Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena)(17)
Harper stood in silence, her heart thudding against her sternum as she took in a deep breath. Then ten more to be sure she didn’t look as if she were interested.
Which she so wasn’t.
“Hidden depths my ass,” she mumbled as she watched him drive away. The man was as shallow as a puddle in the summer. Not that this should have surprised her.
St. Helena’s notorious playboy made no apologies, no promises, and no excuses for his frat-boy take on life. Women knew it. Men knew it. The whole town knew it. It was only Harper, and her see-the-good-in-everyone outlook, who had forgotten.
Harper turned to walk into the shop and nearly bumped into Chantel, who had come out to watch Adam parade his ego and engine down Main Street. And she wasn’t alone in the gawking. A half dozen other women remained crowded around the doorway as well, hollering for Adam to demo his hose for their followers on Facebook. Including Clovis.
Ignoring the crowd, the snapping cameras, and her grandma’s catcalls, Harper smoothed down the skirt of her dress and addressed Chantel. “Sorry about that. He was just looking for his jacket.”
“His jacket,” Chantel said loudly enough to be heard in New Zealand. She took in Harper’s newly tossed hair and lips and laughed. “That Honeysuckle must be one hot piece if he’s driving up on that engine just to get a peek.”
“What?” Harper asked, then saw the amused twinkle in Chantel’s eye. “Oh, no, Adam and I were just—”
“Looking for his jacket?” she said again with the laugh. “Look, I have to be honest, I came here to let you know that we’re looking to place our merchandise in stores that are trending, that speak to a younger, edgier woman. Our core customer is bold and driven, a trendsetter with a sensual side who’s dominating the boardroom and looking to dominate the bedroom”—Chantel pointed to the fire engine pulling down Main Street—“with a man like that.”
“Like Adam?”
“Well, not Adam specifically, but tall, built, all-American alpha males who wear testosterone and sex appeal like cologne. The fireman’s hat is a bonus.” Chantel leaned closer. “I shouldn’t be saying this, but Lulu Allure is getting ready to announce a new male line called Swagger. It will complement our new Flirt line for the fall and, unfortunately, with such a limited release and a huge marketing push, we’re looking for boutiques that can not only guarantee sell-through, but also generate buzz within the millennial generation. Which was why I was supposed to tell you that we’re no longer able to have you on as our Bay Area retailer.”
Harper’s heart swelled and hope beaded. “Supposed to tell me?” As in she wasn’t going to renegotiate Clovis right out of business?
“I still am.”
“Oh.”
“But . . .” Chantel took Harper by the arm and turned her to face the new display. “If you give your catalog the same fresh and flirty feel as you did with this display and the private party room, then find a way to convince my boss that men like him are your clientele, I might be able to convince her to reconsider.”
“How would I do that?”
“You appear to be a multifaceted artist,” Chantel said. “Your grandma showed me the charity calendar you shot with the local first responders.”
“Cuties with Booties?” Harper asked, referring to the charity calendar she’d helped create for her friend Shay. It had local heroes showing off their guns posing with adorable rescue dogs in need to help place them in Napa County.
“Real men, taking on real problems, while looking real hot?” Chantel’s eyes went wide with excitement. “Golden idea, and I heard it went viral.”
It had done more than go viral. Shay’s calendar had turned the men of St. Helena into sex-lebrities. Not to mention, it raised enough money for Shay to open her dream rescue center in town and helped place a record number of strays with their forever families.
The photos had become so popular—and effective—every month Harper shot a new set of hot heroes with homeless animals for Shay’s blog, and the Cuties with Booties calendar was in its third year.
“Getting the guys to volunteer for a good cause with their shirts off is one thing, but posing in underwear?”
“Well, when Adam comes home tonight, make sure you’re serving dinner in nothing but those heels and Honeysuckle. Then when he’s ready to play find the jacket, ask him if he’d be willing to do a little modeling of his own. In our underwear.”
Harper looked around at the crowd of ladies who were feigning interest in the new flowers Harper had planted in the window boxes, and lowered her voice. “You only want Adam to model. In skivvies?” Harper could almost see the amused look on Adam’s face when she asked him.
Then her heart sank at the implications and gave a familiar twinge at the idea that she wasn’t sexy enough, her star bright enough, her ideas alluring enough. The sad truth was Chantel thought that Harper, on her own, wasn’t enough. And that made her replaceable.
A role she was tired of being cast in.
Mistaking her irritation for concern, Chantel added, “Nothing formal, just a few shots of your guy in Swagger to use in a mock campaign for social media or a sample catalog layout. Something Boulder Holder could use to promote our line. Oh, can you capture that same rugged, everyday-hero feel like in the calendar, so I could show it to the marketing team?”