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“I think I’m in love.” – Cathy Timberlake
“Try to get some sleep, honey. You’ll feel better in the morning.” – Connie
THAT TOUCH OF MINK
Leo
I woke up to the low morning light of Izzy’s room and inhaled the sweet scent of her Blue Lotus shampoo. Her long red hair floated around my face. But instead of being annoying, I found myself in heaven. I buried my face in the mass and tightened my hold on her. My morning wood flexed as a reminder of how much I loved waking up, entangled with her femininity wrapped around me. She curved in all the right places so we fit together perfectly, not that I’d ever let her know that.
I always kept that telltale morning wood way away from her.
She’d clarified that I would never be anything but a friend over the years, and I would never endanger that friendship by asking for something more, no matter how much I wished for it.
No, instead, I’d cherish the moments like this when I could dream that my fantasies might have a chance for reality. Mornings when I woke smelling her shampoo and marveling at the incredible life we’d built together, even if it wasn’t quite everything I hoped for.
Lotus had been the first campaign we’d worked on together after we moved to Austin two years ago to work for Cocktail Kisses, the newest branch of the Collins Group Marketing firm owned by Izzy’s father.
I’d thought the move might mean a new start between the two of us, that if we moved to a new place that she might see me in an all-new light, but two years later here I was again in Izzy’s bed, providing her the comfort she needed because another guy had broken her heart.
Why couldn’t she see I was the perfect guy for her?
No, instead I was still just her friend, her completely platonic friend.
Platonic...my morning wood didn’t like that word anymore than I did.
It was a good thing that Izzy slept hard in the mornings. She’d never know that I laid here and fantasized about what might have been every time I slept over.
I glanced at the clock. Five AM. I sighed silently. I needed to unwrap Izzy’s limbs if I wanted to make it to the gym before work.
I buried my nose in her hair one more time, inhaled deeply, and then reluctantly pulled out from underneath her.
She made a sound of displeasure and murmured in her sleep. “Leo.”
For a moment, the sound of my name on her lips gave me the smallest sliver of hope. I wanted her to reach for me, but instead she rolled over and snagged onto her pillow.
Unfortunately, this was the story of my life.
My dream girl was always reaching the other way when I stood right here in front of her.
Fuck, I was pathetic.
It was time to leave.
And I didn’t mean to just leave her apartment.
I’d followed Izzy around like a lovelorn fool for twenty years now. I couldn’t do this anymore. I needed to find my path. Maybe one that didn’t include the girl who couldn’t see me as anything more than her friend.
Hell, I needed to get laid before my next birthday. Twenty-eight was too old to be a virgin, especially when I spent my life surrounded by models who made it more than clear that they were available and interested.
I couldn’t use my love for Izzy as an excuse anymore.
It was past time to live my life for me, not circling around Izzy’s center.
***
“STOP!” THE FEMININE voice yelled across the empty warehouse. “Wait.”
Four hours later, I withheld a sigh as Bianca Frederick, the art director in charge of the marketing for this campaign from Mod Appeal, interrupted the shoot for the third time in the last five minutes.
Not only did she arrive forty-five minutes after we started shooting, but she’d been interrupting ever since she arrived. I’d never met the woman before today, but if she weren’t the client, I would have no qualms about kicking her out of my photo shoot. Everything had been fine until she arrived...late.
“No more photos.” She strode across the room, shaking her head and waving her hands. “This isn’t right. Who put flowers in their hair? Flowers don’t work for a Christmas shoot. They aren’t toddlers. We want a sophisticated, classic look.”
I lowered the camera and motioned for my assistant, Ava, to take care of the models and crew. They needed to step back so they wouldn’t get in the line of fire as the company executive and the two advertising execs barreled into our space...again.
The four statuesque models visibly sagged, although they didn’t break their marks as the PR team swarmed the set.
I stepped over to the execs and had to work to keep my voice modulated. “What seems to be the problem now?”
“This is all wrong.” Bianca waved her hand toward the set.
I bit back the retort I wanted to make. I needed to stay calm and professional, something Ms. Frederick didn’t seem capable of doing right now. Weird, because she had a respectable reputation in the business. “Didn’t you all coordinate the details before today?”
While I generally worked on Izzy’s campaigns with Cocktail Kisses, I sometimes picked up freelance jobs for other advertisers and campaigns. When this opportunity to shoot the upcoming Christmas seasonal ad campaigns for Mod Appeal came across my desk, I couldn’t turn it down.
