Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
Together they might produce a hit TV show. If they
don’t kill each other while falling in love.
Tanya Pierce’s TV-executive uncle has tapped her to
host a reality show about beauty makeovers. Tanya runs an acclaimed beauty spa
in a small California town—definitely outside the Hollywood spotlight, just the
way publicity-shy Tanya likes it. Her partner will be AJ Landry, a sexy
producer known for creating hit programs—and for distrusting women, like his
ex-wife, who are looking for a meal ticket to television fame and fortune.
When Tanya and AJ meet, sparks fly. Get ready for a
rollicking story filled with humor, wit, and dizzying romance.
Trish Jensen is the bestselling author of STUCK WITH YOU.
Look for more funny and romantic Trish Jensen novels coming soon from Bell
Bridge Books. Visit Trish at http://TrishJensen.com.
"Behind The Scenes had me laughing hard
from the first page all the way to the last... I feel
as if I'm reading my first Janet Evanovich novel..." —Mrs. Giggles Book Reviews
Chapter One
"I’M TELLING YOU—I want
passion! And I want my hair Passion Red!”
Tanya Pierce sucked in a deep calming
breath. "Mrs. Ledbetter, I sincerely don’t think red’s the color for you,” she
said, meeting the woman’s gaze in the mirror. "Your complexion screams for an
ash brown.”
Tanya’s client sniffed. "I’ve been mousy
brown all of my life. Now I’m ready to live a little.”
"For goodness sakes, Nellie,” Tanya’s
grandmother Zegretti scoffed from her waiting room seat. "You’re almost ninety.
You haven’t had brown hair since the Eisenhower Administration.”
Even with the hum of various blow-dryers
and running water in Tanya’s eight-station shop, All About You, the click-clack
of her grandmother’s knitting needles rang out in the air.
Gran was a regular at Tanya’s shop. Not
to have her hair or nails done, but because she felt All About You fulfilled a
lifelong tradition as the humming gossip center in the small town of Sonora,
California. If there was a scoop to be dissected, it was right here, and Gran
prided herself on being up to the minute on the latest news.
There wasn’t all that much going on this
early on a Tuesday morning. The Beatty twins were in for their weekly cut and
curls, which had to turn out precisely alike or they weren’t going anywhere
until the situation was rectified. Mrs. Ledbetter, who could clear the main
drag with one sighting of her ninety-two Cadillac heading into town, was
demanding odd things for her hair. And Mrs. Teasdale, who considered herself
the local matriarch by virtue of the fact that she could order her sheriff son
to arrest anyone at any time just for looking at her funny, was always a
nerve-racking customer.
Mrs. Ledbetter glared at Gran through
the mirror and smacked her hand on Tanya’s counter. "Sophia Zegretti, you
aren’t any spring chicken yourself. Besides, I might have seen a few
Christmases over the years, but I’ve still got a lot of twinkle in my tree
lights, if you know what I mean.”
Tanya was afraid to even go there. "Mrs.
Ledbetter, how about if we color your hair my way first, and if you’re still
not happy, we’ll do it your way?”
"Yes, and get that awful hot-pink polish
off her nails, too,” Gran chimed in.
Mrs. Teasdale lifted her head from the
shampoo sink to eye the offensive polish, in case it was worthy of an arrest
warrant.
Mrs. Ledbetter’s face beeted up. "I want
Passion Red, and I’m the customer,” she said mulishly.
Tanya sighed and headed to the small
room in back of the shop to mix up a batch of the coloring. It was not going
to be good for business if Mrs. Ledbetter paraded all around town with
glow-in-the-dark red hair.
As Tanya passed by the five employees
working that morning they each rolled their eyes in sympathy. Just wait until
her masseuse learned that Mrs. Ledbetter had scheduled a massage for tomorrow.
At least All About You’s fitness instructor wouldn’t be subjected to this
client. Mrs. Ledbetter felt it was unladylike to sweat.
Sharyn, Tanya’s best friend, roommate,
shop assistant, and sanity met her in the back room. "Want me to prep the
Oh-my-Lord-what-have-you-done-to-my-hair antidote batch?”
Tanya grinned. "Yeah. Warm Ash Brown,
please. You don’t think she’s going to be happy with Passion Red, hmm?”
"The two don’t belong on the same planet.I’ll try to get Mrs. Teasdale out of here before it happens so she doesn’t
phone in a six-seventy-two.”
