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“So you think I’m uptight?” He seemed amused by the idea.
“Not uptight. Just restrained. Controlled.” Everything she wasn’t, but needed to learn how to be. Or at least how to appear to be when it counted.
Part of her rebelled at that. Take me as I am, dammit. Can’t you see I can be silly and brilliant?
But she knew that wasn’t easy to accept. She remembered when she’d told her family she’d left the ad agency to work for SyncUp. They looked at each other the same way. Not again.
They’d been polite and encouraging, but there was no mistaking their weariness. When will she grow up, figure it out, settle down?
They just didn’t get her. She had a plan and this promotion was key. She was building contacts, networking, getting experience. In five years or so, she would open up her own agency, maybe with a partner.
“You okay?” Matt had noticed her preoccupation.
“Sure. I’m fine.” She smiled, sorry she’d gotten distracted.
“So, you think all I have to do is slap Mickey Mouse ears on my head and people will buy SyncUp products from me?”
“Whatever works, Matt,” she said, smiling. “Actually, though, now that we’re talking about it, a camera is a great networking tool. Bring a camera to an event and everyone’s your friend. You have a good digital, I assume?”
“Not with me. I bought the new Canon EOS 350D, eight megapixel, an upgrade from the 300D. It’s got—”
“Forget the specs, Matt. Will it fit in your pocket?”
“I have a case for it.”
“The idea is to keep it with you at all times. When you’re at the convention, take photos and you have an excuse to exchange business cards so you can e-mail the snaps. Instant leads.”
He gazed at her, a smile tracing his lips. “You’re good.”
The words would have been a sexual come-on from any other guy. From Matt they were straight praise. She was chagrined to notice they aroused her anyway. She was tuned into him, hyperaware, probably from the long-ago crush, which seemed to be getting worse.
She stayed on task. “So, tomorrow night we’ll do this photo hunt.”
“What are we supposed to take pictures of?” He tugged the flyer closer. “Exactly what are ‘hot shots’?”
There were no specifics listed. “Sexy stuff, I’d guess. It’s the Sin on the Beach festival. Remember? Sights you’d see in a Girls Gone Wild commercial or, say, spring break in Florida. Anything goes.”
He seemed to chew that over, work it out like an equation to be solved for X. “So I’m supposed to talk women into taking off their clothes for me?”
“You’ll have no trouble.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. You’re a hot guy.” She shrugged.
“You think I’m hot?” He honed in on her.
“Absolutely.”
He shook his head, as if he thought she was being polite.
“I’m serious. You’re built. You’re good-looking.” She surveyed him. Sunlight flashed off his glasses. “You should ditch these, though.” She tugged them from his face, being playful, but was startled at how close his electric-blue eyes suddenly were. The moment was abruptly intimate, like being naked with someone for the first time, and she could hardly breathe.
“You have great eyes,” she said, lowering his glasses to her lap to hide the fact her fingers had started to shake.
“How am I supposed to see?”
“Get contacts.”
“Too much hassle. Little plastic floppy things.” He rubbed his fingers together, then shook them, as if to rid himself of the clingy objects. “I don’t know how you stand them.”
“How did you know I wear them?”
“They swim over your irises.”
“Oh. Well, then.” He’d watched her closely enough to catch that detail? Awareness tingled through her. “They’re a lot easier to use these days. You can wear them for a month, even at night. You really should try them.”
He just looked at her.
“Will you do it? Try contacts?”
“Maybe.” But he wouldn’t without a nudge, she could tell. Men just didn’t jump on stuff like that.
“Why don’t we get you some while we’re here? They’ll enhance your sociability.”
“You think?” His eyebrows dipped and his forehead crinkled, considering the idea.
“Sure. Glasses are barriers, creating distance between you and the other person. Without them you seem closer, warmer, more available.”
“Is that how you see me now? Closer? More available?”
Oh, yeah. She managed a simple nod. If he hadn’t made the question sound like a scientific inquiry, she would have attacked him right here on the couch.
They were alone, breathing in synch, inches apart, with Matt looking at her in the serious, steady way that always got to her. Attraction swelled like the waves surging onto the beach a few yards beyond his door.
She crossed her thighs against the ache she felt and strove for good sense. “While we’re at it, we should do something about your look.”
“My look?”
“You’re a hot software designer, Matt. You need an edge. A haircut, for one thing. And definitely new clothes.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He looked down at his blue oxford shirt and khaki shorts. “They’re clean. They match.”
“For one thing, this is not beachwear.” She let her eyes travel down his body. “You need a tank top.” She eyed his arms, envisioning bared shoulders, fanned deltoids. “A Hawaiian shirt, maybe—” she kept looking down “—and some board shorts.” She realized she was staring at his zipper, so she jerked up her eyes and met his curious gaze.
Embarrassed, she babbled on. “New business clothes, too. What you wear is too traditional. We can do it at the mall here. It’ll be kind of a makeover.”
“A makeover? You mean one of those Queer Eye-Straight Guy deals? No way am I shoving up my sleeves or layering.” He held up his hands in a stop gesture.
