her back on her feet, and with the sweep of one hand indicated that everyone should applaud her. “Take a bow, or curtsy if you can manage it,” Harry instructed her, speaking around his smile. “Come on, little lady, you’ve earned it.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Holly yelled back at him over the applause, a major feat, as she did it while still smiling and without it looking as if she were speaking at all. “Are you nuts? What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“What? You mean you didn’t like that? I thought I was being very inventive. Bridal showing, kiss the bride. All that good stuff.”
“Yeah?” Holly said as they turned, Harry having tucked her arm in his as Jackie walked on Holly’s other side. “Well, I’m not the bride.”
“Well, I am,” Jackie pointed out as they neared the curtains once more. “Those of us that can often notice that about those who probably never will,” she then said, grinning triumphantly at getting some of her own back after Holly’s crack about her lack of cleavage.
“Why, you—” Holly began, then stopped, smiled, as a trio of photographers hopped up onto the runway, eager to take still more pictures. Holly hadn’t seen them coming, and now she was blinking furiously, trying to see something other than bright white lights ringed in blue dancing in front of her eyes. “Damn lights!”
“Don’t worry, just stick with me. I’ve got you,” Harry told her, guiding her through the curtains, down the steps to the dressing area. He sat her in a chair, then retrieved a can of soda and a cellophane pack of dry crackers from the snacks table. “Here you go. It isn’t much, but everything’s been pretty well picked over. Do you have to go back out there, face the reporters?”
Holly pressed the cool side of the soda can to her cheek, took a deep breath. “Yes, I do. I do have to go back out there. God, how does Julia manage it? I’m exhausted.”
She looked up at Harry, now able to see him again, and wondered if she’d only imagined that kiss he’d given her. Closed-mouth, granted, but it had sure packed a wallop. “I’ll be sure to give your name to the CNN people and everyone else. I suppose you’ve earned a mention in any segments or articles. That was your plan, wasn’t it?”
He frowned a little, making this really wonderful crease between his eyebrows—almost as if he might harbor a whiff of intelligence behind that gorgeous face. “You’re going to give them my name? What name?”
“Why, Harry Hampshire, of course. You have others you use professionally? Although I shouldn’t help you out, because you nearly gave me heart failure, showing up so late. That really isn’t professional, Harry. I could have complained to your agency, and you’d have a hard time getting another job.”
He looked at her for long moments, then sort of shook his head, as if trying to talk himself out of something. Then he said, “Let me make it up to you. You go do whatever it is you have to do with that thundering horde out there, and I’ll get out of this tuxedo. Then I’ll take you to dinner. My treat. After all, I made good money here today, right?”
Holly felt a flush running into her cheeks, and hated him for it. Go out with a male model? What did he take her for, a masochist? What woman wants to be seen with a man prettier than her? “No, I don’t think so. I don’t date—”
“I’ll bet,” Jackie said, clomping by in a huge aqua turtleneck sweater, tight black leggings and a pair of hiking boots, obviously on her way out as fast as she could go. She had a leather bag the size of Vermont slung over her shoulder, and still wore her full makeup. She looked like Glamour On A Hike.
“Give me fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops,” Holly said, Jackie’s taunt pushing her into accepting Harry’s invitation. “But I want fast food. Hamburger. Fries. A hot dog from a street cart. I don’t care. I just don’t think I could look at another hotel menu without screaming.”
Chapter Two
Colin Rafferty leaned into the mirror as he adjusted the Windsor knot on his maroon-and-navy striped tie.
Funny, he didn’t think he looked like a Harry Hampshire.
A Harry Hampshire would wear a silk ascot, or maybe carry a pipe, and have an ugly pug dog that brought him his slippers each evening when he returned home from his job in the moldy recesses of the trust department of the family bank.
Not that it mattered. Today he would be Harry Hampshire. Good old Harry ought to get out more anyway, live a little, see the sights…have some fun with Little Big Mouth, or whatever Julia’s employee’s name happened to be.
“Hey, excuse me, please,” he said, stepping away from the mirror as he saw a semifamiliar face go by. “What’s your boss’s name?”
“Julia Sutherland,” the woman answered. “What else would it be?”
Colin shook his head. “No, I meant the little one—the one with the motormouth.”
“Holly?” Irene Collier dropped her chin slightly, “Oops, she wouldn’t like it much if she found out I could identify her from that particular description. Still, you’re looking for Holly? Holly Hollis. She’s number two man—woman—in Sutherland’s. She holds us all together.”
“Really?” Colin answered, one expressive eyebrow raised. “Well, I don’t know about that, Ms.—?”
“Irene, you may call me Irene.”
“Irene,” Colin repeated, smiling his best “I know I’m bad but you love me anyway” smile. “As I was saying, I don’t know about that, Irene. I may not have been here long, but I’m willing to bet today’s pay that this whole thing would come tumbling down around everyone’s ears if it weren’t for your calm head and steady hand.”
Now Irene’s face turned red, straight up to the thick salt-and-pepper bangs on her forehead. “Well, aren’t you perceptive. Okay, what do you want?”
“Nothing much, Irene. Just a little information on our Ms. Hollis?”
Irene hugged the ever-present clipboard to her breasts. “Look, I know she was angry, but it’s over now, and forgotten. She isn’t going to report you to your agency. In fact, I’ll bet she suggests to Ms. Sutherland that we use you again. You were a real hit out there.”
“No, that wasn’t what I was going to ask you about, Irene,” Colin told her. “Ms. Hollis has agreed to join me for a meal, and I thought perhaps I should know a little more about her. That’s all.”
Her eyes opening wider, Irene said, “You two have a date? No, you don’t. Holly would never—never mind.”
“Ms. Hollis doesn’t date the models?”
“Ms. Hollis,” Irene said, rolling her eyes, “thinks male models are a curse and an abomination. Actually she just says they’re too pretty and bigheaded for their own good.”
“So, what you’re saying, Irene, is that if I want to score points with Ms. Hollis, I should go find a bag to put over my head?”
“Oh, you’re charming,” Irene said, the blush still burning in her cheeks. “She’s going to hate you. But, hey, before you go, I want to check through my head shots to find yours, go over the information on the
