Living the Fantasy

Ali gaped at her. “Guinevere? Me?”

Marilyn rolled her eyes. “Yes, you!”

“But why?”

“Because he’s a crazy man! You’re not tall enough, you’re not trained in any way and you could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“Hey!” That was Elisa, not Ali. Sadly, Ali knew everything the woman said was absolutely correct.

“But I don’t understand why,” said Ali, her gaze going to Elisa. Sadly, Mad Marilyn wasn’t allowing anyone to talk but herself.

“It doesn’t matter why, Miss Flowers. It matters that you say yes!” This time she forcibly wrapped Ali’s fingers around the pen.

“But I don’t know anything about modeling—”

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“—and I already have a job!” That last protest was pure reflex. After all, hadn’t she just decided she needed to remake her life? But modeling had never entered her mind as a possibility.

Meanwhile, Marilyn huffed as she sat back in her chair. “Shall I be blunt?” she asked.

As if she was ever anything else! “I’m not a model,” Ali said.

“No, my dear, you’re a secretary in a hospital PR department.”

Ali blinked. How did Marilyn know that? “I manage events, coordinate publicity and logistics. It’s an important job!” She said the words, but inside, she knew it really was a lame job. Sure, what she did was valuable, but all it took was an organized mind. She had that in spades. She was valued (at least she hoped she was) but from anyone else’s perspective, she was just another cog in a very big machine.

“And now you have a chance to be something better. Something special! A Marilyn Madison Model!”

Ali didn’t know how to answer. The idea of her as a model was just too far to go, and yet she was starting to think about it. Could she really be pretty enough to be a model? She wasn’t ugly, but she’d never thought of herself as beautiful.

“Think of it!” Mad Marilyn pressed. “Your picture in the paper, screaming fans, cameras, a life under the lights! It’s what every girl wants, and it’s being handed to you on a silver platter!”

Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say. As Marilyn started speaking, the reality of what a model had to do started hitting. She’d be put on display. All those cameras! What if she said the wrong thing? What if she did the wrong thing? She would be promoting Blind Ken’s product—whatever it was—but if she screwed up then that would reflect badly on him.

“No,” she whispered. “No, I can’t do that.”

Marilyn released her breath on a huff of disgust. Then she shook her head. “Listen to me, Miss Flores. I know this is fast, I know this is a big change. But sometimes opportunity happens like that. It’s there and then it’s gone like that.” She snapped her fingers with a loud crack. “So take it now while it’s being offered. Otherwise it’s gone.” Again, she snapped her fingers and the sound seemed to echo in Ali’s head. “Think hard. And think fast.”

Then she pushed out of her chair and shot a glare at Elisa. “You’re her friend! Explain the situation. Explain how great an opportunity this is.” She straightened her very tight fitted jacket. “I’ll go negotiate your fee.” Then she was gone.

Ali waited a long time after Marilyn was gone before looking at Elisa. They were best friends, had been since college when they’d been assigned each other as roommates. They couldn’t be more opposite. Where Ali was studious and shy, an introvert with a love of reading, Elisa was vivacious, spontaneous and had a burning desire to be a runway model. After she’d failed a dozen auditions, Elisa decided to use her brain and body a little differently. She interned at Marilyn’s agency and was so good at it that Marilyn hired her as soon as the internship was over.

Elisa couldn’t be a top model, but she could help other girls attain the dream. And now, apparently, her job was to see that Ali became exactly what Elisa had dreamed of. But Ali just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t be a model. She didn’t know anything about it!

“Don’t shake your head, sweetie,” Elisa said as she pulled up a chair. “Let me guess. You’re thinking that you can’t be a model, not because you aren’t pretty enough—”

“I’m not!”

“The client says you are.”

Ali didn’t have an answer to that, so she buttoned her lip.

“You’re thinking that you can’t stand having people look at you. That you’d be the center of attention and that you’d mess it up somehow.”

Ali sighed. “It’s not fair of Marilyn to make you talk me into this.”

Elisa shrugged. “Don’t think about me right now. Let’s talk about you.”

“I can’t be a model!”

“You keep saying that, but what really is stopping you?”

“I have a job.”

