Anne McAllister - Gibson's Girl

“They banished you from Iowa until August 15th?”

Granted, he hadn’t been back to Iowa once in the past dozen years, but it didn’t seem likely they’d instituted quota laws that would prevent people from returning.

“I said I would be back August 15th,” she said as if that were explanation enough.

It wasn’t. “So? They got a phone? Call them and tell them you’ll be back sooner. Call them now and tell them you’ll be back tonight.”

But she only shook her head. “I can’t.”

Gib felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “Why the hell not?”

Chloe Madsen twisted her fingers. Her gaze flicked just a second in his direction. The blue-violet eyes blinked rapidly.

“Stop that!” Gib snapped.

Her eyes went wide. “Stop what?” She looked baffled.

“Crying. Don’t you dare cry.”

Her chin lifted. “I never cry.”

Gibson snorted a reply. He wasn’t going to argue about it.

“I don’t,” Chloe said firmly, taking his snort in exactly the vein in which it was intended. “Not about jobs, anyway,” she qualified after a moment. She hesitated, then took a deep breath. It made her breasts lift—and settle.

Gib shut his eyes. He turned away, headed for the door, opened it and stood waiting for her to go.

Edith, his office manager, was still sitting at her desk. She looked up now with interest. Gib hoped her being there would encourage Chloe not to continue the discussion.

“I know I made a fool of myself this afternoon,” Chloe said, her voice soft but firm. So much for his hopes. “But when we were talking about the job, Gina and I, I told her I was willing to do whatever an assistant did. And, well, one of the things she said they did was to stand in for models. I...wasn’t thinking. I should have realized you weren’t just setting up and running through. But I thought it was...expected of me. And then when you told me if I didn’t want to do it, to get back on the plane and go home...well, I couldn’t do that, either!”

“Why not?”

She looked at him as if he were crazy. “Because I couldn’t! Not after I’d made such a fuss and—” She stopped, clamped her lips together, didn’t say another word.

“Fuss?” Gib encouraged helpfully. What sort of fuss?

But she didn’t respond. Eventually she said, “Look, it was an honest mistake. I feel like an idiot. I must have looked like an idiot.”

No, she had looked...memorable. He didn’t figure he would forget Chloe Madsen swimming naked around his office as long as he lived. He also didn’t figure she wanted to hear that.

She bit her lip. “I really want to do this. Be your assistant, I mean. Please, don’t hold what I...what I did...against me.” She looked at him beseechingly.

“I don’t hold it against you,” he said roughly. “But you still can’t stay.”

“But you told Gina—”

“No,” he corrected her, “Gina told me. Gina is always telling me what I need to do, and I just sort of let it go in one ear and out the other. I go uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh at appropriate intervals.”

“Well, you obviously should have gone ‘huh-uh’ at one of them,” Chloe said just a little tartly. It was the first bit of spirit he’d seen from her since she’d come out of the dressing room.

“I never thought she’d actually send you!”

“Well, she did. She assured me that you’d agreed. She said you would let me work for you for two months. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal!”

She looked astonished. “Why?”

The innocence of her query stopped him dead. “Because... because...” Because he didn’t want an assistant like her—an innocent from Iowa, for heaven’s sake! New York was a rough place, a hard place. A person needed to be sophisticated to survive. Chloe would get eaten in a matter of minutes.

“It wouldn’t work,” was all he said.

“You don’t think I can do it! You think I’m incompetent.” Her eyes accused him.

Gib scowled. “I do not! I’m sure you’re very competent—”

“I am.”

“—and I’m sure you’d make a fine assistant—”

“I would.”

“—but I don’t want an assistant!”

“You need one,” Edith said.

Both Gibson and Chloe snapped around to stare at the older woman sitting behind the reception desk. She gave Chloe a little nod and Gibson a benign smile.

“You need one,” she repeated.

“I have...what’s her name...?” He could never remember their names. They didn’t last long enough for him to bother to learn them. “Frosty?”

“Misty,” Edith said patiently. “And she’s about as reliable as her name.”

“Right. Misty.” He tried to make her sound tough and competent. She was neither. Misty was the latest in a long line of what Gibson called his “girls.” The young women who schlepped and carried, set up lights and reflectors, ran errands, loaded film and lugged power packs.

“Girls.” Edith sniffed every time he used the term. “That is totally politically incorrect.”

“So sue me,” Gibson muttered.

They were lucky he even recognized them as members of the species. Misty and her forerunners—he was sure there had once been one called Frosty—came in all shapes and colors and sizes. They also invariably came with nose rings, spiked hair, black leggings and very little brain. They had the half-life of a loaf of bread. And were as memorable.

Gibson figured he’d remember Chloe for a good long while.

“We’re going to need someone reliable,” Edith reminded him, “because I’m going to Georgia’s next week.”

Gibson scowled. He didn’t want to think about that. He relied on Edith for everything unconnected with the actual shooting of photos. She ran the studio, kept the ad reps at bay, dealt with the agencies, the caterer, the legion of bike messengers who rang the buzzer in the middle of his work. She was the person who kept him sane. He’d been appalled when she’d asked for a month off.

“A month?” She hadn’t taken more than a week at a time in the last ten years.

“A month,” she’d said firmly. “At least. I’ll need it to help Georgia with the babies.”

After fifteen years of a childless marriage, Edith’s daughter, Georgia, had picked this summer to be inconsiderate enough to have triplets!

“Three?” Gibson had been aghast when Edith had told him. “What’s the matter with just one?”

But apparently the quantity hadn’t been up for discussion.

“We’ll take all we can get,” Edith had said cheerfully. She was over the moon about going to North Carolina and helping out with her first grandchildren. In fact she could hardly wait.

Gibson hadn’t been able to say no. He knew she would have simply quit if he had. So he’d said, all right. But once he’d agreed, he’d shoved the thought right out of his mind.

“Get someone to take your place,” he’d finally told her yesterday when she’d asked if he had someone in mind.

“I think Chloe will do fine,” Edith said now.

“What?” Gibson practically shouted.

But Edith just smiled her I’m-going-to-be-a-grandmother-and-all-is-right-with-the-world smile. “She looks sane and sensible and responsible. And if your sister trusts her...”

“My sister—”

“Is a good judge of character,” Edith said firmly. “If he doesn’t want you as his assistant, you can take over for me all right?” she said to Chloe. Then she looked at Gibson “Do you want her?”

A damned unfortunate choice of words.

Gibson felt his tongue tangling with his teeth. No, dam it, he didn’t want her! Not in his studio every day. Not ever in his reception room. And not just because his body had had an inconvenient reaction to her, either.