While the two of them began stirring the
two dyes, Tanya heard the tinkle of the front door bells then a shrill, "Where
is that daughter of mine? She better not be hiding from me!”
Oh, jeez. Just what she needed. Her
mother. And Tanya knew that tone of voice well. She was in some sort of
trouble.
"You’re in trouble,” came her mother’s
yell.
Tanya grimaced in the safety of the back
room. "Think quick, Sharyn. There has to be a law for interfering mothers and
grandmothers.”
"They’re Italian,” Sharyn said. "They
can’t help it. I think it’s all that oregano.”
Tanya blew a breath. "I know they love
me, but do they have to... ?”
"Love you to death?”
"Or to an asylum.” Tanya dropped the
mixing brush in the sink. "At least maybe there I’d get some peace.”
"Mother, where is your granddaughter?”
the voice shouted.
Tanya glanced longingly toward the back
door.
"She’ll hunt you down like a runaway
goat,” Sharyn predicted.
"She’s making me up some Passion Red
magic,” they heard Mrs. Ledbetter say.
There was a stunned silence from the
front of her shop. Then Tanya’s mother breathed, "My Tanya wouldn’t commit such
blasphemy.”
"Nellie wouldn’t hear otherwise,” Gran
said.
Tanya took her time readjusting her ponytail
to recapture all of the escaped curls, sucked in a bracing lungful of air, then
walked out from her hiding spot, plastering a sunny expression on her face.
"Mama! What brings you by?”
"You know darn well, missy,” her
mother said, glaring.
Tanya didn’t have a clue. As much as
Gran hung out in her salon, Mama didn’t have much use for gossip. Well, not in
public; she made Gran reveal any juicy stories over plates of lasagna.
"I haven’t been picked up for
shoplifting, selling drugs or stealing cars, so, no, I honestly don’t know.”
"It might do you some good if you didget arrested,” Gran snickered. "That cute Officer Panzio might even use
handcuffs on you, if you’re lucky.”
Leave it to Gran to be practical and
lascivious all at once. In fact, Tanya finally noticed the shape of the thingGran was knitting at the moment. It didn’t look like a baby blanket. It
looked more like a pickle warmer. And Tanya didn’t know a person in Sonora who
took their pickles warmed.
"I just had a nice long talk with your
uncle Frank, Tanya,” her mother said, bringing Tanya’s mind back to more
conventional topics.
"Ooh,” the Beatty twins said in unison.
How they’d heard her mother when they were both under dryers running full
blast, Tanya didn’t know. She also didn’t know what they were ooh-ing about.
"Mama, I’m busy, and this is Passion
Red. We’re talking intense concentration work, here. Could we have this
conversation later?”
"You turned down Uncle Frank’s amazing
offer.”
Uh-oh.
"She did?” Mrs. Teasdale
and Mrs. Ledbetter said in unison. Their shocked reactions were a little
comical, considering none of them knew anything about Uncle Frank’s "amazing
offer”.
"Not interested,” Tanya said, beginning
to brush harsh red streaks onto Mrs. Ledbetter’s head with a vengeance.
Tanya’s mother turned, apparently
appealing to the masses. "Her uncle Frank—who basically raised her as his own
after my Tommy passed on—has offered her a chance to head her own makeover showon national television. And she turned him down!”
A torrent of gasps echoed throughout the
shop. A litany of "How could she?” followed.
Not that she felt the need to defend
herself, but Tanya turned to defend herself. "I’m perfectly happy right here.”
"You’re growing old right before our
very eyes,” her mother said. "And it’s breaking your mother’s heart.”
"How is doing a television show going to
slow the aging process, Mama?”
"It’ll get you out there,” Gran chimed
in, "for all the men in America to see. If you’re lucky, there’s a good Italian
one just waiting for a pretty girl like you.”
Tanya clunked down the bowl of coloring
and lifted Mrs. Ledbetter out of the chair. "I know. Men—especially Italian
men—watch makeover shows by the handful.”
"It only takes one.”
"I don’t know that I really want a guy
who’s into makeover shows.” She was not going to do it. Not a chance.
"It’s for your uncle Frank, Tanya. Does
he ask you for all that much?”
When he was asking her to perform in
front of strangers, he wasn’t just asking much, he was asking her to rip out
her own lungs and trample them. Because breathing would be impossible.
Tanya was spared from answering by
another tinkling of the front door bell. Yvonne Matterling, co-owner of Sonora
New and Used Books with her husband Matt, strolled in, loaded down with books.
