still, those eyes of his were awfully intriguing. . . . “What’s your take on sex in the workplace, Gunth?”
He thumped his tail twice. A show of great enthusiasm for him. Unfortunately, this heightened level of excitement was most likely in hopes she’d drop a canapé. Or six.
“Yes, well, thank you so much for your inscrutable canine insight.” She stepped back into the living room, armed with food and a determined, all-business smile. Better to focus on saving her ass instead of getting a piece of his. She’d mourn the loss later. “So,” she said, passing out bottles and hors d’oeuvres before settling on the couch across from them. “How exactly do you and Eric know each other?”
“Childhood friends.” Jack popped a canapé into his mouth and washed it down with half a beer.
“We went through school together,” Eric told her. “Lived near each other, lived together for a while, in fact. He—” After a quick look from Jack, Eric simply said, “We hung out. Played on the same football team.”
“I bet the cheerleaders loved that,” she said without thinking.
Jack smiled easily. “You’d have to ask Mr. Quarterback over there. Joe Homecoming King. He had them lining up.”
“And you’re telling me you were hurting for attention?” Valerie asked, a little surprised by the total lack of ego. “What, were you a late bloomer?”
Eric snorted. “Jack was the campus bad boy. Girls lined up for him, too.” He grinned. “But not at the locker-room door. More like the back door of his seventy-two Charger.”
“Not the kind you take home to meet Daddy, huh?” Valerie struggled to keep her tone light. But the nightmare was complete. This was the guy she was supposed to pass off as Prince Charming?
“Their loss, trust me,” Eric said, even as Jack rolled his eyes. As if he enjoyed his tarnished image.
Eric leaned back, sipped his beer. “Looks, after all, can be deceiving.”
He’d said it casually enough, but Valerie still felt her cheeks heat up a little. “I have a few questions to ask you. Both of you. Before we take this any further.” Valerie looked to them both. “No offense, but if I agree to this little scheme, how do you know he won’t reveal anything about your true identity to the media?”
“He can trust me,” Jack said immediately, almost forcefully. He sat forward and put his empty bottle on the coffee table, heedless of the stack of coasters mere inches away. “If we do this, I won’t betray him.” He held her gaze with a very direct one of his own. “You can count on that.”
Wow, Valerie thought. Serious stand-up attitude. This was some kind of childhood guy bond they shared. She found herself wondering what it would be like, knowing you had someone in your corner like that, no questions asked. She had her share of casual friends, sure, but nothing even close to that. Her hopscotch career hadn’t exactly been conducive to building long-term relationships of any kind. She supposed, when you looked at it, the only truly staunch supporter in her corner was Gunther.
Well. That was a heartening little analysis.
“I appreciate that,” she told Jack. “But you have to see the big picture. We really can’t estimate just how intense the media reaction is going to be to this cover, and the interviews.”
“Interviews?” Jack repeated. He turned to Eric. “You said I wouldn’t have to do that stuff. I can’t pull that off.”
Eric looked to her. “I was hoping we could shift the print articles to phone interviews. Same with the radio plugs.”
She opened her mouth to tell him he was crazy, then shut it again. “It’s possible,” she said at length, aware now just how thoroughly he’d thought about this plan of his. She wasn’t ready to commit quite yet, but the way Eric’s eyes lit up with such stark hope and enthusiasm made her realize it was probably only a matter of time. “You’re also supposed to be visible as our new spokesperson,” she reminded him, determined to seek out every possible glitch that could come back to bite her on the ass, before she agreed to this charade in a last-ditch attempt to save it.
“Don’t worry,” Eric assured her. “I’ve got a plan for that, too. There is nothing in the contract specifically delineating the exact nature of those duties, other than to be available to promote and advance the cause of the magazine for the first six issues. So, I was thinking, there isn’t any reason we can’t just expand the shoot Monday to include a number of shots of Jack in different clothes, different backgrounds. Then you’d have a portfolio to work with in upcoming issues, to go with my columns, along with shots to use for any press releases. Beyond that, we’ll just say I�
�m not doing anything else.” He shot her his hottie grin. “That way, readers will only see me in the pages of Glass Slipper.” He leaned back again, all manly confidence now. “The more elusive, the more exclusive.”
