Julie Benson - Home on the Ranch - Colorado

“Lucky Elizabeth. Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Bottled water? My phone number?”

For a moment he didn’t know what to say. Strong women didn’t scare him, but he wanted a woman to at least give him a chance to show interest before she made an all-out play for him, and he wasn’t used to being pounced on the minute he walked into a place of business.

“I’m good.”

“You sure are.” The receptionist pointed to a cluster of ridiculously flimsy metal chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll let Elizabeth know you’re here.”

As he sat, he hoped the chair would hold his weight. He didn’t belong here. Elizabeth’s client would take one look at him, laugh and ask her if she was crazy to put this cowboy in an ad campaign to sell clothes.

Now if the client was Ford or Chevy, that he could see. Man, he wished she wanted him to sell trucks instead of jeans. That wouldn’t be a bad deal. He could chuck a saddle and some grain sacks in the back of a flatbed, crawl in the cab and drive off into the sunset. Yup, that would be a sweet deal.

But he hadn’t gotten that lucky.

A minute later Elizabeth walked into the reception area. She was tinier than he remembered. Heck, she couldn’t be more than five-two, because she barely reached the middle of his chest, even wearing high heels. He grinned. Those spiky shoes sure made her calves look fantastic. How could such a little thing have legs that were longer than an Alaskan night?

“I’m glad you’re here. I hope your flight was pleasant.” She held out her hand.

He shook it, surprised at the softness of her skin. “The flight was fine.”

“Thanks for getting here on such short notice. Today we’re going to take some photos. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow with the client. You and I both work for him. Unfortunately, until we have professional shots he’s unwilling to sign a contract with you or the agency.”

“I can’t sign the contract and have him cut me a check today?”

“Mr. Devlin insists on seeing the professional photographs first.”

Rory nodded, trying to shove aside his nervousness and unease. The sooner he got to work, the sooner he’d get paid. “Then we’d best get started.”

“Follow me.” Elizabeth started walking. “Let me tell you a couple of things about today’s shoot. We’re doing this one in-house since the photos are to show the client how wonderful you’ll be to showcase his jeans. When he signs the contract, we’ll do the commercial and print shoots elsewhere.”

She glanced at Rory as if she expected him to say something, so he replied, “Makes sense.”

“I coordinate the shoot. It’s my job to make sure everyone else is doing his or hers, and that we have everything we need. We’ve got a small set, and once you change, our photographer will take pictures of you there. But the first thing we need to do is get you into our client’s designer jeans.”

Designer jeans. Probably uncomfortable, tight and way too fancy. Rory followed Elizabeth down a series of hallways to a big open room, where she picked up a pair of dark blue jeans off a table.

When she held them out to him, he realized this job was going to be worse than he’d expected. Way worse.

“NO REAL MAN would be caught dead in these.”

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth couldn’t believe what Rory had just said about the client’s jeans.

“I didn’t mean to say that loud enough for anyone to hear.”

Not an ounce of remorse showed in his clear, coffee-colored eyes, annoying her further. Her campaign rested on this cowboy, and he needed to take this job seriously. She’d fix that problem right now. “The first rule of being a spokesperson for a product, which is what we intend for you to be, is to always sing the product’s praises. Never, in public or private, make any negative comments about the company, its employees or their products.”

“Do I have to check with you before I say anything to anyone?”

“That might not be a bad idea until you get the hang of this business.”

“I was joking.”

She stared at him, not quite sure how to respond. “I know a lot of people don’t value advertising, but this is a serious, competitive business.”

“Lighten up. It isn’t brain surgery.”

Bullheaded man. Elizabeth pinched her lips together and counted to ten. If she didn’t need him so desperately, she’d fire him, because obviously her words weren’t hitting home.

“No, it’s not brain surgery or rocket science, but that doesn’t mean what we do here isn’t important. We’re a crucial part of the economy. If we create an ineffective campaign, company sales go down, which means people get laid off. It also means a possible fall in stock prices and less dividends for stockholders. That creates other repercussions in the economy, which I won’t go into here.” Mainly because Rory probably wouldn’t grasp the fine nuances. “Mistakes like criticizing the company’s product can cause a lot of people, you included, to lose their jobs. Are we clear on that?”

“Where do I change?”

She ignored his question for a minute, trying to determine if she’d made her point. Finally deciding the man would have to be a complete idiot not to have understood her, she pointed to a door on the opposite side of the studio. “You’ll find a shirt in there. You can wear your own boots for this shoot.”

While Rory changed, Elizabeth surveyed the scene around her, checking the details for the photo shoot. Micah Devlin was a perfectionist with a keen eye, and expected the same from everyone he worked with. He had to like Rory; otherwise the whole concept was a loss.

Think positively, Elizabeth. That breeds good energy, and good energy brings about good results .

The lighting was perfect. The background clean white. A saddle was propped on a hay bale, a rope casually wrapped around the saddle horn. Rats. She’d forgotten about requesting hay bales. She glanced at the set assistant. “Kudos on the set, especially on such short notice.”

The young woman beamed.

Elizabeth rubbed her itching eyes. The sneezing would start soon. She dug in her purse, searching for a Claritin to stem her allergy symptoms, but came up empty. No getting around it, she’d have to suffer through.

Two more hay bales sat beside the saddle, completing the scene. Enough props to let people know Rory was a cowboy, but not enough to detract from the jeans or the cowboy. For the actual campaign she planned outdoor shots in upstate New York at a barn, on a horse, working around the place. But right now she needed to sell Rory to Devlin.

Please let him look good in the jeans .

The coffee she’d gulped an hour earlier sloshed in her nervous stomach.

Wait a minute. What was she thinking? As long as the jeans fit, he’d look terrific in them. A man that gorgeous could make anything look good. A mental picture of Rory shirtless in a pair of jeans, his chest slick as he poured water over his sweaty skin after a long day of fixing fences, flashed in her mind.

Note to self—get shots of Rory with his shirt off .

She fanned her face, though that wasn’t the only place she was warm. What was she thinking? This was business. She never mixed business with pleasure, and besides that, Rory wasn’t her type.

The click of stilettos on the hardwood floor interrupted Elizabeth’s daydreaming. She turned to find Stephanie Jones, her black leather makeup case slung over her shoulder, sauntering toward her.

The leggy brunette stopped in front of Elizabeth. “Where’s our model?”

Before she could answer, she sneezed. Not one of those polite feminine sneezes, but one with hurricane force. Darn allergies. “He’s changing,” Elizabeth said, after two more sneezes. “Let me explain what I’m looking for today. Just play up his natural good looks. I want him to stay real, like the cowboy he is.”