Tanya Michaels - Sheer Decadence

“Almost finished?” The assistant HR manager, Kate Ames, tugged his thoughts away from Olivia and back to work. A young brunette with wavy hair and a bright smile, Kate had been nothing but friendly.

He nodded. “Just about.”

Two questions left, and he’d be a certified employee of Sweet Nothings. Excitement pulsed through him, not just because of the job—although what was not to love about photographing lingerie models?—but because of what this career change represented. For almost seven years, he’d dutifully put his wants and needs, from occupational choices to his love life, on hold. He’d taken on responsibilities he’d never expected, but now it was time to reclaim his life, be a little selfish. To begin with, he’d make up for the too many nights he’d slept alone. There were dozens of hot women out there, and he wanted to meet as many of them as possible.

Still, despite his enthusiasm over the new job, he had trouble refocusing on his paperwork. Which was the real Olivia: the coolly contained woman he’d encountered earlier, or the woman he’d watched in the hall, the one with the hint of wickedness in her laugh?

“I DON’T KNOW how you do it,” Meg Jansen said.

Ignoring the enticing scent of her friend’s French fries, Olivia picked at her salad. “If you’d seen me in high school, you’d know how I do it.” The willpower had been hard-earned, but worth it.

This is what’s wrong with my love life. Outside of finally ending a long-standing affair with Ben and Jerry, when it came to men, Olivia hadn’t found the self-discipline to replace the decadent with the nutritious. Men like Sean fell into the “dessert” category—no matter how tempting they were, they weren’t healthy in the long run.

Meg shook her head sadly. “All your attention to a well-balanced diet and getting up every morning to jog…that can’t be good for you.” Though Meg’s own curves ran toward the ample side, she was beautiful, dark-skinned with a close cap of short curls that accentuated her high cheekbones and wide hazel eyes, and she was at ease with her body in a way Olivia envied.

“No fries,” her friend continued. “Never any dessert. You don’t smoke. Jeanie says now no men, either? Tell me you have some vice I don’t know about, or I’m gonna worry about you just snapping one day.”

“So if I said I was a shopaholic, or drank martinis every afternoon, you’d feel better?”

“Much. Repression is not healthy.”

“Martinis are?”

“Maybe, maybe not…let’s discuss it over a round of drinks.”

Olivia laughed. “I’d love to, but this afternoon is one of Steve’s meetings.”

“In that case, we’d better order two rounds. Honest to God, that man can talk longer and say less than anyone I’ve ever met.” Meg swabbed another fry through ketchup. “Are you really going on a no-men kick?”

A kick that would be easier to uphold without Justin Hawthorne around. His smile had been plaguing her all morning. Okay, his smile and the first-rate buns she’d ogled when he’d turned and left her office.

“Not forever. And I’m not giving up all men, just a certain type. Sean lasted longer than the guy before him, but in the end…” Olivia speared a crouton on her fork with a crunch.

She wouldn’t say she was brokenhearted, exactly; the sting of finding Sean in bed with Candace had been more like a deep and unexpected paper cut. But the humiliation alone was something she’d never wish on another person, the embarrassment of having wrongly trusted, the paranoia of wondering how long it had been going on and whether or not they’d laughed at her.

If she hadn’t loved Sean, she’d at least thought they were working toward that possibility. During their six months together, his publicly flirtatious manner had sometimes bothered her, but he’d said it was just part of his professional persona. So she’d ignored her instincts, swayed by the argument that she was misjudging him based on previous bad apples. Turned out he was a lot like other McIntoshes and Granny Smiths she’d known.

Well, no man was making a fool of her again.

“You’re better off without him,” Meg said quietly.

“Hey, I’m just glad it happened when it did. A couple days later, I wouldn’t have been able to return his Valentine’s Day gift for a full refund.”

Meg ignored the attempted joke. “Not all men are like that.”

But I pick the ones who are. “Right, and I’m going to look for a completely different type of man. Just not yet. You know I want the design promotion, so as soon as I get back from vacation—”

“The doomed vacation?”

“Not doomed, postponed.”

Originally, Olivia and Sean had planned to go to the remote Pacific island resort of Kaokara together, but had rescheduled because he’d been sick. When she thought of how she’d taken the rat fink her homemade chicken noodle soup…. Olivia had been forced to reschedule again when a last-minute crisis arose at work. Now she planned to take the trip alone, needing the tropical rest and relaxation more than ever.

“I reconfirmed my flight this morning. The minute that shoot in South Carolina is wrapped up, I am out of here.” Mentioning the beach assignment reminded Olivia of the startling switch in photographers. “Hey, did you know Fred’s sister was sick?”

“I heard she needs an operation. Her prognosis is great, but Fred’s going down for a little while to help with her kids. What brought that up?”

“The new photographer, Justin Hawthorne. He’s being officially introduced at the meeting this afternoon. He dropped by my office earlier to let me know he’s going with me Wednesday. Met him yet?”

“Nope, I was tied up on the phone all morning with modeling agencies. Is he anything like Fred?”

“They could not be more different.” Unfortunately. “I mistook him for one of your guys gone astray.”

Meg arched an eyebrow. “He’s as attractive as our male models?”

Better. “Close enough.”

“Oh, good, new eye candy!” Meg leaned back with a grin. “Maybe this afternoon’s meeting won’t be so boring after all.”

Not sharing her friend’s enthusiasm, Olivia smiled weakly. After a brief dating fast, she was going to change her ways—stop dating yummy heartbreakers and find a nice reliable man and a healthy relationship, the romantic equivalent of salad. She didn’t need the temptation of walking pieces of chocolate like Justin Hawthorne.

OLIVIA WAS somewhat dismayed that, as soon as she set foot in the conference room, her gaze went to Justin in spite of the other people present. She barely saw Meg point out the seat she’d saved or noted that the side table actually held herbal tea today. Normally, there was just coffee, another one of Olivia’s nonvices.

Instead of paying attention to any of that, her eyes followed Justin. It was as if the meeting were being captioned in the same romanticized style as their upscale catalog. Although casually attired in dark denim and a white button-down shirt, there was nothing casual about the intimacy of his warm smile.

She blinked. Good thing she had that vacation coming up.

Standing at the head of the table, wearing a tie that made one wonder how he’d landed a job in the fashion world, Steve Reynolds smiled. “Liv, you’re here. Great, we can get started.”

As someone who had spent the fourth grade as “Big Liv,” she despised the nickname Liv, but not enough to remind her promotion-wielding—or withholding—boss.

People began taking seats around the dark oval table, and Steve pointed toward the still-standing Justin. “Everyone, this is Justin Hawthorne, the newest member of our team. We were lucky enough to steal him from Hilliard. Liv, he’ll be your photographer for the swimsuit spread. Justin Hawthorne, meet Olivia Lockhart.”