She picked up the picture frame, as if the dog with his tan and brown face had all the answers. “Tell me who’d be perfect for this role,” she said to the dog’s image. Then she pressed the frame to her chest and closed her eyes. He had to be sexy, but he had to have a touch of innocence to him. Why was it that men didn’t ever want to project a little bit of innocence? Was that such a bad thing? But so few were willing to show that side, as if being vulnerable, being fresh, would somehow shred every last ounce of masculinity from a man? Her ideal man would need a bit of the wide-eyed wonder that a superhero has when he first learns he has special powers. She scrolled through her photographic memory of faces, mentally crossing off all the ones that just wouldn’t do. Then, like a jack-in-the box springing to life, she shouted a victorious “yes!”
She placed the frame gently on her desk and moused over to the file she kept on her desktop from every single audition she’d ever held, clicking until she found the man she had in mind. Yes. He was every bit the boy toy. He was every cougar’s dream, even though Sutton wasn’t a cougar. But she’d always had a bit of a crush on him. He was adorable, and yet, had that chased-with-danger look in his eyes. She’d never regretted calling him in for any audition. He was witty, clever, and frankly, irresistible.
But the best part was she could never truly fall for him because she simply wouldn’t go there with an actor. She didn’t trust actors with her heart, and had never dated one for real, so she’d have a built-in safety net. They’d both simply be trying to get a job.
She hit the speaker button on her phone, stabbing it with a perfectly manicured fingernail, polished in midnight black. Sutton wasn’t a woman who needed to wear fire-engine red to look sexy. Sutton was sexy. She’d been born and bred that way, with long legs, a flat belly and curves where she needed them. Her long brown hair was twisted on top of her head, and she wore her trademark black cat’s eye glasses. She was twenty-eight, but she looked young for her age and that’s why she wore glasses—so she’d be taken more seriously. The whole effect made her look like a sexy librarian.
As she started to dial the number, she noticed the time on her computer clock. It was noon on a Monday. Could she pull this off in one week? Time was unspooling into a messy stew. She’d have to speed it up and fast track this deal. She dialed the rest of the number, hoping her hunch was right.
Chapter Two
Reeve punched a fist in the air when he hung up with his agent. He’d scored an audition, one with a casting director he’d worked with before. He’d tried out for It’s Raining Men, and had returned for a second and third callback, but lost out on a supporting role. He’d snagged a day role though, as a bartender at the strip club. The bigger roles had gone to bigger names. But now she wanted to see him, and his agent had sounded so enthusiastic that Reeve couldn’t help but be fired up. Sutton Brenner, very British and very sexy, wanted to see him two hours from now.
Reeve popped up from the couch in his cardboard box-sized apartment, dropped his phone on the scratched and beaten-up wooden coffee table, and changed into one of his favorite tee-shirts, reviewing all the things he knew about Sutton Brenner as he brushed his teeth. The movies she’d cast, the shows she’d worked on. Then there were the personal details. She had a dog who was the center of her world, and Reeve was pretty sure the dog had a strange name. As he capped the toothpaste, he remembered the name.
He checked himself out in the cracked mirror on the closet door. Yep. He looked the way casting directors wanted him to look—young and dreamy, but with a bit of an edge. The kind of guy you could clean up with a short haircut, button-down shirt and pants and bring home to mom and dad, but the same guy a girl would gladly slide in behind on a motorcycle for a ride to a secluded make-out spot. Those were the roles he knew he could win. He left and headed for Sutton Brenner’s Madison Avenue office. The receptionist showed him in immediately. At the end of a long hallway, Sutton stood in the doorway, one hand on the door, the other on her waist, looking like a tall drink of woman.
If he’d met her under different circumstances, say, a bar, or a club, he’d have walked straight up to her, asked her name, bought her a drink, and then charmed her. She’d have been an even match, giving it good with quips and witticisms that made her sound even smarter and savvier with her oh-so-proper British accent. She’d have done that hair flip thing, all the more alluring with her long, thick brown hair, then hooked him in with those cool blue eyes. Then he’d have hailed a cab for her, and given her a long, slow, lingering kiss by the curb that would have melted her from the inside out. She’d have said, “Come home with me.” He’d have done just that and discovered whether she wore thigh-high stockings as he always suspected. He’d have peeled them off her long, lean legs—peeled them off with his teeth.
But he needed to focus on business, on work, on playing whatever part she required for him, and he was sure none of those included removing her stockings, so he cleared her curves from his thoughts.
“Come in, Reeve,” she said, and closed the door behind them. She gestured to her couch. He sat down, doing his best to project coolness and confidence. Whatever Sutton was casting, Reeve was sure those were vital character traits.
She sat next to him. That was odd. Most casting directors sat across from actors, but she moved so near he couldn’t help but notice that she did indeed wear thigh-high stockings, the lace edges peeking out from below the hemline of a short black skirt that could have been painted on her. She had on a white blouse, and one or two buttons were undone. Her hair was pinned up and her sexy glasses made him think “hot-for-teacher.”