Surprise Package

“Don’t think of it in numbers. Just get in the rhythm of crunch-release. And think what a taut stomach you’re going to have, not that your figure isn’t already great.”

“Then why am I paying for this torture?”

“You’re not. Your brother is. One more. Crrrunch and down and stop.”

She groaned and stayed flat on her back until Bernie took her hands and tugged her to a sitting position.

“We’ve worked on your abs, your stomach and your upper thighs,” he said. “I guess that about does it for this session. Now you can go out and party the night away.”

“Not me. I’m pretty much a dud.”

“Really, I never heard that about you, but I did hear that you’re a workaholic.”

“Who would you hear that from?”

He glanced across the room to where her neighbor Kyle Blackstone was leaning against a weight machine, chatting with a couple of bosomy females in form-fitting tights and clingy tops.

“You surely don’t believe everything Kyle says.”

“I don’t, but the women sure hang on his every word. You’re about the only one in here who doesn’t drool when he shows them a little attention.”

Kyle caught her looking at him and waved. She hated that, but she waved back in what she hoped was a nonchalant, offhand manner. He started over, and her pulse shot up. No need for aerobics when he was around. But she had no intention of letting him know he had that effect on her. He was far too sure of himself as it was. She’d just as soon Bernie not know, either.

“The man spends a lot of time watching you,” Bernie said. “Have you ever been out with him?”

“No.”

“Good. You have a lot more class than those bimbos that follow him around like groupies chasing a rock star.”

“He’s not my type.”

“I don’t think you’ve convinced him of that yet.”

“He’s only interested because he thinks I’m a challenge.” She groaned as she pulled her stressed muscles into a standing position. “Thanks for the session, though I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“No pain, no gain. It’s trite but true.”

Kyle stepped up beside her. “That was quite a workout. If you need someone to massage those aching muscles tonight, I’m available.”

“And just which muscles do you plan on massaging?”

“You name it. I’m very accommodating.”

“I’ll just bet you are.”

“Well, if you don’t want a massage, how about dinner? There’s a new Italian restaurant just a block from our building. The pasta is eccellente and the vino is squisito.” He used his hands, fingers and mouth to add emphasis to his claim.

“And I already have a dinner invitation. Just my luck,” she teased.

He cocked his head to one side and flashed a devastating smile. “We can always do dessert at my place.”

“Dream on.”

“I already am.” He closed his eyes. “Wow! You’re good.”

When he opened his eyes, she closed hers. “Yeah, I am, aren’t I?” She gave him a playful right cuff to his upper arm. “I’m out of here. Thanks again, Bernie. And, Kyle, happy hunting. I’d hate for you to have to sleep alone tonight.”

She turned and walked away, not stopping until she reached the door to the ladies’ locker room. Bernie and Kyle were still standing together, immersed in conversation. Two very nice-looking men. Bernie had more of the macho build, huge shoulders, well-defined biceps, muscular arms and legs. Kyle was just lean and mean. Rock-hard body. Thick dark hair. Deep-blue eyes that a woman could drown in and never yell for help.

The man was drop-dead gorgeous—but he was not for her, and she needed to keep that thought firmly planted in her mind. The minute she became interested in a man, her life became complicated. The men either became possessive and jealous of the time she spent on her career, or else merely wanted to get her into the sack.

Without a doubt, Kyle fell in the latter category. Turning away from him, literally and figuratively, she pushed through the door of the locker room. She’d have to hurry to be at the restaurant by eight-fifteen, and it wouldn’t be prudent to keep Mr. McAllister waiting.

* * *

ASHLEY STUDIED the menu. The restaurant was pricey for her expense account, but no reason to worry, since McAllister would be picking up the check. She’d offer again anyway. Mr. Clintock had informed her when he’d given her the account that he wanted the Ranchers Association to be extremely happy with both the treatment they received from all employees of the agency and the quality of the finished product.

The waiter stopped at her elbow and asked for their drink order. Jim Bob ordered a vodka martini. She ordered a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime.

“Nonsense. You need a real drink,” the rancher insisted. “Something to help you relax, so that we can get to know each other better.”

“I never drink when I’m on the job.”

“Then let’s just call this a get-acquainted night. I always work better when I feel I’m in tune with the person I’m working with.”

She cringed at the intimacy that had crept into his tone. It would never have been there if he was talking to Mr. Clintock or any of the other men connected with the firm. It was more of the “little lady” mentality that she hated. Or else Mr. McAllister was not as harmless as she’d assumed.

“What I’m most interested in are your ideas about the ad campaign,” she said, making sure he realized she was here only for business purposes. “I know the Ranchers Association is eager to modernize their image.”

“And Mr. Clintock assured me that you’re the woman who can do that for us.”

She centered her attention on the menu. By the time the waiter returned with their drinks, she’d decided on a green salad and a broiled trout filet. Jim Bob went for the steak, the largest and most expensive cut they offered, with a loaded baked potato and a side order of sautéed mushrooms. He ordered an appetizer of oysters Bienville for the two of them to share and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon with two glasses.

She waited until he’d gulped down half his martini, the time span of about four seconds, before she went back to the subject they had supposedly come to discuss. “Why don’t we start with the ideas you’ve come up with since our meeting this morning? That will give me more insight as to how you see this working.”

His mouth stretched into a smile. “I hate to talk business on an empty stomach. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? And, by the way, the color of that suit really brings out the green of your eyes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell me, what does an attractive little filly like you do for fun?”

“I work.”

“That sounds much too boring, and I have a feeling you’re not a boring lady.”

“Actually, I am.” She sipped her water. “But if you want to know about me, I can certainly give you the details that affect my ability to do my job. I have an undergraduate degree in graphic arts and a master’s degree in commercial advertising. I’ve worked for Clintock, Mitchum and O’Connell for almost two years.”

“And I’m sure you’re very good at what you do. But you can’t just work. As pretty as you are, I bet you have dozens of men on the string.”