Mod Appeal had burst onto the scene about fifteen years ago as a specialty-clothing retailer that had quickly expanded so that they were now threatening Amazon for the number one spot as the national online retailer. They planned to spend this season rejuvenating their original clothing line that had suffered in the interim of becoming a heavyweight all-around retailer.
When the job came through, I thought I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work for a company with that kind of clout.
I might have to rethink that now.
Bianca marched over and yanked the offensive flower off one of the model’s head.
“Ow,” the model screeched as she wrenched away from the woman.
“Okay, okay. Step back from the models please,” I told Bianca. “I get that you’re not happy with how things are going here, but that doesn’t mean you can take it out on them. They’re doing their job and doing it well under highly stressful circumstances.”
I nodded at the models. “Why don’t you guys go take a ten-minute break while we get everyone on the same page and discuss options?”
They looked relieved to escape this disaster. If only I could do the same.
Before I even finished speaking, an argument broke out between Bianca and the two PR reps from the advertising agency that had designed this campaign.
“Did you even read the instructions on how I wanted these photos to look?” Bianca growled at them. A former model herself, Bianca was a gorgeous, middle-aged woman who exuded elegance, although that poise appeared to be crumbling around her right now.
From everything I’d heard about her reputation, she was normally a calm and collected force to be reckoned with, but even her perfect makeup couldn’t conceal her extremely pale and drawn complexion. Whatever had caused her late arrival seemed to have messed with her equilibrium. She pressed a palm to her head and closed her eyes as if something more than the problems with the shoot pained her.
“Yes, we read your instructions, but they didn’t seem in line with the current market trends,” the guy who’d introduced himself as Bruce earlier said slowly. “We thought you might appreciate a more modern tone.”
Bianca opened blazing eyes to scowl at him. Her shoulders rose to her ears, and I could almost visualize the steam coming off the top of her head. “Did you miss the part that this campaign is to revive our original mid-century style of clothing line?” she asked through clenched teeth. “We didn’t want modern! We wanted to revisit classic elegance. Not...” she waved her hand over the abandoned, worn-down looking warehouse and wrinkled her nose in disgust, “this.”
“We sent you our plans and you or someone from your team approved them.” Bruce—hell, this guy was really living up to his smarmy name—gave Bianca a deprecating smile. “Darling, this is why you hired us. We’re the ones with the marketing expertise. We know what sells and what doesn’t. Trust me. We know how to do our job, sweetheart.”
Had this guy seriously just mansplained to her? I fought the urge to take a step back from the line of fire.
Rage literally blazed from her startling silver eyes as she shook her head and stomped toward them. “Okay. Nope.” Her voice sounded clipped and from the tenseness of her jaw, she was fighting against using physical violence on the guy. “I may have dropped the ball on thoroughly vetting your marketing plan, but I don’t have to deal with this kind of misogynistic bullshit. My name is Ms. Frederick, not sweetheart, or darling, or babydoll, or even Bianca...because I did not give you the privilege to call me any of those names. You and you,” she pointed at the two ad execs and I halfway expected lightning to shoot out the tip of her finger. “You’re fired. You’re not listening to me or respecting me. I am the client and on this...” she stared them down, “I am right. You may leave the premises. Now. Immediately.”
“But our contract...” not Bruce started, but Ms. Frederick didn’t let him get any further.
“Our lawyers will be in touch about resolving our contract. But let me assure you that as of now and into the foreseeable future, Mod Appeal will not be using you nitwits for our advertising. Now, get out of my sight.”
She stood there rigidly with her stance spread like she planned to protect the rest of us from the poor excuses for ad execs.
After their footsteps faded on the metal stairs, I cleared my throat. “Am I to assume that the rest of us are through, too?”
She spun around, as if my presence surprised her. The rapid movement left her swaying, and I quickly rushed to her side and grabbed hold of her elbow to steady her.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly as she rubbed softly at her forehead as if it hurt. “I’m sorry. In the craziness this morning, I’ve forgotten your name. You’re the photographer. You’re here under contract, right? Not as an employee of those two bumbling idiots?”
“Yes, ma’am. I work freelance. I’m Leo Bennett.”
Unbelievably, her complexion paled more, and she seemed to lean into where I held her.
“I don’t mean to pry, but are you okay? You don’t look like you’re feeling very well.”
She chuckled bitterly. “No, I don’t think I am okay, and unfortunately I’ve ruined this entire campaign because of it. Why I ever thought I could continue to work through chemo when everyone said it would be impossible...” Her voice trailed off and suddenly things were making more sense.