“And didn’t you just text me that you wanted a new one?” Elisa pulled out her phone and paged through to the right text message. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “What you actually said was: ‘We’re going to find me a new life.’”

Ali sighed. Sure she’d said that, and she’d even meant it. “But I can’t just change my entire life over lunch.”

Elisa shrugged. “Like Marilyn said, sometimes things happen that fast.”

“Don’t you dare snap your fingers!” Ali groused. Of course Elisa didn’t have to. Ali still had the sound of Marilyn’s snap echoing in her brain. But even as her heart was starting to think of the possibility, her brain was busy coming up with reasons she couldn’t possibly do this.

“I’d be a lousy model.” She’d spent her life on logistics and organization. It had been a necessary survival skill while managing her three younger siblings. “My skills are great backstage.”

Again, Elisa just shrugged. “Maybe it’s time to learn some new skills.”

Sure it was. But modeling? “I haven’t a clue what to do.”

“Well, that’s easy enough. We’ll teach you. And besides, you’re not going on a runway. You’re just dressing up and talking to people. You do that every day.”

“I talk to people at health fairs. About finding the right doctor and managing their blood pressure.”

“And now you’ll talk to kids about a game. Really, Ali, you’re incredibly smart. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Ali tried to picture it. She imagined herself as one of those product girls she saw at health fairs, the ones attached to some drug company. They looked good, but dressed on the edge of too slutty, in her opinion. They were there to draw people to the booth so that they could try a sample of an over-the-counter medication. Or a new arch support. Or something. They were product girls, and…and well, what they did wasn’t that hard.

“That can’t pay enough compared to what I’m making now.”

“Are you sure? That’s what Marilyn’s out there negotiating right now. And from what I saw, Mr. Johnson wants you bad. That means big-dollar bad.”

Ali shook her head, but inside she was thinking. After all, Marilyn was right; every little girl wanted to be thought of as gorgeous, so beautiful people would flock to see her. But as a child she’d been much too shy and awkward to want anyone looking at her. There wasn’t any big trauma in her background. She was just more comfortable watching the action than being part of it. She was the girl who made sure things ran smoothly, whether that meant making sure her brothers had their uniforms for the big soccer game or watching the UPS website to be sure the hospital booth arrived at the event stadium. It had taken her a year to be able to function smoothly in a booth, speaking clearly in a crowd without stammering or blushing.

“I can’t lose my job,” she said. “What happens when the promo sweep is over?”

Elisa leaned back. “What about a leave of absence? I saw the events he has planned. It’s three months, tops. Good work for a model.”

“I’m not a model.” She said the words out of habit, but she was already softening.

“Don’t think of it as being a model. Think of it as an acting job.”

“Not helping.”

“People won’t be looking at you, Ali. They’ll be looking at Mr. Johnson’s queen.”

Ali didn’t even know how Elisa could say those words with a straight face. “How does a queen act? What if I do it wrong? It’ll reflect badly on his game and this agency.”

Elisa snorted. “You think too much about other people. Let Marilyn worry about the agency. Let Mr. Johnson worry about his product. You’re just being hired to stand around looking pretty. You can do that! Especially if you get paid really well for it.”

Ali squirmed. She could tell that Elisa wanted her to say yes. But the idea was so ludicrous. And yet even as she said those words to herself, she wondered if she were lying. Obviously, it wasn’t ludicrous. Not if Marilyn could really get her good pay. And yes, Elisa was right. Blind Ken seemed to think she’d be perfect for the job. He was delusional, but that wouldn’t stop him from paying her.

“What if I get fired without pay?”

“You won’t screw up, and Marilyn’s big on up-front pay.”

Ali gaped. “Can she do that?”

Elisa shrugged. “Not usually, but like I said: he wants you.”

Elisa stopped speaking, waiting while a zillion thoughts spun around in Ali’s brain. Elisa knew her well. She knew that she had to think things through. That she hated being bullied. And that…

“One last thing,” Elisa said. “Today’s text wasn’t just out of the blue. You’ve been ready for a change for a while now. Just last week you said you were getting frustrated. That you felt you were in a rut. You weren’t going to get promoted, you’d topped out your pay at the peon level—” Ali opened her mouth, but Elisa stopped her with a pointed finger. A gesture she’d obviously learned from Marilyn. “Those are your words, Ali! ‘The peon level.’”

