for Santa’s elves and had the bubbly personality to match. Men flocked to her, but she’d been pretty serious about the same guy, Albert, for the last few months. Olivia had high hopes for them. She had to have hope for someone.
“I have plenty to keep me busy,” Olivia said. “Friends, work. You know I want to be named Design Supervisor.”
Jeanie narrowed her brown eyes. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that because you’re gun-shy?”
“I’m sure.” Getting promoted had been Olivia’s real New Year’s resolution. When she’d been younger, she’d made up for romantic failures by excelling in school. Now, she’d apply the extra energy to her job until she could figure out how to improve her luck with men.
“Because I’d hate to see you cheat yourself out of The One just because of Sean,” Jeanie continued. “Albert has an older brother, and I’d be happy to set you up. He really likes exotic-looking women.”
Suppressing startled laughter, Olivia leaned back in her chair. “Exotic?”
“Well, you’re so tall, and you have all that long black hair. Gives you a mysterious aura.”
“Ah.” As far as she could tell, the only mystery in her life was her track record of bad relationship decisions. She was an otherwise competent woman. “Thanks anyway, Jeanie. If he’s Albert’s brother, I’m sure he’s wonderful, but I’m putting romance on the back burner for a while.”
“But—”
“Maybe we can discuss this later.” Olivia glanced down at the proofs for next month’s catalog on her cluttered desk. “I have a ton of work.”
With a nod and one last sympathetic glance, Jeanie scampered out of the office. The smaller woman often made Olivia feel like an Amazon; today Jeanie left her feeling old and cynical, too. Hard to believe only four years separated her from the twenty-two-year-old receptionist.
Pushing away thoughts of her co-worker, Olivia told herself to focus. She really did have a lot to do. Mondays were always jam-packed, full of new tasks as well as remaining errands that hadn’t been quite finished the week before.
The piles on her desk were organized by “Can put off,” “Must finish or I can’t go home today,” and “So long overdue I don’t even remember what needed to be done with it.” And those stacks threatened to grow even larger with the company’s expansion. Sweet Nothings, an Atlanta-based lingerie catalog had started as a strictly mail-order business, but with increased presence at fashion shows and a tremendously successful Web site, preparations were being made to open brick-and-mortar stores.
To increase buzz, corporate management had asked Olivia’s boss, Steve Reynolds, to bring in a second full-time photographer and begin planning the first ever Sweet Nothings calendar. Until now, their on-staff photographer, Fred, had handled the workload with the help of some freelancers, but Sweet Nothings was evolving every day. Olivia just hoped an upcoming promotion to Design Supervisor would be part of that evolution.
Seeking inspiration for all that remained to be done for the current issue, she thumbed through the catalog that had come out in December. She stopped on a glossy page featuring their most popular model, blond statuesque Stormy, in a lacy negligee.
Looking for something more effective than mistletoe this holiday season? Try surprising him in our burgundy silk… The text went on to detail make, fit and care of the garment, but all any man would care about was the fastest way to get the woman out of it.
Reminding herself that many women bought lingerie for the express purpose of having it removed, she told herself not to be bitter. Her bad mood was ironic since, as a teenager in what her mother had injudiciously dubbed the “ugly duckling period,” Olivia would have thought a single date with a gorgeous worldly man like Sean would translate to infinite bliss. Ha. She wasn’t sure they’d achieved bliss, but whatever they’d shared, it had definitely been finite.
Next time she met a man who seemed too good to be true, she should keep in mind he probably was. You’re too easily seduced. Not in the literal sense, but seduced by the romantic fantasies she’d built up during her wallflower years.
Prior to high school, Olivia had been taller than all but a few boys in her class, and had outweighed many of them. It wasn’t until college, when she’d taken every athletic elective her marketing degree allowed and walked several miles a day just to get around campus, that the last of her “baby fat” had really melted away. By graduation, the only area of her body she hadn’t been able to slenderize was her chest, but men didn’t seem to mind.
Since nothing could be done about her height, she tried to use it to her advantage, projecting confidence she didn’t always feel, a confidence that was at first bolstered by a dramatic increase in dates. It had been exciting to go to clubs on the arms of attractive men and, though the feminist in her cringed to admit it, validating. Too bad so many of her boyfriends had turned out to be jerks—Sean being the most recent in a parade of romantic mistakes.
The breakup, paired with her ethics-free roommate moving out and leaving Olivia to cover both halves of the rent, made this the perfect time to concentrate on becoming Design Supervisor. The promotion would include a raise and a much-coveted corner office. She’d been assigned more responsibilities lately, including her first supervisory role on an upcoming shoot, and she knew she was being tested. Maybe if she got the promotion, she’d dip her toes back into the dating pool, but when she did, she’d find someone nice and reliable, not another sexy playboy heavy on charm and light on scruples.
A knock against the open door startled her—people bucking for advancement shouldn’t be caught staring into space—and she jerked her head up to find a golden Adonis of a man leaning against the doorjamb. His eyes were a clear jewel-tone green, and his face was flawless, with a strong square jaw and chiseled cheekbones. Very tall, he had the kind of broad shoulders that would photograph equally well bare-chested or in a tuxedo shot.
Hardly the first time an incredibly attractive man had appeared in her doorway. Of course, they showed up at 461 when what they really wanted was 416. Story of her life.
“Male models should check in with Meg Jansen,” she told him. “Office 416, on the other side of the elevators.”
He arched a dark blond eyebrow in surprise. “Male models? I wasn’t looking for Meg Jansen. I wanted Olivia—” he consulted the yellow sticky-note in his hand “—Lockhart. Is that you?”
“Y-yes. And you are?”
“Justin Hawthorne,” he introduced himself. “Your photographer for the South Carolina shoot.”
This paragon of masculine appeal? No, no, no. “I believe Fred Elliot is my photographer for our swimwear issue.” She and grizzled veteran Fred already had a solid working relationship, had brainstormed locations and concepts often.
“Sorry, with Fred’s sister sick in Cincinnati, they substituted me for Stormy’s swimsuit shoot.” Justin grinned. “Try saying that three times fast.”
In addition to an obvious sense of humor, he had a great smile. Perfect even white teeth. A half dimple to the left of his mouth.
You are not going to notice his mouth.
Too late.
“I wanted to drop by and introduce myself before the meeting this afternoon,” he told her. “Steve
