Bachelor on the Prowl

Holly pressed the cool side of the soda can to her cheek, took a deep breath. “Yes, I do. I do have to go back out there. God, how does Julia manage it? I’m exhausted.”

She looked up at Harry, now able to see him again, and wondered if she’d only imagined that kiss he’d given her. Closed-mouth, granted, but it had sure packed a wallop. “I’ll be sure to give your name to the CNN people and everyone else. I suppose you’ve earned a mention in any segments or articles. That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

He frowned a little, making this really wonderful crease between his eyebrows—almost as if he might harbor a whiff of intelligence behind that gorgeous face. “You’re going to give them my name? What name?”

“Why, Harry Hampshire, of course. You have others you use professionally? Although I shouldn’t help you out, because you nearly gave me heart failure, showing up so late. That really isn’t professional, Harry. I could have complained to your agency, and you’d have a hard time getting another job.”

He looked at her for long moments, then sort of shook his head, as if trying to talk himself out of something. Then he said, “Let me make it up to you. You go do whatever it is you have to do with that thundering horde out there, and I’ll get out of this tuxedo. Then I’ll take you to dinner. My treat. After all, I made good money here today, right?”

Holly felt a flush running into her cheeks, and hated him for it. Go out with a male model? What did he take her for, a masochist? What woman wants to be seen with a man prettier than her? “No, I don’t think so. I don’t date—”

“I’ll bet,” Jackie said, clomping by in a huge aqua turtleneck sweater, tight black leggings and a pair of hiking boots, obviously on her way out as fast as she could go. She had a leather bag the size of Vermont slung over her shoulder, and still wore her full makeup. She looked like Glamour On A Hike.

“Give me fifteen minutes. Twenty, tops,” Holly said, Jackie’s taunt pushing her into accepting Harry’s invitation. “But I want fast food. Hamburger. Fries. A hot dog from a street cart. I don’t care. I just don’t think I could look at another hotel menu without screaming.”

Chapter Two

Colin Rafferty leaned into the mirror as he adjusted the Windsor knot on his maroon-and-navy striped tie.

Funny, he didn’t think he looked like a Harry Hampshire.

A Harry Hampshire would wear a silk ascot, or maybe carry a pipe, and have an ugly pug dog that brought him his slippers each evening when he returned home from his job in the moldy recesses of the trust department of the family bank.

Not that it mattered. Today he would be Harry Hampshire. Good old Harry ought to get out more anyway, live a little, see the sights…have some fun with Little Big Mouth, or whatever Julia’s employee’s name happened to be.

“Hey, excuse me, please,” he said, stepping away from the mirror as he saw a semifamiliar face go by. “What’s your boss’s name?”

“Julia Sutherland,” the woman answered. “What else would it be?”

Colin shook his head. “No, I meant the little one—the one with the motormouth.”

“Holly?” Irene Collier dropped her chin slightly, “Oops, she wouldn’t like it much if she found out I could identify her from that particular description. Still, you’re looking for Holly? Holly Hollis. She’s number two man—woman—in Sutherland’s. She holds us all together.”

“Really?” Colin answered, one expressive eyebrow raised. “Well, I don’t know about that, Ms.—?”

“Irene, you may call me Irene.”

“Irene,” Colin repeated, smiling his best “I know I’m bad but you love me anyway” smile. “As I was saying, I don’t know about that, Irene. I may not have been here long, but I’m willing to bet today’s pay that this whole thing would come tumbling down around everyone’s ears if it weren’t for your calm head and steady hand.”

Now Irene’s face turned red, straight up to the thick salt-and-pepper bangs on her forehead. “Well, aren’t you perceptive. Okay, what do you want?”

“Nothing much, Irene. Just a little information on our Ms. Hollis?”

Irene hugged the ever-present clipboard to her breasts. “Look, I know she was angry, but it’s over now, and forgotten. She isn’t going to report you to your agency. In fact, I’ll bet she suggests to Ms. Sutherland that we use you again. You were a real hit out there.”

“No, that wasn’t what I was going to ask you about, Irene,” Colin told her. “Ms. Hollis has agreed to join me for a meal, and I thought perhaps I should know a little more about her. That’s all.”