“No one likes to admit that something—especially something as intrusive and rude as cancer—might get the better of them,” I said. “Why don’t you sit down while I get the crew to tear all this down?” I led her over to a metal folding chair sitting nearby in case anyone needed it.
It probably spoke to how crummy she felt that she didn’t argue with me. She seemed like the type to argue about any sort of coddling.
But I could feel her arm trembling beneath my fingertips.
“Do you need me to call anyone to come and help you?”
“No. You’re very sweet, but my driver is still on the street, so I’ll be fine. Right now I just need to call and explain this fiasco to my boss. You can tell the crew that the photo shoot is over for today. Of course, all of them will receive their full wage.” She shook her head in disgust. “Mod Appeal apologizes for this disaster they had to play a part in.”
I nodded and snagged her a water bottle off the services table, cracking it open for her as I handed it to her. “Okay. You make your call. I’ll take care of everything else.”
It took less than thirty minutes before the space looked as derelict as it had before we’d arrived. The only thing out of place was Ms. Frederick still sitting on her metal folding chair like a queen while she dictated to someone on her cell phone and took notes in the planner sitting on her lap.
Izzy had one just like it, and she didn’t go anywhere without it.
As she saw me approaching, she gave me a weak smile. “Okay, Emily,” she said into the phone. “It looks like I’m about to be shooed out of this decrepit warehouse. You get with Shane and start brainstorming ideas. I’ll be there in the next hour to see how we can salvage this mess.”
She ended the call with her staff member and eyed me. “You don’t appear to be upset that I destroyed your photo shoot. Most photographers I work with would be livid and not polite about it.”
I chuckled. “I’m not as temperamental as some. Right now I’m more worried about you.” She was still dangerously pale, and her skin had developed a light sheen of sweat. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she was running a fever. “I’ll help, but do you think you can make it down the stairs with just my aid, or should I call your driver for additional help?” If this place had ever had a working elevator, it definitely wouldn’t be trustworthy.
“I think, young man, that I’m made of sterner stuff than you expect. I can make my own way out of here as long as you continue to offer me your elbow.”
“Done.”
We slowly ambled down the five flights of debris-covered stairs and talked as we walked. Well, I talked. She carefully watched her footing, and we both took it carefully.
When we exited the building, her driver stood next to a black Lexus and jumped to come offer a hand at her other side.
She paused before getting into the back of her car. “Thank you, Leo.”
“Anytime, Ms. Frederick. If there’s anything else I can do to help...”
She tilted her head as she studied me, and then raised an eyebrow in question. “You work in the industry. I don’t suppose you know of a good advertising firm who could take over this campaign and run with it in the next two weeks so that we have our ads in time for Christmas?”
Of course, I did, although that time frame was a big ask. “Well, I can’t make any promises, because she’s only human, but I normally work with Isolde Collins from Cocktail Kisses, and she’s your target market with this clothing line. I can guarantee that she would rock the campaign if she could fit you into her already booked schedule.”
Ms. Frederick frowned in concentration. “Isolde Collins? Is she related to anyone from Collins Group Marketing?”
“Yes, that’s the family owned company based out of New York. Cocktail Kisses is their new venture looking to appeal to a younger demographic here in Austin. She’s one of their advertising executives.”
Both eyebrows rose at that tidbit. “Exec? Not a VP or CEO even though she’s family?”
“Bart Collins doesn’t believe in nepotism. Isolde has gotten where she is in the firm by pure talent and drive.” I pulled out my business card and wrote two things on the back of it: Izzy’s cell number and the website address for her portfolio on the company website. “Look her up. I think you’ll be pleased, but again, I don’t even know if she’ll even have time to fit a big job like this into her schedule. That you’ll have to negotiate yourself.”
But if I were a betting man, Izzy would give a vital organ to get a campaign like this. She could make it happen.
“Okay. Thank you for the tip and for the help. It was a pleasure to get to know you, Leo Bennett. I have a feeling we’ll be working together again soon. I appreciate your professionalism today.”
“Thank you. Hopefully, our next encounter will be more successful for both of us.”
After she drove off, I headed down the sidewalk to the parking garage where I’d left my SUV. I resisted the urge to call Izzy. This news deserved delivery in person.
I took these freelance jobs to create some separation between our lives. In fact, no matter that Mod Appeal was one of Izzy’s favorite clothing brands, I hadn’t even told her about this shoot. For my sake, I’d needed to keep it separate from her, but once again I’d proven that I simply couldn’t stay away from Izzy.
No matter how much my brain told me the smart thing to do, my heart couldn’t seem to stay away from her.