Oh, right. She had said that.

“So maybe this is the shake-up you need, a summer of opportunity. If nothing else, think of it as a paid vacation. You’ll only be on a stage a few hours a day. After that, you can sit around in your hotel room and read. Or maybe you’ll go to the bar and get a drink. Hang out with your fellow actors. Come on, Ali, are you sure you don’t want to try it? Just for a few months?”

Ali shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her mind continuing to race. Everything Elisa said was right. Absolutely everything. But could she do it? There were so many things that would have to work out right. The pay, for one. The leave of absence from her current job, for another.

“Tell you what,” Elisa said, proving that she knew Ali was weakening. “Why don’t you go out and chat with Mr. Johnson? Find out exactly what he wants. You’ll see how easy it will be.”

At the mention of Mr. Johnson, Ali felt her face heat. He was cute. She’d enjoyed the short exchange that they’d had in the hallway. He’d seemed real and, well, just her speed. That meant funny and dorky in a nice way. Not the silk-shirt-and-thousand-dollar-suit guys that Elisa usually dated.

She thought about working with him day after day. He wasn’t tall, which was great. At five foot six, she hated feeling like a shrimp next to big guys. He had dark curly hair and nice brown eyes, though she’d noticed they were a bit red. As if he was already hours into a too-long day and it was barely one o’clock. But mostly she remembered how he’d made her feel: relaxed. As if he was just as nervous as she was, and so together they’d muddle along fine.

It was an odd thought to have after just a few minutes’ conversation, but the feeling persisted. Maybe it was his smile—warm and genuine, but still holding a hint of anxiety. As though he really wanted to make a good impression. Which made her smile because, honestly, what über-rich guy wanted to please her?

In short, the answer was yes. She could imagine working every day with him. In truth, she thought it could be really awesome. She’d just have to stop thinking of him as Blind Ken. He was Mr. Johnson from now on. Her boss…maybe.

“Okay,” she finally said.

“Okay, you’ll do it?”

“Okay, I’ll go talk a little more with Blind Ken.”

Elisa snorted. “You cannot call him that. And he’s not blind! How many times have I told you that you’re way more beautiful than you think?”

Ali shrugged as she straightened up from her chair. Then she rubbed her hands nervously along her skirt and wished she’d refreshed her makeup. “Do I have time—”

The door burst open and Marilyn stomped in looking for all the world as if she was ready to wrestle a bear. “Are you done? Did you sign? Can we go meet the client now?”

Guess there was no time for a makeup refresh. “Yes, I’ll meet Mr. Johnson now.”

Marilyn froze, her gaze darting to the unsigned contract.

“And then,” pressed Ali, “we can decide about an agency agreement.”

But first, she had to impress the hell out of Blind—er, Notblind Ken. The CEO of some quirky company. And when exactly had she stepped from normal world into wonderland?

3

KEN DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER to be depressed or dive headlong into a Desperate Act. It was obvious that he had erred badly. Having finally found his queen, he’d assumed she was a model (Mistake number one), stalked her like a psycho creep (Mistake number two), declared he “wanted her” and tried to buy her for a weekend or more (Mistake number three), and then when he’d finally realized his error, he lost the opportunity to explain himself (Mistake number four). Marilyn had whisked the woman away only to return fifteen minutes later to negotiate the woman’s fee as if she were bartering the crown jewels.

And in all of that, he got the distinct feeling that his Guinevere—a Ms. Ali Flowers—had no interest in being a model. So now he was faced with two choices. He could either give up entirely—not really an option. Or he could try again with Ali. But how? What to say to explain that he wasn’t creepy or insane? And how to convince a hospital PR rep to quit her job to come work for him for a summer? Because he could pay her well, but probably not that well.

He was still chewing on that thought when Marilyn finally realized he wasn’t going to negotiate any fee until he talked to Ali again. She clicked her teeth shut and pushed up from the table. “I’ll be right back,” she snapped, then tugged on her short jacket and stomped out.

Which left him sitting in the conference room with Paul, his vice president of marketing, while staring morosely at the table. Fortunately, Paul knew just how to talk to him.

“So, you’re sure this is the woman?”

Ken nodded without even taking his chin out of his hand.

