Big City Cowboy

Designer jeans. Probably uncomfortable, tight and way too fancy. Rory followed Elizabeth down a series of hallways to a big open room, where she picked up a pair of dark blue jeans off a table.

When she held them out to him, he realized this job was going to be worse than he’d expected. Way worse.

Chapter Three

“No real man would be caught dead in these.”

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth couldn’t believe what Rory had just said about the client’s jeans.

“I didn’t mean to say that loud enough for anyone to hear.”

Not an ounce of remorse showed in his clear, coffee-colored eyes, annoying her further. Her campaign rested on this cowboy, and he needed to take this job seriously. She’d fix that problem right now. “The first rule of being a spokesperson for a product, which is what we intend for you to be, is to always sing the product’s praises. Never, in public or private, make any negative comments about the company, its employees or their products.”

“Do I have to check with you before I say anything to anyone?”

“That might not be a bad idea until you get the hang of this business.”

“I was joking.”

She stared at him, not quite sure how to respond. “I know a lot of people don’t value advertising, but this is a serious, competitive business.”

“Lighten up. It isn’t brain surgery.”

Bullheaded man. Elizabeth pinched her lips together and counted to ten. If she didn’t need him so desperately, she’d fire him, because obviously her words weren’t hitting home.

“No, it’s not brain surgery or rocket science, but that doesn’t mean what we do here isn’t important. We’re a crucial part of the economy. If we create an ineffective campaign, company sales go down, which means people get laid off. It also means a possible fall in stock prices and less dividends for stockholders. That creates other repercussions in the economy, which I won’t go into here.” Mainly because Rory probably wouldn’t grasp the fine nuances. “Mistakes like criticizing the company’s product can cause a lot of people, you included, to lose their jobs. Are we clear on that?”

“Where do I change?”

She ignored his question for a minute, trying to determine if she’d made her point. Finally deciding the man would have to be a complete idiot not to have understood her, she pointed to a door on the opposite side of the studio. “You’ll find a shirt in there. You can wear your own boots for this shoot.”

While Rory changed, Elizabeth surveyed the scene around her, checking the details for the photo shoot. Micah Devlin was a perfectionist with a keen eye, and expected the same from everyone he worked with. He had to like Rory; otherwise the whole concept was a loss.

Think positively, Elizabeth. That breeds good energy, and good energy brings about good results.

The lighting was perfect. The background clean white. A saddle was propped on a hay bale, a rope casually wrapped around the saddle horn. Rats. She’d forgotten about requesting hay bales. She glanced at the set assistant. “Kudos on the set, especially on such short notice.”

The young woman beamed.

Elizabeth rubbed her itching eyes. The sneezing would start soon. She dug in her purse, searching for a Claritin to stem her allergy symptoms, but came up empty. No getting around it, she’d have to suffer through.

Two more hay bales sat beside the saddle, completing the scene. Enough props to let people know Rory was a cowboy, but not enough to detract from the jeans or the cowboy. For the actual campaign she planned outdoor shots in upstate New York at a barn, on a horse, working around the place. But right now she needed to sell Rory to Devlin.

Please let him look good in the jeans.

The coffee she’d gulped an hour earlier sloshed in her nervous stomach.

Wait a minute. What was she thinking? As long as the jeans fit, he’d look terrific in them. A man that gorgeous could make anything look good. A mental picture of Rory shirtless in a pair of jeans, his chest slick as he poured water over his sweaty skin after a long day of fixing fences, flashed in her mind.

Note to self—get shots of Rory with his shirt off.

She fanned her face, though that wasn’t the only place she was warm. What was she thinking? This was business. She never mixed business with pleasure, and besides that, Rory wasn’t her type.

The click of stilettos on the hardwood floor interrupted Elizabeth’s daydreaming. She turned to find Stephanie Jones, her black leather makeup case slung over her shoulder, sauntering toward her.

The leggy brunette stopped in front of Elizabeth. “Where’s our model?”

Before she could answer, she sneezed. Not one of those polite feminine sneezes, but one with hurricane force. Darn allergies. “He’s changing,” Elizabeth said, after two more sneezes. “Let me explain what I’m looking for today. Just play up his natural good looks. I want him to stay real, like the cowboy he is.”

“You’re kidding! He’s really a cowboy?” Stephanie’s blue eyes sparkled as if she’d snatched up the last fifty-percent-off cashmere sweater at Barney’s.

What was it about cowboys? Stephanie hadn’t even seen Rory and she was drooling. Mark, the lighting tech, had about stepped on his tongue when Rory walked in.

“He’s the real deal, and I want his pictures to reflect that. I want him to look like he’s just stepped out of the ranch house and is heading toward the barn to work.”

“In designer jeans?”

Elizabeth bristled at Stephanie’s skepticism about her ad campaign.

Breathe. Don’t let her negativity invade your space and make you doubt your decision. This is the right way to go with this campaign.

A big smile on her face, Elizabeth said, “Devlin Designs wants to crack the Western and middle-American market with their men’s jeans.”

“Okay, now using the cowboy makes sense.”

“I hope the public sees it the same way. I won’t keep you any longer. You need to set up, and I need to check other details of the shoot.”

While the stylist traipsed across the room to the makeup table and chair, Elizabeth went to talk to Chloe.

“I can’t wait to get this guy on film,” she said the minute Elizabeth stopped beside her.

Just then, Rory strolled out of the dressing room. The client’s designer jeans fit him perfectly, emphasizing his strong thighs. Ones he’d no doubt obtained from riding. Who’d have thought horseback riding was such a workout? But her quads and glutes had been sore for two days after her horse excursion.

Rory’s tanned skin contrasted nicely with the crisp, white, snap-front, Western-style shirt she’d picked out. Denim and white. Classic, clean. One never went wrong with the basics.

She smiled at the personal touches he’d added—his belt buckle, a royal flush fanned-out poker hand, plus his boots and his cowboy hat. Rugged, but accessible.

Absolutely delicious. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wrong for her.

“If he’s any indication, they sure raise them handsome in Colorado.” A sinful grin spread across Chloe’s face.

Elizabeth continued staring at Rory. Before meeting him she’d have said her ideal man was more comfortable in a Brooks Brothers suit than jeans. Rory put those immaculately groomed men in their thousand-dollar suits to shame.

She started to move toward him, but Stephanie reached Rory first, introduced herself and led him to the makeup chair.

“Our model is too delectable for words,” Mark said as he joined them.

This was getting a little ridiculous. “Has everyone forgotten why we’re here? And no, it isn’t to ogle Rory.” She was beginning to think she needed to hire a bodyguard for the cowboy.