How To Get Your Man. Elizabeth Harbison
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I think you should lose weight or anything.”
“Really?” Hope surged. For as long as she could remember, Bonnie had been ten pounds over the insurance chart weights for her height.
“Yeah. I think you’d look weird skinny.”
Bonnie’s heart sank.
“I just think, you know, you should wear clothes that flatter you,” Paula said. “Like black.”
“Because it’s slimming?” Bonnie glared at Paula. It wasn’t the first time she’d called attention to the extra padding Bonnie carried around with her. She’d been doing it since seventh grade. And all that time, Paula had stayed infuriatingly thin, with a tiny waist and the kind of heart-shaped butt that men loved.
“No, because with that pale blond hair of yours it’s really striking. Red, too. And red would give your cheeks a little color.”
“God, now I’m pale. Look, Paula, I have a meeting with Mark this morning. This is just the kind of pep talk I don’t need, all right?”
Paula raised her hands. “All right, all right, I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“Okay. I won’t say another word.” Paula pantomimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.
“Good.”
A split second of silence passed.
“Except to say this: if you want to seduce this guy, you ought to throw away that book and use your brain instead. Men like sex.”
Several heads swiveled their way.
“Am I wrong?” Paula asked the elderly gentleman next to her. “Men like sex, right? They like to see a little skin.”
Bonnie’s face burned.
The elderly woman sitting next to the elderly man leaned toward Paula and said, “They certainly do.”
Paula splayed her arms. “Thank you.” She turned to Bonnie with a smug expression. “There, see? I told you.”
“Very scientific.”
“Ask anyone here.” Paula started to stand up but Bonnie grabbed her and hauled her back down again. There was a guy several seats down dressed as what appeared to be a Power Ranger. Bonnie did not want to engage him in a conversation about sex.
“Stop it!” she said to Paula. “Look, you do things your way and I’ll do things mine.”
“Okay, but I’ll bet you I get my boss before you get yours.”
“He’s not exactly my boss, he’s the vice president of the company. But your point is taken. And you’re wrong.”
“So we have a bet?” Paula held out her hand. “Whoever gets her dream man first wins dinner at Martini’s.”
“Will it shut you up?”
“For now.”
Bonnie put her hand out. “Then it’s a deal.”
By four o’clock in the afternoon, Mark Ford had postponed his meeting with Bonnie two times. She was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen when his administrative assistant called hers at four-fifteen and asked if she could go to his office.
It took only about ten minutes for them to agree on their handling of a new account, but during that time Bonnie noticed he kept solid eye contact with her. That was a good thing. Leticia Bancroft had mentioned eye contact as a major key to seduction.
Bonnie was collecting her notes when Mark suddenly said, “Hey, can I ask you something a little…off topic?” He gave her a dazzling smile.
Wow—could Leticia Bancroft’s advice really be working this fast? “Sure.”
“Do you know anyone here who might be willing to spend a little overtime with me? I need some help getting my office into shape—” he glanced around and lowered his voice “—for obvious reasons.”
Obvious? What did that mean? Was he being coy? Was this his way of asking her if she’d be willing to see him after hours? She knew better than to assume and make a fool of herself. “What did you have in mind?” she asked, hoping that was generic enough to be an appropriate and encouraging response to any of several things he might be alluding to.
She wished Leticia Bancroft were here to interpret his body language because Bonnie was lost.
“Well, it’s this paint.” He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “When Brian asked if I wanted army green, I thought he was joking.” He made a face. “I mean, come on, who would want to look at this color all day? It’s depressing.”
Bonnie couldn’t have been more aware of her own suit at that moment if it had been on fire. “I see…” she hedged.
“So I was thinking maybe I’d just pick something else—anything else, really—and ask maintenance to handle it in the evening. So it’s not so obvious to Brian that I’m changing it so soon.”
She nodded. “So you need someone to pick out paint?”
“Exactly. Paint and accent pieces. Make the place look modern.” He gave another winning grin. “Make me look like a power player.”
Something inside of her softened, despite her embarrassment at being swathed in a color it was now obvious he detested. He hadn’t meant to offend her, of course. He had no idea she wore the color to lure him. And now he was revealing a little bit of good old-fashioned humility and insecurity. That was good. She’d never dated a man who was willing to open up.
“I’d be glad to help you.”
“Really? I’d hate to bother you with this.” He glanced at her suit, perhaps doubtful of her ability to pick colors.
Would he? Was he really just in this for the paint?
“If there’s an administrative assistant who might have more free time…” he went on, giving her a questioning look.
What did that mean?
It only took her a split second to decide it didn’t matter what he meant, because she’d already volunteered to help him and even if he was giving her an out, she’d look like a jerk for taking it.
“Honestly, I don’t mind helping you out. It would be a nice change of pace.”
“Great. Thanks a million.”
“It’s nothing. When do you want to go?” She’d gone one step too far. She knew it as soon as the words left her lips. “I’m free tonight.”
He shook his head. “I can’t make it tonight—”
She shouldn’t have said it. She knew she shouldn’t have said it. Pages twenty-one through twenty-five of the book went on at great length about not pressing the man for a date but letting him make all the moves.
“But if you want to go get some ideas and bring them in tomorrow, that’d be super.”
What could she do? She couldn’t say she was suddenly unavailable. So she nodded. “No problem.”
“Maybe you can show me what you come up with over lunch tomorrow.”
“Sorry, I can’t make lunch tomorrow.” This was really counterintuitive. He was asking her out, that’s what she wanted, so how did it make sense to say no? It didn’t. This was a science, not a game. “How about Wednesday?” she suggested, feeling Leticia Bancroft’s figurative ruler on her knuckles again.
He looked at his desk calendar and made a quick note. “Wednesday it is. I’ve got you down.”
“Wonderful.” She smiled. “I’ll see you on Wednesday then.”
It wasn’t