The man shifted on his feet. “I’m…the stud.”
She blinked. “You?”
“Yes.” He arched a dark brow. “Is that a problem?”
“No. Not at all.” Her cheeks burned. She’d imagined spending the next few weeks with one of the men in the pinups plastered in the front windows. Slick, polished playboys who didn’t affect her in the least. Not this superhero in the making. The last man she’d suspect of making his living as a gigolo.
On the other hand, superheroes did rescue damsels in distress. And her distress was on the verge of becoming an all-out disaster. She stepped forward and extended her hand. “Hello, I’m Kylie.”
“I’m Dexter.” His eyes widened slightly at her firm grip. “Dexter D. Kane.”
She wondered what the D stood for, but couldn’t afford to waste time by asking him. She wouldn’t be referring to him by his middle name anyway. Or his first name, for that matter. “Has Mrs. Brubaker told you anything about me or this job?”
“Only that you require my services for the next four weeks.”
To her mortification, she felt another blush creep up her neck. She hadn’t enjoyed the services of any man—let alone a gigolo—for too long to remember. Not that she was contemplating a relationship with Dexter. No matter what images his words evoked. “That’s true. This is a rather unusual job. And one that requires the utmost secrecy.”
He smiled. “You can count on my discretion, Miss Timberlake. My job depends on it. And I’m depending on this job.”
She barely comprehended his words, too dazzled by the dimple that flashed on his chin when he smiled. It almost made her forget her mission. But the chime of a wall clock brought reality rushing back. She had about fifty phone calls to make within the next few hours.
“I’ll have to give you the condensed version and fill in the details later.” She took a deep breath, hoping she could trust him. “Have you read a book called How To Jump-Start Your Love Life?”
“No,” he said, looking a little confused. “I’ve never even heard of it.”
“It’s new on the market, but it has the potential to become a bestseller. I’m the publicist for Handy Press, the small press that published it. It’s my responsibility to see that it gets the right amount of media coverage necessary to attract national attention.”
His brows furrowed. “And?”
“And I’ve scheduled an array of book signings, radio interviews and even a couple television spots for the author. We’ll hit twelve cities in just under four weeks. It’s an all out publicity blitz. There’s only one small problem.”
“You need an escort?”
“No. I need someone to play the part of the author, Harry Hanover.” She waited, letting the words sink in. Dexter D. Kane certainly looked intelligent enough to understand all the ramifications.
He folded his arms across his chest. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. You see, Harry suffers from agoraphobia,” she explained, “which is a fear of social situations. It’s impossible for him to appear in public. In fact, his case is so severe that he refuses to leave his home. Unfortunately, I’d already scheduled all the media events before I found that out.”
“So why not just cancel the tour?”
“Because Harry believes there will be negative repercussions on the sale of his book. And frankly, that’s a real possibility. Booksellers can make or break a book. And many of them have already started advertising the upcoming book signings. Broken promises don’t make the best public relations. Not only could Harry’s book suffer if he fails to make his scheduled appearances, but Handy Press could suffer as well.”
“In what way?”
“The company stays afloat by publishing how-to manuals and technical guidebooks. If booksellers retaliate by pulling all the Handy Press books off the shelves, the company could go bankrupt.”
He looked thoughtful. “There has to be some other solution.”
She shook her head. “Believe me, I’ve lain awake nights trying to think of a way out of this mess. I know it seems a little extreme, but this is the only answer.”
“How will Mr. Hanover feel about another man taking on his identity?”
“It was his idea.” She pulled a folded newspaper clipping out of her jeans pocket, smoothing out the wrinkles. It was an advertisement for Studs-R-Us. She handed it to him, their fingers touching. Her skin prickled at the jolt of electricity that shot up her arm. And judging by the way Dexter was staring at her, he’d had the same reaction.
Then he cleared his throat and looked down at the advertisement. “A man for all occasions,” he said, reading the company motto. “I’m not sure this covers impersonating an author.”
“I know it sounds a little unusual,” she replied, glancing at her watch. “But it’s really not all that uncommon in the entertainment world. There are ghost writers who write all those celebrity books. Musicians who do voice-overs on albums. Some authors even send in a phony glamour picture for the back of their book. It’s all about presentation.”
He still looked skeptical. “What happens when people find out I’m not the real Harry Hanover?”
“That won’t happen,” she assured him. “When the book tour is over, Harry is going to disappear. Handy Press will decline any further interviews on his behalf, earning him a reputation as an eccentric recluse. Which is the truth. The press loves that kind of stuff.”
Dexter hated to put a damper on her enthusiasm, but the obstacles to her plan seemed almost insurmountable. “What if someone who knows Harry attends a book signing?”
She smiled. “Not a possibility. Harry’s been shut up in his cabin for the last six years. And before that he lived in the Yukon.”
Dexter couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. Kylie Timberlake was the most vibrant woman he’d ever met. Even if her plan was crazy. “Well, what if someone recognizes me?”
Her smile faded. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Especially when you’ve probably got legions of women in your past.”
His pride prevented him from disabusing her of that ridiculous notion. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
Her face suddenly brightened. “Yes, you can. I think I know a way to make it work. A way to make everyone just wild about Harry.”
“I LOOK RIDICULOUS.” Dexter stood in the living room of Kylie’s apartment, wearing a short fuschia cape protecting his clothes and silver foil wraps in his hair.
“I know, but we’re trying to fix that.” Amy Kwan, Kylie’s roommate, sorted through the clothes hanging on a portable rack.
He never should have let Kylie talk him into this. But something about her made it impossible to say no. Maybe it was her big brown eyes. Or the smile that sparked a warmth deep inside
