Spicing Up Trouble: a romantic comedy (4 page)

"Excuse me?"

I tried to maintain the last shred of my dignity.

"You posed for me this morning. Since Perkins never heard of you and is planning on firing whoever let your paper slip an imposter into my studio, I'll pay you myself. I asked for a beautiful natural blonde with sapphire blue eyes. You didn't disappoint me," he said, inching closer.

Challenged by a champion flirter, I ran out of excuses. Time to go with my strengths.

"Do you like pumpkin pie?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"I'm making four variations tomorrow: plain, plain with a leaf decoration on top, a cheesecake, and a brownie base." Food talk remained neutral and easy for me. "I'm making a green alien, a grey mummy, and a bloody vampire too."

"Are you a bartender?" he asked.

"They're monster cakes."

"Is it Halloween already?" he asked, surveying the scarecrow.

"What would you paint for the holiday?" I asked.

"A salute to
Injun Summer.
A harvest moon over the smoke of a bonfire picking up the hues of the changing leaves. Listen, I don't critique art, mine or anyone else's. I don't talk to the media because I don't find myself that interesting. I don't like to be photographed either. My life is my business. Now, how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, obviously I wasted your time, you only painted my face."

He smiled and bowed to me.

"My fairest lady, I couldn't tear myself away from your exquisite bone structure, succulent mouth, and expressive eyes. I could spend my life trying to capture such pure beauty. This morning was a gift to me. You resemble the finest works done by da Vinci and Vermeer. You're sheer perfection."

Oh my.

No words formed in my brain. I'd never been so complimented in my life.

"Thanks," I finally said.

"My pleasure, Alexia."

He smiled again and dropped six one hundred dollar bills on the counter as he left.

Did he like me?

I ran over to a mirror and examined my face. Nothing notable, alluring, or captivating about it, but who was I to question the judgment of a handsome man? I glowed in all the right places.

My cell phone rang, knocking me out of my daydream, and I checked the caller ID. Eleanor.

"What?" I asked, not meaning to be short with her but knowing she was about to grill me.

"Sweetie, kisses and hugs to you too. It's both of us. Did you meet Cobb today?" Eleanor asked.

"Yes I did."

"Did you pose for him?" Irene chimed in. "I bet Eleanor twenty bucks saying you would drop your granny panties and get the interview."

"And I told her, don't be ridiculous. Alexia showers dressed. When we work out, she changes in the bathroom stall. Plus I hate to bet on anything that would embarrass my sister," Eleanor said.

"You bet I would puke on my prom date," Irene said as she shifted the phone. Now, the sounds of the bar joined our conversation: glasses or plates or weights being stacked.

"Darling, a small wager ten years ago is hardly relevant now. Plus you drank five beers and three shots of tequila. It was money in the bank. How could I resist?" Eleanor sounded pleased with herself. "Peter recovered and never told. You should have kept him. Loyalty is hard to find."

"So is Peter. He's wanted by the FBI for a securities scam or bigamy or drug dealing or all three. I don't remember," Irene said as someone called her name. She covered the receiver to respond and swear about the price of vodka.

"Don't you order alcohol by the case?" Eleanor asked.

"Yes, but the taxes and delivery charges…"

"Hey, didn't you two call me for details?" I asked.

"Yes," they said in unison.

"You'll have to wait and read my memoirs. The chapter about my steamy sexy afternoon with Benjamin Nance Cobb will be followed by one about my nosy older sisters."

I hung up. I needed a land-based phone. Nothing more dramatic than bashing down a receiver, and clicking off a cell phone definitely didn't cut it.

CHAPTER TWO

By six o'clock, I cleaned up the kitchen and lugged myself back to my office. The message light flashed on my desk phone. It had been a long and exhilarating day. I wanted to go home, soak in the tub, and dissect it in my mind.

One more call. I hit the button.

"This is Ben Cobb. Remember me? Let's start again and have dinner. Friday is good, but I can accommodate your schedule. Here are my numbers. Use the cell first. Oh I forgot to say please. Later."

I listened to the message five times and finally wrote down the numbers.

I hadn't heard from Mr. Abram and hoped he had forgotten all about me and my mission.

