Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me. Jo Leigh
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was a work thing. That’s it. Maybe they’d have the opportunity to get together again, but that wasn’t the point.
Even though the pink ribbon killed him. In fact, the pink ribbon was the point. None of the people he hung out with would have put that outfit on, not on a bet. It was an anti-Manhattan look. Those who attended Fashion Week were more afraid of not being cool than they were of being hit by a car. Bree’s kind of unabashed adoration was straight from the heart with nothing expected in return.
Her point of view would ring true for the majority of his readers, many far more like her, young people who would never have a chance to go to a gala, never stand next to icons of fashion and film, never be able to afford a scarf from any of the designers, let alone a couture gown. The trick in this approach was the balance. There was a hint of sarcasm, because he was a sarcastic son of a bitch, but he didn’t make fun of Bree. It was a fine line, a welcome challenge.
The whole concept could bomb, but he didn’t think it would. He had good instincts about his readers, and this felt right.
She’d gripped an edge of her lower lip with a barely visible tooth, white and perfect. The urge to kiss her hit him again, only he didn’t want her cheek, but her mouth. Ah, Christ, what was his problem? This was business.
“Hey, you. Blog guy. You gonna move up or what?”
The question had come from a beefy man with a pencil thin mustache. Charlie moved closer to the truck, gentling Bree along with a light touch to her forearm.
She looked at him as she closed her cell phone. Her cheeks blushed a pink that almost matched her ribbon. “Oh,” she said.
That wasn’t enough information. Out of an overabundance of the need to appear cool at all times, he didn’t push for more. He schooled his expression into one of disinterest, which was the only acceptable stance during a strictly business meeting.
Her head tilted a tad to the right. No blinks now, only a piercing gaze and “Why?”
“Why?” he repeated.
She nodded. “Your blog works perfectly as it is. Obviously. Your numbers are incredible. Why would you want to mess with the format?”
“Mixing things up isn’t messing with the format. If it doesn’t work, I’ll find out quickly and drop the idea. It’s not the first time I’ve tried something new, and it won’t be the last.”
BREE STARED AT CHARLIE. This lunch was even stranger than she’d expected. And not for any of the reasons she’d anticipated. It most definitely wasn’t about the sex. Of course. Because that would have been crazy.
“Whatever your decision,” he said. “I need to know quickly.”
“Sure. Right. I understand.” How could she have forgotten even for a second? From the moment Rebecca had shown her Charlie’s trading card, she’d wondered what in the world a man like him would want with a girl like her. It had almost been a relief when she’d finally gotten last night that Rebecca had done her a favor, and in turn, he had done one for Rebecca. Why else would he have taken her out on Valentine’s Day? Even so, it had not been a date. He’d been very clear about the fact that it was work. She doubted he was ever truly distracted from his business. That’s how he’d become Charlie Winslow in the first place.
So he’d used her. Not maliciously, not at all. He’d found a way to parlay the favor, so good for him. He’d grabbed an opportunity, and by sheer luck, it might give her a spot on his blog. Other people would want to know who she was, how she’d scored a “date” with Charlie. She couldn’t have asked for a better shot at her dreams. But she had to be smart about it. Especially smart, given that the girlie part of her brain seemed to want to turn this into a romance. Nothing wrong with romance, but there was a time and a place.
Now that she had leapfrogged into the big time, she had to be more clear than ever about what was in her best interest for the long term, and not be dazzled.
“Look—” he said.
“If you need to have an answer right this minute,” she said, “it will have to be no.”
Charlie stilled and that air of boredom he’d been wearing like a comfy jacket vanished. He seemed disappointed, but that undoubtedly had more to do with his plans being thwarted than not being able to work with her.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I liked it.”
It occurred to her that she should have ordered more for lunch. She needed to appear as unaffected by Charlie as possible. “The approach is fresh for NNY. A good take on something done to death, and you managed to make me sound as if I’m not totally precious. Although …” She clicked on the most personal section of the blog he’d written and scrolled down a bit.
Here’s what Bree said, but not in words:
1. Everyone is tall and beautiful and has better clothes than me. Anyone who looked in any way normal wasn’t anyone. Example: Me.
2. People can be really rude, but at the same time, very lovely. Being with Charlie got me the last part. The first part was on the house.
3. Everyone has an iPhone/BlackBerry. And cameras are intrusive even if the whole point is getting your picture taken. Also? I’m really not in Ohio anymore.
“I’m really not in Ohio anymore?” Bree sighed. “Still. You did a nice job.”
The way his lips parted, it was clear he hadn’t expected her response, especially the way she’d said nice. Now if she could just keep it up. She’d imagined being the kind of woman who could go toe-to-toe with the biggest names in Manhattan, and now was her chance.
She’d been in Wonderland last night, and she wouldn’t apologize for feeling like Alice. Charlie had captured that perfectly in his blog. But she was back on terra firma now. She knew the score, business was business, and if he was going to use her, then she wanted something in return.
Yes, he was Charlie Winslow, and her heart had been beating double time since his first text, but there was a larger picture here, and she’d be an idiot to let it slip through her fingers. Being linked to Charlie was cachet she couldn’t ignore. “The blog would be better if you used my pictures. Used me.”
“Would it?” A hint of a smile came and went. Good. They were both playing the same game. It was important for her to remember he had years of experience, whereas she had … She had chutzpah. It would have to be enough.
Charlie handed her a plate of fries and a cardboard cup of tea. He’d paid, which was appropriate. He’d called this meeting.
At the thought, she had a twinge of sadness, real regret, and dammit, she had to stop that. The sex had been sex. The two of them were about to talk turkey, and she couldn’t afford to be sentimental, not for a moment. It had been great sex. The end. Her imagination could be a wonderful place, but it could hurt her, too.
Luckily, they scored most of a bench. The first Belgian fry was so good it made her moan, which made her blush, but only until she saw the spot of mayo on Charlie’s chin. If she were the nice girl her parents had raised her to be, she’d tell him about it. But this was business, and him looking so very human helped.
“What’s your concern?” Charlie asked.
“I’m really not as innocent as you’ve painted me. I understand that’s the gimmick, which is fine, but I’d like to have some input. My bosses read NNY, our clients, too. It may only be one blog, but it’ll have an impact on my career.”
He took another bite of his burger, and instead of looking at his mouth, remembering what it had felt like against her own, she concentrated on the mayonnaise dotting his chin.
“I want more than one blog out of this,” he said, after he’d swallowed.
Her gaze jumped to his eyes and for a sec she thought that maybe this wasn’t all about business, but then she remembered.