"Here you go, Angelina,” she said to Tanya’s mother.
Tanya knew for a fact that her mother
only read magazines: Readers Digest to boast a broad knowledge of world
events; Architectural Digest to have ammunition when complaining about
what her own house didn’t look like, and Playgirl, to do
what... Tanya didn’t know what and felt better that
way.
For her mother to buy books from Matt and
Yvonne was a scary proposition. Tanya took a closer look through the stack.
Every single volume involved making it big in Hollywood.
This wasn’t good. Tanya didn’t want to
make it big in Hollywood. She didn’t want to make it big anywhere. Making it
big involved crowds and cameras and abnormal amounts of attention. She
shuddered at the thought. Being well-known and sought after might be some
people’s idea of a dream come true. To Tanya it sounded like a Freddy Kruger
nightmare.
She loved Sonora. It was small and
peaceful and friendly. She loved the tranquility and the safety and the beauty.
And until this moment she’d loved Matt and Yvonne.
Tanya finished brushing on Mrs.
Ledbetter’s disaster and pulled her over to a hair-dryer. She turned it on low
and set the timer. Then she spun back, plunked her hands on her hips and faced
the outraged-and-ready-to-rebel crowd. "I’m not doing it.”
"I’m suddenly not feeling so good,” Gran
said.
"Baloney,” Tanya said.
"I guess she’s forgotten about how Frank
bought her that pony,” Mrs. Teasdale chimed in.
Tanya rolled her eyes. "I’m not doing
it.”
"Don’t forget that he put her through
beauty school,” her mother added.
"I’m not doing it.”
"And even though he was busy making a
name for himself in the entertainment industry down there in Los Angeles, he
came up for weekends her whole life.”
"I’m not doing it,” Tanya said again,
but she was horrified to find her voice weakening.
"And never missed a holiday, which is
more than I can say for most fathers.”
"I’m. Not. Doing. It.”
"And he’d never tell her about
how his job is hanging in the balance.”
Tanya gaped at her mother. "You’re
making that up.”
"Have I ever lied to you?”
"Yes.”
"Well, not this time.”
Her mother went and sat with some others
in the shop, talking in a low voice. Tanya managed to avoid any more guilt
trips by keeping busy cleaning her instruments. But as she beckoned Mrs.
Ledbetter over to the sink for a rinse, she faced her mother down again. "Uncle
Frank could get anyone to take that job. Why me?”
"Because.”
"Wow. Now there’s a reason that’s
hard to argue with.”
After the rinse, her wash girl brought
Mrs. Ledbetter back to Tanya, who almost shoved her into the chair.
"Oh, my Lord, what have you done to my
hair?” the woman shrieked after a glance in the mirror.
Tanya exchanged an eye-roll with Sharyn,
then reached for the Warm Ash Brown Sharyn had cooked up. "Ready to do it my
way?”
"Oh, heavens, yes! Get this off my
head!”
A collective sigh of relief sounded
throughout the shop.
"Tanya to the rescue again,” Mrs.
Teasdale said.
Tanya made the mistake of glancing at
her mother, who was smiling triumphantly. "And that’s why your uncle
needs you.”
"She’ll do it,” Mrs. Ledbetter
whispered, just loud enough to be heard down in Los Angeles.
"YOU WANT ME to do what?”
"Produce a new show tentatively titled Pretty
Women.”
AJ Landry stared at the Vice President
of Programming for Jupiter Broadcasting Company, Frank Pierce, in shock. And
something that felt suspiciously like nausea. "You want me to give up producing
our top sitcom to produce a... a—”
"Makeover show. Yes.”
"No.”
Frank held up his hand. "Hear me out,
okay?”
It was not going to happen. Not a
chance in hell. But AJ respected Frank too much to say so without at least a
listen, after which he’d keep a straight face as he said, "Not a chance in
hell.”
Frank took a sip of coffee from his JBC
mug. "Makeover shows are the rage. They’re cheap to produce, they’re great
money if you’ve got a fresh angle that sponsors will get behind, and Jupiter
needs one. Badly.”
"But why me?”
Frank shrugged and smiled. "You’re my
best producer. Everything you touch turns to gold. And we need your Midas touch
on this one.”
AJ tried to choose his words carefully.
"No.”
Frank’s smile faded. "No is tantamount
to saying, ‘I’m tired of my association with Jupiter.’”