Valerie wasn’t entirely sold, but she had to admit, he might have something there.
“I’m sure you can play that angle to Mercedes, Aurora, and Vivian,” Eric assured her. “After all, I already set that standard by refusing to meet with them in person until after the contract was signed. They know how protective I am of my image, and how careful I was to make sure I controlled as much of the public unveiling as possible.”
Boy, did they know, Valerie thought, thinking back to the roller-coaster ride that had been the past three months of arbitrating this whole deal. Eric hadn’t simply handed himself over on a silver platter. Far from it. He didn’t work with an agent or a manager, and he’d been very specific about what he would and wouldn’t do. She had to admit they probably wouldn’t be surprised by this demand.
“Wait a minute. What about his name?” Jack said suddenly. “I mean, they know it, right? I assume it’s on the contracts. Am I going to have to pretend I’m Eric in name, too?”
“Which brings up another problem,” Valerie said. “They’ve all spoken to you, albeit briefly, during conference calls when we put this deal together. They’re going to be at the shoot on Monday to finally meet you in person.”
“Wait a minute, wait,” Eric implored them both. “I’m incorporated. Have been since day one. Keeps my name out of things and off copyright pages.” He steepled his fingers. “Why don’t I just say I’m Jack’s manager? That I’ve been standing in for him as his legal representative until the deal was done, to ensure his privacy and make sure there were no inadvertent screwups.” He waved off her immediate protest. “I know, I know, it’s eccentric, but what can they really do about it now?”
“Cry foul?” Jack responded with more than a shade of cynicism. “Prosecute?”
“Not if you’re standing there, making nice and having your picture taken. They’ll have what they paid for, right?”
Valerie was shaking her head. “It’s too complicated. These women are not gullible shills. Far from it. We’re not going to pull this off without them finding out that this”—she gestured to Jack—”is not the man they’ve just handed half a million dollars to. They put their trust in me when they didn’t have to. I respect them. And earning their respect is important to me.” She looked down, then swore beneath her breath as the magnitude of what they were proposing really sank in. “We can’t do this,” she said quietly. “I can’t do this.”
“Valerie—” Eric began, but Jack cut him off.
“What happens if we don’t?” he asked. “Seriously. Eric signed a contract; he’ll honor it with or without me. You can put him on the cover, but he’s not going to live a lie any longer.”
Valerie let out a shocked laugh. “And just what exactly would you call this whopper you’re suggesting we perpetrate?”
“Consider it an arrangement,” Jack said. “If we do it this way, the readers still get advice from Prince Charming. The magazine gets their spokesperson and megalaunch. You get all the credit.”
Eric nodded. “And I finally get to have a life. In private. With Jack’s face out there, I don’t have to live in fear that someone will discover that the guy who’s advising women how to get the most out of their man . . . is out there getting the most out of his.”
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Jack flinch ever so slightly at that comment. So, she thought briefly . . . could Eric’s coming out be as recent a news flash to his childhood buddy as it had been to her? How could he not have known?
“No one gets hurt in this deal,” Jack finished.
“He’s right, Val,” Eric said, leaning forward and reaching for her hand. He was so damn convincing. It didn’t hurt that he looked so adorably gorgeous while he was doing it, either. “Everyone wins.” He folded her hand between his large, warm ones. “The readers get a face to go with the name, a face I’m officially approving. And, most important, the advice inside the magazine is still mine. No one is being cheated.”
Valerie leaned back. “You make this sound so rational, so simplistic.”
“It is,” he said. “Trust me.”
She blew out a long breath. “What about Jack?”
“What about me?”
She looked at him, visualizing him on the cover instead of Eric, who, frankly, was God’s gift to a magazine launch. In fact, it had taken every ounce of control she’d possessed not to bounce up and down and clap her hands in unmitigated glee the first time they’d met face-to-face. Jackpot! had been her thought at the time.
Now she was just getting Jack.
Who couldn’t be more different from Eric. The light versus dark comparison went further than hair and eye color. Eric all but gleamed in his polished handsomeness. Jack, on the other hand, exuded something raw . . . earthy. He was more Fallen Angel than Prince Charming.
