Cover Me

“I was in the right place at the right time,” he said, then slowed and looked back, apparently determined that I should catch up.

I picked up my leaden feet and fell in step next to them. I walked on one side of Sam, April on the other, making a big, juicy Sam sandwich. Sipping lukewarm coffee from my mug, I tried to force from my mind the image of his naked body sliding against mine. I decided it might be a good idea to join the conversation. “I assume you didn’t expect to become such a media sensation, Dr. Long?”

He shot a surprised glance my way. “She speaks.”

I flushed because he knew good and well that not only did I speak, but on occasion, I screamed.

Sam smiled and shook his head. “You’re right. Beyond the local media, I didn’t think about it. Then a freelance writer called and said he’d like to do an interview for a possible segment in your magazine. We talked on the phone for a while, but when I didn’t hear anything else, I assumed the story wasn’t picked up.” He shrugged. “Then two days ago I received a call and a plane ticket, asking me to come to the city to finalize details. So, here I am.” He looked at me with brown eyes that were so deep, I felt a bout of vertigo coming on.

“Is this your first trip to Manhattan?” April asked.

“Yes,” Sam and I answered in unison.

Sam bit back a smile, and April frowned in confusion. I scrambled to cover my gaffe. “I think I read that somewhere.”

“And how do you like the city, Sam—may I call you Sam?” April asked adorably.

“Sure,” he said. “The city is…interesting. More so even than I expected.”

“Will you be staying a few days?” April’s tone indicated she hoped so.

He shook his handsome head. “I arrived yesterday and I’m leaving this afternoon.”

April pouted. “I hope you did something fun last night.”

I lifted my coffee mug for a deep drink.

“Well,” he said, his voice caramel-coated, “the evening started out slow, but it ended with a bang.”

I inhaled sharply, and got coffee instead of air, which my body expelled with a painful snough (sneeze-cough). Worse, I spilled coffee down the front of my—er, his—snowy-white shirt. The brown stain spread like a virus until it was the shape of the state of Texas and nearly as big.

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” I said, wiping futilely at the stain with my hand. “I’ll have it cleaned.” Then I froze and lifted my gaze. “May I, um, call you Sam…Sam?”

He pushed his cheek out with his tongue. “Sure.”

April was looking at me as if I’d gone mad. “Kenzie, I’m sure Sam couldn’t care less about your shirt.”

“I m-meant that I’m sorry to have caused such a mess.”

“That’s okay,” Sam said, then made a rueful noise. “Too bad about the shirt, though. It looks custom-made.”

I balked. “It is? I mean—it is. But I’ll contact the tailor and order another one.” As soon as I could afford it.

Sam smothered a smile and nodded toward the restrooms we were approaching. “Do you need a moment, Ms. Mansfield?”

I needed a drink, but a moment would have to do. “Thank you.” I race-walked into the ladies’ room and leaned into the vanity, trying to pull myself together. I could get through this. The man could have blown my cover a half-dozen times by now, and he hadn’t—there was nothing to fear.

So why was my heart racing like a bike messenger’s?

Because I had assumed I’d never see him again, much less at work.

Work—that eighty-hours-a-week pastime that paid for groceries, rent, medical insurance and the occasional Dior accessory. I really needed not to be fired for fraternizing with an upcoming feature.

I puffed out my cheeks and studied my reflection—big-eyed and blotchy, wearing an exceptionally stained, stolen shirt, my hair skimmed back with a banker’s clip. I had looked better. I poured my coffee down the sink drain—no more caffeine for me—then I practiced a few deep-breathing techniques. I needed to calm down, or Sam might think that last night had meant something to me. So our one-night stand had turned into a one-night-and-next-day stand—so what? A few more hours, then I would never see him again.

I splashed cold water on my wrists, tried to blot out the stain, then walked out feeling refreshed if not relaxed. April stood in the hall alone. I had a panicky thought that Sam had spilled the beans and vamoosed.

“Dr. Long had to make a phone call,” April said.

Oh, God—he was calling the police.

“Some kind of animal emergency,” she added in a bored voice, then inspected her manicure. “Listen, Kenzie, if you want to bow out, I’ll make your excuses when Sam comes back.”

I had to hand it to her—she had the innocent act down pat. “Nice try, April, but you heard what Helena said. She wants me to learn more about the business.” And to chaperone.

April’s innocent act vanished and she gave me a pitying look. “I guess this is a step up from dog-sitting.”

I gritted my teeth.

“But keep your hands off this puppy,” she warned. “He’s mine.”

I was, oh, so tempted to tell her that not only had I had already put my hands on this puppy, but I had a duplicate of his bone in my bag upstairs. Still, I couldn’t resist asking, “What makes you think Dr. Long is even available?”

“Every man is available.”

“He’s leaving after lunch.”

“Plans change,” she said, her voice shrill. “Besides, I think he likes me.”

Jealousy tweaked me. I couldn’t stand April, but from a male point of view, what was not to like? She was gorgeous and voluptuous—and did I mention gorgeous? If April had been at Fitzgerald’s last night, Sam would have stepped over me to get to her.

“It’s never good to mix business with pleasure,” I said, knowing how lame my words sounded. And hypocritical.

April gave me a look of disgust. “When was the last time you got laid, Kenzie?”

A cough sounded behind us. We turned to see that Sam had returned. I closed my eyes briefly—how much had he overheard?

“Sorry about the interruption,” he said. “Minor emergency back home.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Fine, thanks. Jeremy Daly’s pig swallowed a spoon, but it’s no big deal—I can take care of it tomorrow.”

Spoon-swallowing sounded serious to me, but he looked cheerful enough. “Alrighty then—shall we proceed to the studio?” I sneezed ferociously—three times.

Sam removed a handkerchief from an inside jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Are you getting a cold?”

“Allergies,” I mumbled.