“No one else will do?”

Ken shook his head.

“And she’s not even a model.”

Ken shrugged.

“So basically, we’re screwed.”

“Unless I can charm her into quitting her job for us.”

“Uh-huh. Screwed.” Then Paul paused. Ken knew what was coming. Paul was tall, dark and baby-faced cute. Not exactly handsome, but a man who looked and dressed the part of a marketing executive. And if one of them was going to charm Ali, then it would probably be Paul. “Do you want—” Paul began.

“No. Absolutely not. You stay quiet.” Both of them were startled by the vehemence in his words.

“Ooo-kay.”

“Let me sink or swim on my own here.”

Another long pause. “You know you’re not being entirely rational, right?”

Ken had no response to that. Of course he wasn’t being rational. But apparently, he didn’t care. Especially as Marilyn’s office opened up and out she came with one sharp-taloned hand gripping his Guinevere’s arm.

Ken shot to his feet, yet another mistake (number five) as his chair nearly flopped to the floor behind him. Fortunately, Paul had fast hands and grabbed it. Get a grip! Ken ordered himself. But it was hard to hear his own thoughts over the pounding of his heart.

The conference-room door opened and the ladies entered, Guinevere first. Ken searched her face, hoping for a clue, but he saw nothing that reassured him. Her face was composed, her eyes were alert, but there was a general air of wariness about her. And no wonder. She probably thought he was a total sleaze.

Time to start being charming. He pulled on a smile.

“Hello, Miss Flowers. I’d like to—”

“Flores.”

“—apologize. I must have sounded like a…What?”

“Flores. My name is Ali Flores.”

“Oh.” He could have sworn Marilyn said Flowers. Great, now he was really screwing up. “Um, I apologize. For getting your name wrong and for acting like a lunatic earlier.”

She smiled, a soft curving of her lips that did not show teeth. It was a reserved smile, and he found he liked her all the more for it. It softened her face without bowling him over with a polished exterior. It made her feel more real, and he found himself relaxing at the sight of it. She was a normal person. Hopefully, she understood that he was a normal guy—one who made mistakes.

Then Marilyn had to spoil the mood by hauling out a chair and strong-arming Ali into the seat. “Excellent! Now that that’s out of the way, let’s sit down and talk details.”

Ken bristled. He had a Neanderthal reaction to seeing anyone manhandling his queen, even if the man-handler was a woman. But before he could say anything, Paul leaped into the breech. Great, his employee got to be the hero before Ken could do more than glare.

“You know, Marilyn,” Paul said, “I believe I need to go over the contract with you in detail. We’re not signing anything until I get a few questions answered.”

“But what about—”

Paul took Marilyn’s arm and physically pulled her off Ali. “I’m in charge of the contract part. My boss is in charge of the campaign and the company as a whole. So you and I are going to talk turkey somewhere else. Now.” Then he all but shoved Marilyn out of the room. He was half a step out of the door when he somehow managed to grab hold of Elisa. “You, too,” he said. Then he glanced back at Ken and shot him a wink. “Sink or swim, buddy.” Then he was gone.

Ken released a slow breath, beyond grateful to finally have Ali in the room alone. But right on the heels of that relief was the knowledge that it was all up to him now.

He tried another smile. “Okay, so now they’re gone.”

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

“So we’re clear, I wasn’t trying to hire you as a prostitute or anything earlier. I thought you were a model. I was trying to book you—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “I figured that out.”

“Oh, good. Because I was afraid…” He swallowed. Stay on track. “So I’d like to hire you as a model. But you work at a hospital. Then Marilyn said…well, she said your name was Flowers.”

Ali grimaced. “She wants me to change my name.”

“Don’t you dare!” Then he flushed, belatedly realizing that he had no right to tell her to do anything with her name one way or the other. “I mean, Flores is a great name. And Flowers is a stupid one.”

Her lips curved a little more and her eyes seemed to sparkle. “Don’t you like flowers?”

Was she teasing him? He didn’t know and so he didn’t know how to respond. “Um, well, sure, they’re pretty and all. And you are, too, so, you know, Flowers would be okay if you really want it. But I don’t think you should change who you are. Unless you want to change your name. I mean—”

She laughed, that soft chuckle that pressed every damn happy button he had. Then she pressed her hand to her mouth and her eyes widened. “Oh, sorry,” she gasped.