Her eyes opening wider, Irene said, “You two have a date? No, you don’t. Holly would never—never mind.”

“Ms. Hollis doesn’t date the models?”

“Ms. Hollis,” Irene said, rolling her eyes, “thinks male models are a curse and an abomination. Actually she just says they’re too pretty and bigheaded for their own good.”

“So, what you’re saying, Irene, is that if I want to score points with Ms. Hollis, I should go find a bag to put over my head?”

“Oh, you’re charming,” Irene said, the blush still burning in her cheeks. “She’s going to hate you. But, hey, before you go, I want to check through my head shots to find yours, go over the information on the back with you to make sure it’s current. We will use you again, I’m sure of it.”

Colin slipped into his suit jacket, ran a hand over his collar to be sure it was in place. “Oh, there’s no need to do that. It’s current. Just send the check to the agency listed on the back. Ah, here comes Ms. Hollis now. Thanks for the information, Irene.”

“Sure, anytime. Good luck…” Irene said, already searching through a thick folder of eight-by-ten glossies, looking for Harry Hampshire’s photograph.

Colin caught up with Holly as she was thanking the dressers and other backstage help. “Purse, coat and out of here,” he whispered into her ear as he took hold of her elbow.

“Hey! What’s the rush?” Holly asked him even as he began steering her toward the door. “I’ve got to talk to Irene, make arrangements for meetings tomorrow. Go find a corner and sit in it, okay?”

“I can’t,” Colin told her, doing his best to look physically ill. “I’m hypoglycemic. I need meat, protein.” He held out one hand, spread his fingers. “Look. See that? I’m starting to get the shakes.”

“Oh, for crying out—okay, okay. Maybe it’s nice to know you’re not quite Mr. Perfect. My coat’s the navy one over there on the rack. The one that’s shorter than all the others. My purse is looped over the hanger. Just let me talk to Irene for a—hey!”

Colin dragged her along to the coatrack, grabbed the navy wool coat, snagged the large tan purse and aimed Holly at the door precisely five seconds before Irene, paging through her packet of photographs, lifted her head and called out, “Hey! Where’d he go? Hey, did anyone see where that good-looking model went?”

Irene’s question was answered by the laughter of two dozen good-looking models….

“So, may I call you Holly? Irene said your name’s Holly.”

“Sure,” Holly said, her head still bent into a strong autumn breeze on the windy streets of Manhattan.

“Okay, and you can call me Harry.”

“Well, duh,” Holly sniped, shooting him a quick look. “I wasn’t going to call you Mr. Hampshire, if you’re going to call me Holly. God, that’s a lot of H’s, isn’t it?”

“I think we’ve pretty much cornered the market, yes,” Colin said, then sort of sighed as Holly bent her head once more, kept walking at a fast clip that had more to do with getting her where she was going than taking a leisurely stroll and getting to know each other better as they walked along. “Are you in some sort of hurry, Holly?” he asked as she couldn’t seem to stand still at the corner, waiting for the light to change so they could head across the avenue. She kept looking up at the light, sort of dancing in place.

“You’re hypoglycemic,” she reminded him. “You’ve got to eat. Last thing I want is for you to keel over here on the pavement. I’d get trampled by all the women wanting to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Oh, right,” Colin said, smiling slightly, trying to look sick. This was pretty hard to do, considering that the last time he could remember being ill was in the fourth grade, when he’d broken out in spots and couldn’t play the second king in the school’s Christmas pageant. He’d always thought he’d missed a great opportunity to launch a stage career.

“So, are you feeling any better?” Holly asked as the light turned and they headed across the intersection along with half the population of Manhattan.

“A little better. I…I, um, must have just needed some air.”

“But you’re still hungry?”

“Still hungry,” he answered with a smile as Holly turned into a small restaurant tucked between two up-scale shops.

He looked around the restaurant, saw that customers put their orders in and collected them at the same service bar, then carried them to one of the small tables lining one side of the long, narrow room. “Hamburger? Mustard and ketchup? You go find a table, and I’ll bring everything to you.”

“No, you go find a table and sit down before you fall down. I’ll order for both of us.” She held out her hand, palm up. “You’re paying.”