Operation Babe-Magnet: Operation Babe-Magnet / Operation Beauty

“Wait just a minute, Mizz Timberlake.”

She turned around, his words igniting one last spark of hope inside of her. Then her breath caught in her throat as the Doberman, free of its chain, bounded off the porch and barreled straight toward her.

She backed up against the car as the dog leapt up, planting its huge, muddy front paws against her chest.

To her relief and surprise, the dog didn’t go for her throat. Instead, he tried to asphyxiate her with his fetid doggy breath.

“Take the newspaper clipping,” Hanover called, still invisible behind the cabin window. “I stuck it in Eugene’s collar.”

Eugene? She glanced warily at the slobbering Doberman, then noticed the ragged clipping tucked underneath the thick leather collar.

“Don’t worry,” Hanover said. “He won’t bite.”

Now he tells her. Still leery, she carefully reached out and pulled the clipping free. “Nice doggy.”

Eugene lapped her chin and lower lip with his wet tongue.

“Thanks a lot,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Harry whistled, causing the dog to drop down on all fours and run back to the cabin.

Kylie unfolded the clipping, surprised to see it was some kind of advertisement. Frowning, she turned it over in her hand, then looked toward the cabin. “What is this?”

Hanover emitted a low chuckle from his hiding place. “The answer to all our problems.”

THUNDER RUMBLED IN the sky as Dexter stood in front of his potential new place of employment. The storm had followed him from the country into Pittsburgh, soaking him to the skin. If he was the least bit superstitious, he’d take it as a sign that this fiasco could only lead to disaster. But he didn’t believe in omens. Or in fate. A lucky charm or a palm reading couldn’t replace the value of simple, honest, hard work.

He and Sam had parted ways before they even hit the ground, Dexter landing in a cornfield a couple of miles away from his brother. But he had no doubt Sam had found a ride into Pittsburgh—his brother’s lucky streak was legendary.

Dexter, on the other hand, always seemed to do things the hard way. He’d jogged half the distance to Pittsburgh in the rain before a sympathetic trucker had picked him up and hauled him the rest of the way. After a quick stop by his apartment to change into dry clothes, he’d hurried down to the business address listed on his game card.

Dexter winced up at the bright blue neon sign above the front entrance. This was the company his grandfather had specifically chosen for Dexter to prove himself as the right man to steer the Kane Corporation into the new millennium.

Studs-R-Us.

The plate glass windows were plastered with huge posters of men in all types of attire. One wore a tuxedo. Another was bare-chested, wearing only tight denim jeans and a cowboy hat. But at least he looked better than the guy in the Speedo swimsuit.

He shook his head in disgust, wondering if the owner would be open to some basic marketing suggestions. Dexter reached up to straighten his tie as the idea evolved. Perhaps that was the answer. He could work as a business consultant for Studs-R-Us instead of as a male escort. Give them the advantage of his financial acumen and administrative skills. That would both fulfill his grandfather’s mandate and keep Dexter from thoroughly humiliating himself.

With a new sense of purpose, he squared his shoulders and walked through the front door. A melodic chime announced his entrance and the receptionist looked up at him with a flash of irritation, as if his arrival put a glitch in her busy schedule. She blew on her fingernails, newly polished a burnt orange to match her teased hair. A tiny portable television sat on her desk, tuned to a talk show featuring pregnant mud wrestlers.

She recapped her fingernail polish. “Did you want something?”

“I’d like to apply for a job.”

Her gaze skipped over him. “Here?”

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

She slapped an application in front of him, the words Are You A Stud? were emblazoned in bright red ink across the top. “Fill this out, then leave it in the basket.”

He looked at the wire basket on the corner of her desk, stuffed full with other job applications. His instincts told him they’d been there awhile. Not willing to leave his fate to a receptionist who had her calendar turned to the wrong month, he took a step closer to the desk. “Look, filling out a job application would be a waste of my time and yours. I have…very unique qualifications that I can bring to Studs-R-Us.”

She raised an orange brow. “Kinky stuff?”

“Perhaps I should speak to your boss.”

With an aggrieved glance at the television set, the receptionist got up and tapped on the closed door behind her. Then she disappeared inside.

Dexter could hear the voices of two women, but couldn’t discern their words. No doubt the receptionist was describing Studs-R-Us’s newest applicant. He flinched at the sound of their laughter.

Dexter D. Kane was once again the butt of the joke. He should be used to it by now, considering the numerous taunts he’d endured growing up. The D in his middle name stood for Dependable, following a Kane family tradition of giving each newborn a virtuous name. Both he and Sam had been involved in numerous playground brawls thanks to their unusual middle names.

Strangely enough, the name did seem to fit his personality. Dexter was dependable to a fault, which made him the first person people called when they needed help, whether it was an elderly neighbor with an errand to run or a business associate who wanted him to head a charity drive.

Unfortunately, Dependable wasn’t one of the names he’d been called as a youth. A variety of nicknames had stuck while he was growing up. Noodle nerd. Boy Wonder. And his favorite, Franken-brain. All monikers he probably deserved, since he’d spent more time at the library than the local hangouts.

He was certainly nothing like his brother, Sam, whose easy charm and boyish good looks had made more than one person ask if they were really related. A perennial favorite with the opposite sex, Sam had won more hearts than he could count. Too often Dexter had sparked the interest of a woman, only to find out later that she was just using him to get closer to Sam.

So several years ago he’d decided to forego the social scene and focus on his talents—accounting and acquisitions. Maybe when he finally reached the pinnacle of success in the business world he’d have time to figure out how one actually talked to an attractive woman without breaking into a cold sweat.

“Mistress Helga will see you now.”

He looked up to the see the receptionist back at her desk, a smirk on her young face.

Mistress Helga? Dexter pushed up his glasses, then walked into the office, half expecting to see a gallery of sadistic sex toys. Instead, he entered a light, airy room with a white ceiling fan and a wicker love seat and matching armchairs.

A middle-aged woman sat reading a magazine in one of the chairs, a pair of bifocals propped on her nose. She looked up and smiled at him. “Hello.”

“Mistress Helga?”

She laughed, then stood up and held out one hand. “I see my granddaughter is playing games again. My name is Betty. Betty Brubaker.”

“Dexter Kane,” he said, surprised by the tasteful decor of her office. It was certainly an improvement over the garish display in the entrance. Betty wasn’t what he expected either. A slightly plump woman with ash blond hair pulled back into a neat bun. Thick eyebrows dominated her face, but her green eyes gleamed with intelligence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kane.” She sat back down in her chair and motioned for him to do the same. “Now, how can I help you?”

“I’m here to apply for a job. Perhaps as a bookkeeper or even an investment consultant. I have considerable experience in corporate management.”

She gave him a maternal smile. “I appreciate the offer, but my son might take offense if I replaced him. He’s worked as my business manager and financial advisor for the last five years.”

He thought about telling her that the front window display and the attitude of her receptionist were probably driving potential business away. But the numerous family photographs covering the walls and every nook and cranny of her office told him the advice might not be well received. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “I really need a job.”

“I see.” She studied him for a moment, then leaned forward in her chair. “Actually, I do have an opening for a male escort. Did you bring any references?”

“No, this is my first time.” Heat crept up his neck. “Well, not my first time, of course. I do have some experience.” He decided not to elaborate. His romantic encounters had left him physically satisfied, but strangely hollow. Yearning for something more that he couldn’t name or even fully understand.

“Tell me, Mrs. Brubaker…”