“For what?”

“I, um, I shouldn’t have laughed like that.”

“No, you should have. I’m falling all over myself today. I’m sorry. I’m trying to impress you and doing such a damn bad job of it.”

Again her laughter bubbled up, though he could tell that she was still trying to hold it back. “That’s so funny,” she murmured.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he drawled. Usually when he tried to impress a girl. Once again he was choosing sink over swim.

“No, no!” she exclaimed. “It’s funny that you’re trying to impress me.”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I try to impress you? You’re beautiful and charming. And I want to hire you to be my Guinevere.”

She sobered and her expression showed true confusion. “But why? Why would you want me?”

And wasn’t that just the question of the hour? Paul had asked that, Marilyn, too. He gave the same answer that he’d given them. “Because you fit the part. You’re real.” He gestured to the stack of model photos on the table. “They’re not.”

She tilted her head, and he nearly lost himself in the curve of her neck as it met with a nice jaw, swooping up into a perfect shell ear.

“I bet if you’d met them, they’d be real, too.”

He snorted. “I have met them. Every single one of them paraded before me all morning. I only have to talk to them for half a minute to realize that they’re…well, they’re just like Marilyn.”

Her eyes widened. “Which part? Mad Marilyn where she decides my name should be Flowers? Or Scary Marilyn where she tells me I’ve got a dead-end job and that there’s nothing special about me unless I take classes from her and lose weight?”

“Don’t you dare!” Then again, he remembered that he didn’t have the right to tell her what to do and not do. “I mean,” he hastily amended, “don’t take classes from her. She’ll turn you into one of them.” He touched the nearest model photo and pushed it to the opposite side of the table.

“But I should lose weight?”

“What? No! You’re fine! And I can’t wait to see you in a corset.” Oh my God, had he just said that? “I mean…I think you’d look great in a…but not in a skanky way, you know. It’s the costume…And you’re beautiful in just what you’re wearing.”

She laughed. “I got it! Guinevere wears a corset.”

Thank God. She could understand his babbling. That was a plus as he seemed to be babbling a lot right now. And he really needed to stop. So he took a deep breath and decided to go for broke.

Sink or swim.

“Okay, here’s the truth.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dark, her skin flawless, and her lips—wow, those lips. He kept getting lost in looking at her mouth. And so, while he was still dazzled, his words began to flow.

“Back in high school there were two girls. Well, there were a lot of girls, but there were these two in particular. Stephanie was flawless. Tall, blonde, volleyball star and a mouth that was always dewy-moist like in those lipstick commercials.”

She blinked, and then she absently licked her own lips. His groin tightened at the sight. Her lipstick had mostly worn off, but that just made her more natural in his mind. No cosmetic mask, so to speak. Just her, clean and pure.

“Did you win her?” she asked.

“Geek me? No. But I did hang out around her at a couple parties, listening at the fringe, trying to fit in.”

Her lips curved. “I know it well.”

“And then one day I went from her crowd to the food table. I was munching on some chips when I started talking to Heidi. She was on the volleyball team, too, but wasn’t the star. She had a scar right here.” He pointed to a place right above his lip. “We started talking movies, then chemistry class, then philosophy.” He snorted. “Well, philosophy the way two sophomores in high school would.”

“How long did you two date?”

“That’s just the point. We didn’t. Not for another year and a half. But suddenly, I realized the difference between beauty and substance. Stephanie’s beauty ended up just leaving a bad taste in my mouth because it wasn’t real. But Heidi had substance. I could talk with her. We ended up being friends and that was so much better than being attracted by Stephanie’s flawless beauty.” He gestured to the pile of photos. “These girls are just another pinup, but you’re someone I can talk to. I could do it in the hall, and I can do it here. You have no idea how powerful that is. It means the world to me and will to the kids who are going to buy my product.”

She stared at him and he just looked back. Did she understand? “But actually, I’m kind of shy.”

He smiled. “I know. It’s like the difference between a whisper and a shout. I’ll tune out a shout. Everyone shouts. But a whisper? Now I’m intrigued. Now I’m leaning in to hear more.”