You Call This Romance!?. Barbara Daly
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“A movie star?”
Those were magic words in Los Angeles, maybe anywhere. “Yes. We haven’t made the announcement yet, or I’d tell you her name.”
The man’s mouth was clearly watering.
“Agent Sumner could do my PR firm a great service,” Cabot said solemnly. “But of course I wanted to get your approval first. Then you can talk to her, see how she feels about it.”
“I assure you, Mr. Drennan, that if I’m convinced it’s a good idea, Miss Sumner will do as I ask.”
“I thought that might be the case,” Cabot said, and settled back, satisfied.
FAITH SAT at her desk staring at the Focus, Faith screen saver and contemplating the loss of yet another job. It was the only reason Cabot could possibly have for bending Mr. Wycoff’s ear.
Once again she’d failed. Where had she gone wrong? Because however well suited she seemed to be for a job, something always went wrong.
Succeeding as a travel agent at Wycoff Worldwide was important to her. The time Hope and Charity had put into coaching her and designing screen savers and mouse pads, that alone was enough to make this job important, to say nothing of the fact that they’d paid for her training.
And she was the oldest. According to the current literature on birth order, she was supposed to be the leader, the competitive one, the…
“Faith!”
…one to carry on the family work ethic, the one most likely to…
“Faith Sumner!”
…walk into Mr. Wycoff’s office and get fired. As she staggered forward on leaden feet, she discovered that the feet were wearing unmatched shoes. They were the same color, pearl gray to match her suit. It was the heel height that was different. This meant she’d also taken a mismatched pair to the shoe shop for resoling, which meant that now she’d have to take these two shoes in as well, which would cost twice as much, and the higher-heeled pair hadn’t even needed resoling.
Leveling herself by walking on one toe and one heel, she stuck her head through the doorway of Mr. Wycoff’s office. “You called?” Her knees buckled under her and her throat closed up. “Sir?” she squeaked.
Cabot Drennan lounged gracefully in one of Mr. Wycoff’s visitor chairs, his right ankle crossed over his left knee, looking more serene than she’d ever seen him look. Getting someone sacked must be a real mood-lifter for him. She’d been too agitated earlier to notice how he was dressed, but it had to be Casual Friday at his office because he wasn’t in his three-piece suit. He was in khaki shorts, snowy-white running shoes and an even snowier polo shirt. The white gleamed against his all-over tan, and his dark eyes gleamed as he slowly raised his gaze to her face.
But it wasn’t Friday. It was Tuesday…no, Wednesday. And his eyes weren’t melting over her. She was melting under their steady assault.
“Sit down, Faith,” he said. “I have a project to discuss with you.”
“I CAN’T DO THAT,” Faith protested. “Go on your honeymoon? Stay in the honeymoon suite and have all those manicures and go to all those restaurants as if…Well, I can’t. It’s just too weird.” She could hardly breathe. Just sitting there beside Cabot was making her heart pound and generating other unusual symptoms, both pleasurable and distressing. These were not feelings one should have in a gray suit while sitting in one’s boss’s office. But on a honeymoon…
Going on Cabot’s honeymoon was what she wanted to do more than anything, but not like this. Not as a proxy to be coiffed and made up and positioned and photographed, but as a bride, to be loved and cherished. Loved, at least. Frequently and with passion. She was fairly sure that was one task she could focus on without difficulty.
She drew in a sharp breath as he uncrossed his muscled legs and leaned toward her. “Travel agents check out hotels and resorts all the time, don’t they?” he said. His look and his tone were persuasive.
“Well, yes.”
“I believe you spent a weekend at the Sunny Sands resort on the Gulf Coast during the summer.”
Mr. Wycoff’s voice startled Faith. It was the first time he’d spoken since he summoned her in, and she’d almost forgotten he was in the room. “Yes,” she said, “I did do that. It was an experience I’ll never forget.” It had been a nightmare, free or not. She had no difficulty comprehending why she’d been chosen to receive a complimentary weekend on the Louisiana coast in the searing heat of late August with a hurricane approaching. Her boss had chosen her, hoping she’d blow away in the storm, or be eaten to death by mosquitoes, which dived even faster with a tailwind.
“Same thing,” Cabot said. His voice pressured her like a firm caress, seeking acquiescence. “Except I’m comping you, not the hotel. I just want you to go there, go through all the motions. That way I’ll know the honeymoon will…will…”
For the first time he seemed to flounder. Faith found him even more charming floundering than being so perfectly self-assured.
“Everything will go just the way a very special person’s honeymoon should go,” he finally concluded.
This brought Faith’s mind firmly back to the real bride, the beautiful Tippy Temple. It also stilled her heart a little, cut down on the tingling sensations that made her want to wriggle in her chair. In short, she’d just gotten a shot of reality. If he wanted Tippy to have a perfect honeymoon, maybe he did have a romantic streak.
And it was her job, wasn’t it, to make her clients happy?
“Advance work of this sort could come to be an important part of your job.” Mr. Wycoff’s voice carried a cold note of warning. “Especially as Wycoff Worldwide ceases to be merely a neighborhood standby and becomes a mover and shaker in the film industry travel business. I see this coming, Miss Sumner.” He cast a significant glance toward Cabot. “In the very near future.”
One occurrence doesn’t equal a trend. That was the thought that went through Faith’s mind. It was so alien to the thoughts that usually went through her mind that she couldn’t imagine where it had come from. She could hardly say it aloud to Mr. Wycoff in front of the “occurrence” in question. What her boss was saying was that if Faith wanted to keep her job she would be his stepping stone to the film industry by taking Cabot Drennan’s honeymoon, like it or not, and making him so happy that he’d rush right back to his office to spread the Wycoff name around.
She was suddenly aware that they were both staring at her. Mr. Wycoff’s stare was impatient bordering on exasperated, but Cabot’s was something else altogether. His dark, winging eyebrows were slightly lifted, his eyes were warm and a smile played around the corners of that suggestive mouth.
He knew he’d get his own way eventually, and it just tickled him to death.
“Well, Faith?” Mr. Wycoff spoke again, undoubtedly wishing he could get back to his daydream of being “travel agent to the stars.”
She was cornered. She’d held this job longer than any other, feeling each day that she was poised on the brink of dismissal. Mr. Wycoff did not like her, and she was confident he was just looking for a reason to fire her. She could not lose this job. She could not, one more time, call her sisters and then her parents to announce that she was unemployed.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it,” her boss said in a complaining tone.
She didn’t intend to tell him, either. She’d better pull herself together and act normal about the whole thing or Cabot would know why she was making such “a big deal” about pretending she was Tippy Temple for a long weekend. So she straightened her shoulders and firmed up her chin.
“Come to think of it, neither do I,” she said cheerfully. “Okay, I’ll go to Reno on…well, on whatever day we reserved the suite.”
“In