Kristin Gabriel - Operation Babe-Magnet

A middle-aged woman sat reading a magazine in one of the chairs, a pair of bifocals propped on her nose. She looked up and smiled at him. “Hello.”

“Mistress Helga?”

She laughed, then stood up and held out one hand. “I see my granddaughter is playing games again. My name is Betty. Betty Brubaker.”

“Dexter Kane,” he said, surprised by the tasteful decor of her office. It was certainly an improvement over the garish display in the entrance. Betty wasn’t what he expected either. A slightly plump woman with ash blond hair pulled back into a neat bun. Thick eyebrows dominated her face, but her green eyes gleamed with intelligence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kane.” She sat back down in her chair and motioned for him to do the same. “Now, how can I help you?”

“I’m here to apply for a job. Perhaps as a bookkeeper or even an investment consultant. I have considerable experience in corporate management.”

She gave him a maternal smile. “I appreciate the offer, but my son might take offense if I replaced him. He’s worked as my business manager and financial advisor for the last five years.”

He thought about telling her that the front window display and the attitude of her receptionist were probably driving potential business away. But the numerous family photographs covering the walls and every nook and cranny of her office told him the advice might not be well received. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “I really need a job.”

“I see.” She studied him for a moment, then leaned forward in her chair. “Actually, I do have an opening for a male escort. Did you bring any references?”

“No, this is my first time.” Heat crept up his neck. “Well, not my first time, of course. I do have some experience.” He decided not to elaborate. His romantic encounters had left him physically satisfied, but strangely hollow. Yearning for something more that he couldn’t name or even fully understand.

“Tell me, Mrs. Brubaker…”

“Betty,” she reminded him.

“Betty.” He cleared his throat. “What exactly are the job requirements for this line of work?”

“We are an escort agency, Mr. Kane. Our employees accompany women to a variety of social functions and also serve as companions.”

“Both day and…night?”

She arched a brow. “We’re here to serve our clients at their convenience. Is that a problem?”

He cleared his throat. “Not at all. I just want to be fully prepared.”

“Now that I’ve answered your question, please answer mine.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Why are you really here?”

He blinked. Did she know about the game? Or was this some kind of test to prove to Amos that he intended to follow the rules? “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean you don’t look or sound like our usual applicant. In the first place, you’re wearing a tailored three-piece suit. In the second place, I’ve never seen a man blush so much since my honeymoon. So either you’re a lousy lover who is looking for some free experience or you’re a lousy undercover vice cop hoping to make a bust.”

“I’m neither.” Dexter feared he’d lost the game before he’d begun. “But I’m afraid I’ve given you the wrong impression.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she interjected. “Studs-R-Us does not sell sexual favors to its clients. I run a clean operation. There are a lot of lonely women out there, Mr. Kane, and it’s my mission to provide them with the company of a respectful, upstanding gentleman. In fact, if I suspect any employee of mine is indulging in a physical relationship with a client, he will be immediately terminated.”

Dexter swallowed his sigh of relief. He was a red-blooded American male, but selling his body wasn’t exactly the way he’d envisioned obtaining the company of his dreams. He gave her a curt nod. “A sound policy.”

“Now, if you’re really interested in the job…”

“I am.”

She opened the file folder on her desk. “I had a job request earlier today that has presented some problems. Since the majority of escort requests are for evening duty, dances and such, most of my employees work elsewhere during the day.”

“I’m available twenty-four hours a day,” Dexter assured her.

Betty glanced down at the open folder. “Actually, that’s exactly what Miss Timberlake requires. A man at her disposal twenty-four hours a day for approximately four weeks.”

“That sounds perfect.”

She arched a brow. “Aren’t you even interested in hearing about the job?”

He shook his head. “I’m completely flexible.”

She looked bemused. “Well, that’s good, because she refused to give me many details. Although she did make it clear that confidentiality was of the utmost importance.”

“My lips are sealed.”

She smiled. “See that you keep it that way. I’ve not yet met Ms. Timberlake but she sounded quite young on the phone. As I said before, any physical relationship with a client results in instant termination.”

“Understood.” He took a deep breath. “Does this mean I have the job?”

She stood up and held out her hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Kane. You are now officially a Stud.”

KYLIE TIMBERLAKE sprinted through the door of Studs-R-Us, her heart pounding in anticipation. She’d almost given up finding a way out of this untenable situation. Now it looked as if her biggest problem was about to be solved.

She stopped short when she saw the man standing in the front office. His short, dark hair was slicked back and he wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He was tall and looked as if his gray pinstripe suit concealed finely honed muscles. Her first impression was that she’d run smack dab into a superhero in disguise. But she didn’t need a man who could leap tall buildings in a single bound. She needed a man who had a way with woman. And one who didn’t mind a little deception.

“Excuse me,” she said, still a little breathless from her sprint. “I’m looking for Mrs. Brubaker.”

“She just took the receptionist out to dinner.” The man pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I’m filling in until they get back.”

“Oh.” Disappointment spiraled through her. Had she gotten the time wrong? “Do you have any idea when that will be?”

“No, but perhaps I can help you.”

“I’m here for an interview.” Kylie bit her lower lip, telling herself not to panic. She still had a little time to sort it all out.

“Are you Miss Timberlake?”

“Yes,” she said, giving him a quick smile. Her preoccupation was no reason to be rude. “I’m supposed to be meeting one of the studs here. But I must have mixed up the time.”

He glanced at his watch.

“Actually, you’re three minutes late.”

“You mean he already left?”

“No.” 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?”