Copyright © 2008 Carol Ayer
All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.
"He's here, and he's hot!"
Rebecca Charles wearily turned her attention from the computer screen to her assistant's grinning face. Leave it to Sara to latch onto the irrelevant.
Sara yanked open the door and rushed outside before Rebecca had a chance to ask for more time. She powered down the computer, chewing on the inside of her cheek. It figured that Mr. Bigshot would be early. Did he expect her to drop everything she was doing and hurry outside the moment he arrived? Jonathan Eastman the Third, vice-president of the ThemeWorld Parks conglomerate, clearly didn't care about anyone else. He didn't care whom he inconvenienced on the way to getting what he wanted, which was no doubt more money and power than he already had.
In fact, the whole situation reminded her uncomfortably of her ex. She couldn't count the number of times Mark had arrived early to pick her up and been insistent that she leave even if she still had work to do. Of course, when she needed him, he was busy with a client.
So she would go out there, tell Eastman she'd changed her mind about his business proposition, and send him on his way. She would keep her beloved fairy tale park out of his clutches if she had to wrench it from his greedy hands.
Rebecca stood, trying desperately to rein in her emotions. Eastman wasn't Mark. Still, she needed to get rid of him. She looked down at the framed picture on her desk and whispered, "Gran, don't worry. I don't care how hot he is."
* * * *
At least, she thought she didn't care, and then she stepped outside and actually laid eyes on the man. Jonathan Eastman the Third stood close to six feet. His silky dark hair curled beguilingly over his ears and begged for a woman's fingers to be run through it. Clean-shaven and slightly tan, Eastman would draw attention even without his immaculate, three-piece Armani suit. He looked more than a little incongruous leaning against the side of the giant shoe that acted as Storytown's customer service center.
Well-defined muscles strained against the fabric of Eastman's suit, and Rebecca forced herself to stop staring at his chest and to focus on his eyes instead. Bad idea. Bluer than the painted moat at their Cinderella set, his eyes reminded her of swimming in the open ocean on a clear summer day. And the eyelashes.... Why did men always get the long eyelashes?
She gathered her composure and reached for her guest's hand. A pleasant whiff of musky aftershave swirled around her.
"I'm Rebecca Charles. How do you do?" Good, Rebecca. You remembered your own name.
"Miss Charles, it's so nice to meet you. I'm Jon Eastman." His smile revealed a dimple in each cheek, and she cringed. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.
"Let's go back to my office." Rebecca led him to the building that did double duty as the Storytown office and a model of the witch's house from Hansel and Gretel. So many times she'd wished the candy on the outside of the building was real instead of fake--especially in the middle of a morning filled with nervous mothers planning birthday parties.