I arrived home too tired to cook. Instead, I ate a tub of plain yogurt mixed with wasabi peas, three handfuls of spicy pecans, and a green apple. I avoided the red ones. Snow White's witch traumatized me, especially since my sisters pointed out she resembled our neighbor. After starting the bath water, I stripped and lowered myself in the hot bubbles. Closing my eyes, the events of the day unfolded before me.

Benjamin Nance Cobb saw this body. Mixing colors on the palette, peering around the canvas, scalding me with his stare, making my skin awaken and respond. I had been nude, but didn't feel cold. Ben's heat engulfed me.

What of the other models? Certainly, he had the same effect on them as he had on me. What was their response? More importantly, what was his?

The bath water chilled
.

His women. Did I want to become one of many? My brain stayed reasonable, but the rest of me pulsated.

After I got out of the tub, I slipped on my jammies, sat on my bed and picked up my cell phone. My thumbs hesitated then punched in the memorized number.

His phone rang and a robotic voice mail clicked on.

"This is Alexia Hale. Thank…"

I heard some fumbling, and then he spoke.

"Hello, I'm here, Alexia."

"Hi, Ben, I got your message, and I can't have dinner with you."

"Friday or ever?"

"Friday. I have a planning meeting for next week's edition, and it always runs long."

Because the editors talked about everything and nothing at the same time.

"You'll need a hearty meal after," he said with a bit of a lilt in his voice. I knew he smiled and held in my sigh.

"I guess," I said, feeling trapped and liking it.

"Good then I'll meet you at work. Call me when you are ready to leave."

"I didn't agree to go out with you."

Or did I?

"This isn't a date. It's a business meeting. I need you to pose again, and you need to interview me. Write up five questions, nothing too personal, and I will answer them."

Saved by the gorgeous hermit artist.

"Thanks, I'll let you write questions to answer. Interviewing isn't my strong suit," I said.

"Fair enough and you bring me one of your cooking specialties."

"Do you like spicy food?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll need to change before dinner."

"I can take you home."

Not here. I didn't have a week to clean or redecorate.

"Let's meet at the restaurant."

"Alexia, I will pick you up at your office or home. What's your address?"

Why did I hesitate? Because he was a privacy managing, female acquiring, alpha male and the most stunning example of a man ever born and way above my pay scale. Men like him never spoke to me or asked me out or noticed me. Did I finally get a nearsighted fairy godmother or a parallel universe?

"Alexia, I've seen you nude. The least you can do is tell me where you live."

Got me. How could I be shy? I swallowed hard and recited my address and phone number.

"Thank you. I'll see you Friday."

"I shouldn't be later than eight," I said.

"Good."

"Where are we going for dinner?" No offense, but most served bland or over salted food. If it was one of them, I'd snack before.

"Why?" he asked.

"So I can dress appropriately." Unlike the last time we met when one of us showed up nude. Unfortunately, it was me.

"We're going to the Reign Bar. Wear something short, tight, and revealing. You'll fit right in."

"Thanks for the suggestion. My sister Irene owns the Reign Bar, so if you want to go somewhere else, that's fine."

"Does she give a family discount?"

"Depends on her mood."

"Well, I'd love to meet her." Brave and naïve rolled into one. Irene will have to behave at her establishment, right?

"Fine, I'll see you Friday. Goodbye, Ben."

"Bye."

Up to my ears in work tomorrow, I would have a story by Saturday. I hoped Eleanor would be at the bar on Friday. My sisters loved surprises. I pushed the quilt back and got in bed. I snuggled in to ponder Ben painting my body. Literally.

My semi-awake thoughts filled with champagne, candles, Jacuzzis, chocolate, moonlight, but I didn't remember any sex. I hated it when I forgot the good parts of my dreams.

My cell phone rang at six o'clock in the morning as I floated down from the clouds.

"Hmmmm," I smiled as I answered.

"I know you are not speaking to me, but have you seen the front page of your employer's newspaper?" Eleanor asked.

"Was there a fire in the kitchen?" I kicked the blankets to the floor.

"You wish. Irene is on her way to your apartment." It sounded like she ripped some paper and shook it out.