Wow, that was a shocker. As far as AJ
knew, Frank had never used not-so-subtle threats on anyone. He certainly
didn’t want to cut ties with the network. He loved the challenges, and he
respected almost everyone at JBC, but a makeover show? No way.
So he opened his mouth to say those two
little words. Frank held up a hand. "I’m prepared to sweeten the pot.”
There wasn’t enough sugar in the world.
"Let’s make a deal,” Frank said.
AJ closed his mouth. "Okay, Monty. Hit
me with what’s behind door number two.”
"Just get this show off the ground.
We’ve got three sponsors willing to fund six episodes. If they like what they
see, we’ll renew the show. You get it off the ground, make it a hit, make them
want to stay on board, and I’ll give the go ahead for you to shoot the pilot
for Making It Big.”
AJ sat up. He’d been pitching that
sitcom for two years, ever since he’d written the pilot as a way of purging his
feelings about his ex-wife. That was a pot-sweetener if he’d ever heard
of one. "I’d only have to produce the first six shows?”
"You’d only have to produce it until we
have a hit on our hands.”
Oh, well, that wasn’t asking
much. "What if it tanks?”
"In your hands, it won’t.”
AJ loved a challenge. And he appreciated
confidence as well as the next person, but he’d been in broadcasting long
enough to know no program was a sure thing. And he knew next to nothing about
makeover shows. He’d have a lot of research to do. "I’ll do it on one
condition.”
"Which is?”
"I’ll do my best to get this off the
ground and make it a success. But JBC is wading into new territory here, and we
have no guarantees. I’ll do it on the condition that, no matter what, hit or
bomb, I get the budget to shoot the pilot of my show.”
Frank beamed. "Deal.”
Even as they shook hands AJ remained
uneasy with the little transaction... but anything to get to
shoot his pet project. "Okay, what’s it called again? Where’s the bible?”
Frank shoved a leather three-ring binder
at him. He looked down at the title. "Pretty Women,” he muttered,
trying to keep any trace of disgust out of his voice.
He opened it up and skimmed the concept
and other materials. He glanced back up. "It’s already been cast?”
Frank nodded. "This was Stan’s project
before he decided to try to learn to ski. He’d already set the crew. And I
think it’s a good one.”
Interpretation: You’re stuck with them,
bud.
AJ didn’t like this at all. Still, he
figured he’d see who and what Stan had come up with and make changes as he went
along.
He looked down again. The host was a guy
named Cole Porter. Cole Porter? He hoped the guy wasn’t going to croon
his way through the makeovers. AJ’s gaze lit on the makeover artist. He looked
up, his eyes narrowed. "Tanya Pierce?”
"Yes. She’s absolutely wonderful. Very
talented. Why, she has people who fly into her shop from all over the country
to have her take care of them. Word got around. I mean it really got
around.”
"Umm... any relation,
by chance?”
Frank studied his fingernails. "Didn’t I
mention that part? She’s my niece.”
AJ didn’t want the words coursing
through his head to escape out his mouth.
Finally, when he’d swallowed all those
of the four-letter variety, he said, "Not that I’m any expert, but I’ve never
heard of her. Where does she work now?”
Frank waved. "She’s not from L.A.”
Terrific. "So she’s a no-name?”
"Maybe here in L.A., but she’s got a
happy clientele list a mile long. Besides, I’m counting on you to make her
a name.”
Make her a name. Here we go again, AJ
thought grimly. "Now, no offense, Frank, but I’ve got a thing about nepotism.”
"Me too,” Frank said, nodding. "Nothing
like being stuck with dead weight on account of genetics!”
"Does she have any experience at all in
front of a camera?”
"We’ve run some test shots, and, AJ, the
camera adores her.”
He’d be the judge of that. "Has she got
a personality?”
Frank looked offended. "Of course she
has a personality. She’s related to me, isn’t she?”
Frank’s idea of a joke was an exploding
cigar. A ringing endorsement, this was not. "I mean, does she have a quick wit?
Think fast on her feet?”
"She’s adorable. You’ll love her.”
AJ doubted that with all his being.
"Frank, I’m not entirely comfortable—”
Frank held up a finger. "Hold that
thought. I need to show you the budget I threw together.” He leaned forward and
punched a button on his phone. "Bring in the blue file for Pretty Women, will
you?” he said when his assistant answered. Then he looked back at AJ. "I mean
it, this budget is rough. I’ll need you to tweak it ASAP.”
