Kara Lennox - Tame An Older Man

"Phoebe Lane."

"Phoebe, thank God. It's Wyatt Madison."

Now her heart went into overdrive. Why would he be calling her? "It's not-I mean, your grandparents are okay, aren't they?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, they're fine. I'm calling because… How would you like to make a fast three hundred bucks?"

"What?"

"Whoa, let me rephrase that. I need a makeup artist. Mine just walked out, and my show goes on the air in forty-five minutes. You're my last resort."

Phoebe's first instinct was to say no. She'd left the entertainment industry three years ago without a backward glance, and she had no intention of making a comeback. But the real reason she wanted to say no was that she didn't need any more excuses to hang out with Wyatt. The man drove her crazy. Knowing he lived and slept just two doors down from her was bad enough, even if she didn't see him very often. But now that she knew he thought of her as a "leggy blonde," things were ten times worse.

"I'll make it four hundred," he said, when her extended silence became uncomfortable.

"To do what, exactly?" She couldn't believe she was even considering his offer.

"Make up our guests. We have two. Shouldn't take longer than thirty minutes. Kelly and Kurt already have their makeup on," he added.

She supposed she should know who Kelly and Kurt were, but she seldom watched TV. No time.

"Five hundred," Wyatt said, sounding desperate. "Final offer."

"I'll do it on one condition," she finally agreed, unable to say no to him. Shoot, five hundred bucks for less than an hour's work wasn't something she could afford to walk away from. Her financial needs were modest, given that she owned both her car and her condo outright. But the spa didn't pay her that much, and school was expensive.

"Name it," Wyatt said.

"I want your promise there'll be no more 'leggy blonde' comments. I promised myself when I left L.A. that I would never again-"

"Oh, hell, I didn't mean that. Sorry if it upset you or anything. I was testing you."

Well, that was a new twist. Phoebe thought. She'd heard all kinds of excuses when a man tried to save face, but none had ever claimed to be testing her.

"When Daisy told me you were an actress," he explained, "I thought for sure you'd try to use me to somehow revive your career."

"What on earth would make you think-"

"Past experience. The same thing that makes you think I'm out to jump women."

Point taken, she thought with a small pang of guilt. "You're safe with me, I promise," he added. Phoebe was annoyed by the sense of disappointment she felt. Did he find her totally unappealing?

"Will you do it?" he asked again.

"Did I pass your test?"

He chuckled. "With flying colors. Been a long time since anyone so thoroughly bruised my ego."

"Then I'll come to the station immediately." She actually heard his sigh of relief before they hung up. If she'd thought for a moment he was anything but sincere in his plight, she'd never have agreed to help. Helen and Rolland Madison would be really hurt if she turned her back on their precious grandson when he was in a jam.

"Mrs. Cooper, I'm-" She stopped. Mrs. Cooper was gone. Phoebe had been so wrapped up in her conversation with Wyatt, she hadn't even noticed her neglected client getting up and leaving. Phoebe was about to go in search of the woman to apologize, when the door to her treatment room flew open without a knock. Her boss, Madelaine Fitzhugh, burst in looking as if she wanted to chew on something firm-like Phoebe's butt.

"What did you do to Mrs. Cooper?" Madelaine demanded, her arms crossed beneath her improbably large breasts.

"Aside from dying her hair for the fifth time?"

"Don't be snippy with me, Phoebe."

Phoebe hated being spoken to like a sixth grader caught smoking in the bathroom, but she did her best to screen the irritation out of her voice. "I took a phone call. Three minutes, max."

"She said you were gushing with your boyfriend."

Phoebe almost laughed. What on earth had given Mrs. Cooper that idea? "No. It was a friend, and I've got to help him with an emergency." She peeled off her smock.

"You're leaving?"

"I don't have another client until four o'clock," Phoebe assured her boss. And she was paid by the client, not the hour.

"But I might need you. Flora Cummings wants a manicure at one."

"Madelaine, you know I can't work from eleven to three."

"Except in special circumstances. This is special."

"I need twenty-four hours' warning. That's our deal." Anyway, Phoebe had her organic chemistry test at two. No way was she giving any manicures this afternoon. She gathered up her makeup and arranged it in a big silver case.

Madelaine narrowed her eyes. "Who are you working for? You did sign a non-compete agreement."

"It's not a spa. It's for a TV show."

Madelaine tried to look nonchalant, but Phoebe could tell she was angry. She stepped toward the lighted wall mirror, picked up one of Phoebe's brushes and fussed with her bangs.

"Well, between this TV gig and your other mysterious comings and goings, sounds like you don't really need the Sunrise Spa. So don't bother coming back."

Phoebe was incredulous. "Oh, Madelaine, don't go all melodramatic on me." But she was talking to thin air. Before she had even finished voicing her objection, Madelaine had gone.

"Great," Phoebe grumbled, hoisting her case and her purse and heading for the nearest exit. Something else to feel irritated with Wyatt for. He'd gotten her fired. Indirectly, of course, but still…

She stopped that line of thinking. She'd gotten herself fired. She'd long ago shed the victim mentality learned from her mother. She was responsible for taking Wyatt's call, for ignoring Mrs. Cooper and for being "snippy." She could always go back to work for Weldon's Department Store, passing out perfume samples until she found something better-though the pay was dreadful. But maybe she could at least negotiate regular hours. Being at Madelaine's beck and call had wreaked havoc on her studying.

All that rationalization didn't stop her from feeling annoyed.

It was fifteen minutes to airtime when Phoebe finally walked through the studio door. Wyatt had alerted security of her imminent arrival and instructed them to give her a visitor's badge and escort her posthaste to the set. The moment he saw her, he felt a tremendous rush of relief coupled with a bothersome surge of lust. But what healthy male wouldn't lust after her? he reasoned. Dressed in a snug knit top and even snugger black pants, walking with that graceful, loose-limbed gait of hers, she was an erotic dream waiting to happen.

She looked around, finally catching his gaze and waving an acknowledgment. She started toward him, and he met her halfway. About damn time , he wanted to say. But he knew that was his own anxiety talking. She'd no doubt gotten here as quickly as she could, and since she was his last hope of preventing this show from self-destructing, he sure as hell couldn't afford to tick her off.

"I'm sorry it took me so long," she said breathlessly. "Traffic was terrible."

"That's okay." He took her heavy case, grabbed her elbow and steered her toward a hallway that started at the back of the studio and extended past dressing rooms and offices. He tried not to think about the fact that even Phoebe's elbow was sexy.

When they reached one of the dressing rooms, he tapped, and a female voice told them to come in.

Wyatt opened the door and led Phoebe inside. "Phoebe, this is Muriel Topper. She wrote-"

"That diet book!" Phoebe said, sounding surprised and pleased. "We sell it at the spa where I work, and we can't keep enough copies in stock. I'm Phoebe Lane."

Muriel, gracefully thin and quite beautiful for a seventy-year-old, smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you. Hope you've got something in that case of yours for these bags under my eyes."