"What happened?" I heard my front door open.

"Alexia, its Irene."

"Put me on speaker," Eleanor said.

I pushed the button on my phone as Irene stalked in, flapping a newspaper.

"You work fast, little girl." She spread the paper out on the bed.

I picked up the front page. There I was, my hand being kissed by a shirtless Ben. The blurb below explained the tender scene. I read it aloud.

Internationally known artist, Benjamin Nance Cobb, bids his fiancée, Alexia Hale, a touching farewell.

"Who gets paid to write such drivel?" Eleanor asked.

"On Sunday, you hadn't met him. By Wednesday, you're engaged. Really Alexia keep us in the loop," Irene said.

As soon as I figured out what happened, I would fill her in. The flash at the door had to be a camera.

"It explains the lightning," I said.

"What lightning? It didn't rain yesterday. Okay, from the top and don't spare any kinky details," Irene said, sitting on the bed.

"He took his shirt off after I doused him with water. He kissed my hand when I left. That's it," I said as I hugged myself.

"Wait a minute. Did you pose in the buff?" Eleanor asked.

I didn't want to answer this question, but the inquisition had begun.

"Yes."

"Irene, stare at Alexia and ask her the same question. Watch her nose, it crinkles when she lies," Eleanor said.

"I know. She didn't flinch," Irene said, frowning at me.

"If you two don't mind, I have to get ready to castrate an editor. Then, track down the photogenic Benjamin Nance Cobb and apologize for taking part in his ambush. He questioned why the paper sent a novice. Wallace Abram didn't want a story: he wanted an embarrassing photograph, compliments of my ambition and stupidity."

I stepped into my closet and rested my forehead on the railing. I fell for this trap with my eyes open and my brain shut off. I tossed my pj's to the floor, hiked on my undies and bra, then gathered up a T-shirt and jeans, my cooking uniform and every day wear. Dressing up was for funerals, meet the in-laws, and job interviews. Sad, scary, and depressing life episodes required nylons. I tuned out my sisters discussing me and my dimmer future. I walked back in and dropped the clothes on my bed.

"She's back," Irene said in mid-sentence.

"Cobb knew you were a reporter?" Eleanor asked.

"He found out after I left. I would make a great spy. I left a trail of incriminating evidence starting with my dropped business card in his loft. He confronted me yesterday while I made pies." I dragged on my pants.

"Cobb was at your office? Was he furious?" Irene asked, stood and assumed her fight stance.

"Not at me. He knows the new owners or has a grudge against them. All famous people must hate any publicity they don't control. They don't mind having their pictures taken when it's business but never when it's personal."

I pulled the shirt over my head and didn't dare to think I looked as bad as I felt.

"Can you blame them?" Eleanor asked. "I've had to meet a few famous clients after hours to make sure they weren't seen in the dress they just bought before the debut."

"You never did tell me who they were, and discretion is not your style," Irene said, smiling at me.

"True dearest, but cash in hand buys tons of silence."

Both sisters laughed, and I was sure I would again, but not any time soon. I liked Ben and thought he might like me. After this breech, he'd paint over all my faces and be rid of me.

"Well, should I type up my resignation letter and send it as an email after I clean out my desk?"

"Do you have to quit?" Eleanor asked.

"How can I be taken seriously now? Everyone I work with will think I slept with Ben." Both my sisters inhaled. "To answer your unasked question, I didn't, but who'll believe me?"

"Didn't that cross your mind before you took the assignment?" Irene asked. Maybe and I ignored the little voice in my head screaming about all the risk and no reward. "Do you want me to go with you?"

I knew my ultimate defender wouldn't make me beg. Once she sunk in her claws into Mr. Abram, there would be no escape. Eleanor had the scars to prove it, and I offered a small token of my appreciation to sweeten the deal.

"There are pumpkin pies and monster frosting in the refrigerator."

"Dibs," Eleanor said. "I'm stuck at work. You better save me some."

"Of course, dear. When have I ever not shared?" Irene asked, winking at me.

"Every day of your miserable life, Irene Louise. Call when you know more or if you need to make bail. Ta," Eleanor said and hung up.

Irene leaned over to break the connection as I started to tie my shoes.