Backseat Lothario, indeed. He had wrong side of the tracks written all over him. The coeds had probably creamed just watching him walk by. Hell, she’d bet a few of the teachers had as well. His body was rangy, muscular, and there was a tension about him that suggested power barely leashed. His look said this was a man too busy living life to stop and analyze it. Much less write about it. This was a man who probably enjoyed women, and, admittedly, they probably enjoyed him back. But he definitely didn’t come off as a guy who took the time to ponder the deeper issues that spoke to women’s needs in a long-term relationship. He came off as the guy they had issues about.
How to Get Him to Commit to More Than Dinner.
Why He’s Great in the Sack . . . but Doesn’t Call Back.
The Man Mama Warned You About.
Those were magazine headlines about Jack. Not the titles for columns written by Jack.
“What’s in it for you?” she asked him again flat out. She wanted—needed—to know the whole score here. Childhood bonds notwithstanding.
“I’m cutting him a percentage of my contract,” Eric explained.
Jack shot him a we’ll-discuss-that-later look, then said to her, “I owe him, okay? Let’s just leave it at that.”
“What about people who know you? Who work with you?” she asked. “Surely they’re going to recognize you and ask questions.”
“I work mostly overseas. I’m only back here a few days a month on average, if that. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but most of the people I deal with probably won’t be reading Glass Slipper.”
“You’d be surprised—”
“I’m a writer, too,” he said, surprising her. “So the idea of me penning a few books won’t be entirely unbelievable. And trust me,” he said, leaning back, folding his hands across his chest, the first hint of a real smile curving his lips, “anyone who knows me will understand why I kept my ‘alter ego’ a secret.”
“That’s just it,” she said, still unconvinced. “I don’t mean this unkindly, but you’re not exactly . . . princely material.”
“But the gay guy is?” Jack said with a little laugh. “What kind of hypocrisy is that? And what possible difference does it make what Dear Prince Charming looks like, anyway? A guy writing advice books could be a balding philosophy major with a huge Adam’s apple, thick glasses, and black socks for every occasion, including sex on alternate Sundays, for all the world knows or cares. Isn’t what he has to say more important than how he looks? And I don’t think I’m making too big a leap here to suggest that, just maybe, that might be exactly the kind of advice he’d be dishing out to his female readership in the first place?”
Suddenly she was surrounded by rational men. Where were these guys when she was trying to find a date who was looking for more than a five-minute cocktail conversation before trying to talk her into bed?
“True,” she said. “To a point. But someone who looks like Eric is going to sell a hell of a lot more magazines than someone
who looks like Barney Fife. That’s just the way it is.”
Jack stared at her intently. “You don’t think I can sell magazines?”
Valerie’s throat suddenly felt a bit parched. So, maybe magazine sales weren’t going to be a problem. Still, there was the issue of credibility. Readers had to believe this man knew as much about a woman’s mind as his piercing gaze indicated he knew about her body. Valerie fought not to twitch a little in her seat. “What exactly do you write about? Are you published?”
He frowned now. “Yes, I’m published. And what does it matter what I write?”
“Women need to believe you. And, given your alter ego comment, I’m guessing your stuff is something with a more manly audience. Sports-related, perhaps? Now that women are going to believe.”
Eric smiled. “But then, they’d believe that about me, too, wouldn’t they?”
He had her there. “Touché,” she said, then sighed a little. “Okay. So, you say we can trust you, that your commitment to Eric is unshakable. Before we go any further, I need you to trust me.” She looked at them both with a level gaze. “I know what Mercedes, Aurora, and Vivian want from this. I know what I want from this, and what the magazine needs in order to go out big. I need to know you’ll do what I tell you to do, without a lot of questions or grief. No matter what.”
“I was thinking,” Eric said, “why don’t I just go ahead and accompany you and Jack to the cover shoot. As his manager and legal rep, I can be there to smooth things over with the godmothers, answer any questions that might come up, fill in any gaps, whatever.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea.” It would go over ten times better if they heard the news from Eric himself that Eric Jermaine was merely the front man for the real Prince Charming. Mercedes might be a bit touchy about it, but she had no doubt he’d have Vivian and Aurora eating out of his hand. Or any other body part they could talk him into. “Except . . . what if you run into someone who knows you? Either one of you?”
“It’s just for a few hours, right?” Jack said.
Dear Prince Charming Page 5