“Nothing major. We’ll just give you some verve.”
“Verve? That’s way too gay.”
“Forget verve, then. Think of it as a software update. Matt, version 2.0.”
“I don’t know…”
“Sure you do. A new image is half the battle with Scott. We update your look, teach you to network and—poof—you’re the fabulous marketing VP Scott wants.”
“That’s pretty superficial, don’t you think?”
“Everything’s perception, Matt. We both know that. Shaping opinions, creating an image is part of our craft.”
“So, we’re marketing me to Scott?”
“Exactly.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It is. You said it yourself. I’m good.” Which is why you want me as a team leader. Hell, before the trip was over, he might just offer her the job. “So, are you with me?”
“I guess so.” He hesitated, then tried to smile. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”
“I promise you won’t be sorry,” she said softly, vowing to do her very best for him, to help him without pushing him too far out of his comfort range.
She slid his glasses back in place, grateful for the barrier between them, aware they were both holding their breath. She noticed the beauty mark high on his right cheek, the crinkles that fanned out from both eyes, hinting at the humor behind his seriousness.
“I’ll pull up the mall’s Web site and see about morning appointments. Sound good?”
“I guess I’m just grateful you’re not suggesting I get my teeth bonded.”
“You mean fix that chip? Oh, never. That’s proof you’ve got some bad boy in you.”
“Oh, I’m bad, all right. I write code without off-site backup and drink milk straight from the carton.”
She laughed. “I didn’t realize how funny you are.”
“You bring it out in me.” He hesitated, as if he’d said more than he’d intended. “In everyone, I mean.”
“Thanks,” she said, warmed by his words, by this admission that she’d affected him in a good way. Again she was imbued with the determination to help him, to do this right, to prove herself in this new way.
“So, back to the festival,” she said, staring down at the flyer, shy about her surge of pride. Aware, also, of Matt’s close gaze, the way he studied her. It was unnerving and reassuring at the same time.
“So, what else can we do? You say you played basketball, so let’s see what sports are going on. Ah, here we go. Beach volleyball. Starting in—” she looked at her watch “—half an hour. Let’s do that. We’ll meet some people, which will be good practice for you. After that, we can come back here and I’ll show you my stuff.”
“Beg your pardon?” His eyes dropped to her bikini, which peeked from the sides of her blouse.
“My marketing stuff, Matt.”
He turned bright red. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re human.” She pushed at his arm in a friendly way, but her fingers stayed a moment too long. Having such a polite guy unable to keep from staring at her chest was dead sexy.
“I’m not usually so rude. Around you…I don’t know. You’re so…lively.”
“Lively?” Was that code for her being blatantly sexual? A party girl, in other words? That thought was a cold stab. “I’m more than you think I am,” she said lightly, not wanting to reveal her hurt. She usually didn’t take such quick offense, but the whole PQ2 thing and the promotion pressure had thrown off her confidence.
“That’s true of most of us, isn’t it?”
“Sure. I guess.” Everyone got pigeonholed to some degree, but not everyone got padlocked in as she’d been by her family. And not everyone could lose credibility at work over their reputation, either. She’d had enough of false impressions and she needed her time with Matt to fix this for good.
“Do you want to change?” Matt asked.
“What’s wrong with how I am?” Had he seen her PQ2 already?
“I mean for the volleyball game?” He nodded at her outfit.
“Oh. Change my clothes. Sorry.” She laughed, feeling foolish. Lighten up. “We haven’t got time really. I’ll just get more comfortable.” She took off her blouse, since it would constrict her arms, then crouched into a block to test her pants. “Too tight,” she concluded and undid the zipper to step out of her capris.
Afterward, Matt seemed to have to drag his gaze up to her face. She’d just changed in front of him, after all. “Better?” he asked, swallowing over what must have been a dry throat.
“Sure,” she said, flattered that he seemed to have to struggle to stop staring at her. The bottom of her bikini wasn’t cut particularly high and the top barely showed the curve of her breasts, but Matt seemed utterly stunned.
“You’ll want to lose the shirt,” she said, nodding at him.
He took it off and tossed it to the couch.
Now it was her turn to stare. Definitely buff, with an attractive line of dark hair that began low on his chest and pointed toward glory.
“Candy? You okay?”
“Yeah. Just checking.” She pretended to consider his biceps. “You’ve got a faint tan line, but your olive skin means you’ll only need a kiss of sun.”
“You’re worried about my tan?”
“A spray-on touch-up wouldn’t hurt.”
“What?”
She grinned. “Kidding! Nothing extreme. Maybe just a chemical peel? Kidding,” she added before he could object.
“I have the feeling I’m going to regret this,” he said, but his eyes twinkled. “I look okay for the game?” He stood back so she could check him out.
Naked to the waist, he was awe-inspiring. Even wearing boring khaki shorts. “Lose the belt,” was all she said.
He whipped the leather smoothly from the loops, his eyes on her the entire time, and her body went electric. Don’t stop, she wanted to say. Take it all off.
“Shoes, too,” she breathed, kicking off her own sandals.
