Frederick beamed, Nicholas clapped, and Janelle managed a sliver of a smile.
“Then we cannot wait to have dinner with you and your fiancé on Friday night, and perhaps we can finalize things then,” Janelle said, and it was clear that she was in charge of the hiring. That whatever decision the brothers made about the casting of the film would be Janelle’s choice, and Janelle likely wanted a taken woman working closely with her philandering husband. Funny, considering Sutton had heard from an agent friend that Janelle wasn’t even giving her husband the goods anymore. Apparently, she’d cut him off til he proved he could behave. “Why don’t you come to our penthouse on Fifth Avenue? Just the six of us.”
Friday night was five nights from now. Where in the whole of New York was Sutton supposed to come up with a fiancé in five days? But she had no intention of losing this project simply on account of lacking a man. She’d sort out the details later.
“Absolutely. I’d be most delighted,” Sutton said in a crisp voice.
Janelle stood up to leave. The brothers rose too. “Oh, I just thought of a brilliant idea,” Janelle said. “Perhaps you and your fiancé might like to see the new play that just opened at the St. James. I have box seats for tomorrow, but alas, I have a charity event to attend.” Janelle reached into her Hermes purse, rooting around for tickets but came up empty. “Oh dear. They must be in my other bag. I’ll just messenger them over to you later today.”
“Wonderful. How generous of you. We’ll be so excited to see it,” Sutton said, and now she had little more than twenty-four hours to produce a fictional fiancé to take to the theater.
How hard could it be though? This was her forte. She knew where to find the sexiest men to star in the sexiest man candy roles. She could bring you hot firemen, tattooed bad boys, heroic soldiers, hometown guys with chips on their shoulders, rock star types who made girls throw bras on stage, and all-American athletes who could melt panties.
Now, hours later, as Sutton tapped a Louboutin-clad foot on the floor in her office and stared at a framed photo of her most adorable dog, she knew none of those types were right for this particular role. Sutton had never dated that type of man. She could bluff at the conference table about having a fiancé, but to pull off a dinner with the producers of the film, including that hawkish wife? Wives knew when a relationship was not what it seemed, and Janelle already had her bloodhound nose a-sniffing around her husband’s wandering eye. If Sutton were to pull off this farce of a fiancé, she’d need a man who really was her type, someone she could reasonably like.
But all the actors she’d auditioned for It’s Raining Men were stripper types, beefcake and bravado. This was not a job that necessitated swagger. Sutton had never gone for those kind of guys. Truth be told, she’d always had a thing for hipsters. A little bit of stubble, a little bit of attitude, a tattoo on the arm, jeans that showed off a fine piece of ass.
She picked up the picture frame, as if the dog with his tan and brown face had all the answers. “Tell me who’d be perfect for this role,” she said to the dog’s image. Then she pressed the frame to her chest and closed her eyes. He had to be sexy, but he had to have a touch of innocence to him. Why was it that men didn’t ever want to project a little bit of innocence? Was that such a bad thing? But so few were willing to show that side, as if being vulnerable, being fresh, would somehow shred every last ounce of masculinity from a man? Her ideal man would need a bit of the wide-eyed wonder that a superhero has when he first learns he has special powers. She scrolled through her photographic memory of faces, mentally crossing off all the ones that just wouldn’t do. Then, like a jack-in-the box springing to life, she shouted a victorious “yes!”
She placed the frame gently on her desk and moused over to the file she kept on her desktop from every single audition she’d ever held, clicking until she found the man she had in mind. Yes. He was every bit the boy toy. He was every cougar’s dream, even though Sutton wasn’t a cougar. But she’d always had a bit of a crush on him. He was adorable, and yet, had that chased-with-danger look in his eyes. She’d never regretted calling him in for any audition. He was witty, clever, and frankly, irresistible.
But the best part was she could never truly fall for him because she simply wouldn’t go there with an actor. She didn’t trust actors with her heart, and had never dated one for real, so she’d have a built-in safety net. They’d both simply be trying to get a job.
She hit the speaker button on her phone, stabbing it with a perfectly manicured fingernail, polished in midnight black. Sutton wasn’t a woman who needed to wear fire-engine red to look sexy. Sutton was sexy. She’d been born and bred that way, with long legs, a flat belly and curves where she needed them. Her long brown hair was twisted on top of her head, and she wore her trademark black cat’s eye glasses. She was twenty-eight, but she looked young for her age and that’s why she wore glasses—so she’d be taken more seriously. The whole effect made her look like a sexy librarian.
As she started to dial the number, she noticed the time on her computer clock. It was noon on a Monday. Could she pull this off in one week? Time was unspooling into a messy stew. She’d have to speed it up and fast track this deal. She dialed the rest of the number, hoping her hunch was right.
Chapter Two
Reeve punched a fist in the air when he hung up with his agent. He’d scored an audition, one with a casting director he’d worked with before. He’d tried out for It’s Raining Men, and had returned for a second and third callback, but lost out on a supporting role. He’d snagged a day role though, as a bartender at the strip club. The bigger roles had gone to bigger names. But now she wanted to see him, and his agent had sounded so enthusiastic that Reeve couldn’t help but be fired up. Sutton Brenner, very British and very sexy, wanted to see him two hours from now.
Reeve popped up from the couch in his cardboard box-sized apartment, dropped his phone on the scratched and beaten-up wooden coffee table, and changed into one of his favorite tee-shirts, reviewing all the things he knew about Sutton Brenner as he brushed his teeth. The movies she’d cast, the shows she’d worked on. Then there were the personal details. She had a dog who was the center of her world, and Reeve was pretty sure the dog had a strange name. As he capped the toothpaste, he remembered the name.
He checked himself out in the cracked mirror on the closet door. Yep. He looked the way casting directors wanted him to look—young and dreamy, but with a bit of an edge. The kind of guy you could clean up with a short haircut, button-down shirt and pants and bring home to mom and dad, but the same guy a girl would gladly slide in behind on a motorcycle for a ride to a secluded make-out spot. Those were the roles he knew he could win. He left and headed for Sutton Brenner’s Madison Avenue office. The receptionist showed him in immediately. At the end of a long hallway, Sutton stood in the doorway, one hand on the door, the other on her waist, looking like a tall drink of woman.