AJ thought of the fifty things on his
new to-do list. "Define ASAP.”
"Tomorrow afternoon is fine.”
Who needed sleep when there was work to
do on a budget he hadn’t seen for a show he didn’t want with personalities he
hadn’t selected or met?
A minute later the door opened and AJ
glanced up quickly to give Frank’s assistant, Leslie, a quick smile. He looked
down and then did a double take. Whoa!
He stood up, glancing between Frank and
his new employee. "When did Leslie leave?” he asked Frank, then smiled again at
the gorgeous brunette. "Hi, I’m AJ Landry. Nice to—”
"AJ,” she said, "it’s me!”
Her voice sounded a lot like Leslie’s.
"Leslie?”
She handed a suddenly beaming Frank the
file in her hand, then twirled. "Like the new look?”
"Like it? Honey, your husband must be in
heaven.” Now that was no exaggeration. Whereas Leslie had always had so
much hair that you didn’t notice her face, this look was softer and revealed
her gorgeous eyes and cheekbones.
She struck a pose, laughed, then
sauntered out, tossing back a saucy smile before closing the door.
"Looks pretty good, huh?” Frank said.
"Well, she’s always been cute,
but...” He dragged his gaze from Frank’s door and narrowed
his eyes at the older man. "The niece?”
"The niece.”
"Nice evidence.”
"Seeing is believing!” Frank agreed.
"Okay, she has potential talent. But I
still don’t like nepotism, Frank. Let’s be honest. Is she a prima donna?”
"Of course not. Tanya’s the real deal.
If anything, she’s a little shy. Never could seem to get her over that.”
"Shy? She wants to do a national
television show, and she’s shy?”
"She adapts quickly.”
"Right. She spoiled?”
"I raised her. Maybe a little.”
"Great. Stubborn?”
"She’s sweet as can
be... as long as you agree with her.”
"Wonderful. Now don’t take this wrong,
but is she attractive?”
"She’s the prettiest young thing I’ve
ever seen. Why, she takes after me,” he smirked.
AJ ignored that since Frank reminded him
of W.C. Fields, and no girl could be that unlucky. "Bottom line, am I
going to like her?”
"What’s not to like?”
AJ could think of about a hundred
possibilities right off the bat. Like the fact that she was the center
attraction in a show he didn’t want to be involved in, and Frank wanted him to
make her a star. Which meant she probably wanted to be a star.
So AJ had been assigned the task of
making her a star. A sick feeling twisted through his gut.
Yep, here we go again.
Chapter Two
TANYA STOPPED IN front of the oak door
with the brass plate reading, "AJ Landry”. She took a deep, calming breath that
failed to calm her and sounded more like a pant of panic. So, she directed her
panting upward to blow an unruly curl of hair from her forehead.
That didn’t calm her either. Her hair
was falling apart because Tanya’s hair and humidity never got along, and nature
had decided to dump rain on sunny southern California. What a great first
impression she was about to make.
Tanya was so out of her element.
She’d been raised in small-town Sonora. Of course she’d been to bigger
metropolises like San Francisco and Portland, but nothing had prepared
her for Los Angeles. Her small and comfortable little shop had never prepared
her for chopping, shaping, and teasing in front of a camera. In fact, being
placed before a camera for any reason was pure torture. Performing before
strangers—whether she could see them or not—was her idea of pure hell.
Why couldn’t her family get that through
their heads?
Tanya silently cursed her mother once
again. At Christmas last year, when Uncle Frank had asked Tanya’s advice on a
new makeover show he was developing, her mother said, "And why are you picking
her brains but not asking her to do this show? She’s the best in the business.
Everyone in Sonora will tell you so.”
Frank nodded. "The initial angle was to
get a big name. But we wanted to go for fresh.”
"You wanted to get someone cheap,” Gran
opined.
Tanya rolled her eyes then, but was
shocked when a few weeks later a man named Stan Heinbeck called to ask her to
audition for the show. She did it only to keep her mother and grandmother from
faking heart failure if she refused.
Right now she could happily consider
matricide.
Strangely enough, that first audition
hadn’t consisted of doing any sort of makeover. They just took film of her from
all angles, did what they called lighting and sound checks and had her read
straight from a script that scrolled across a monitor. And she was horrible.
She knew it and she saw it in the eyes of all the people who watched her
stumble through. Without even trying, she was successfully a bust.
She apologized to her uncle, trying to
keep a relieved smile from her face. He appeared a little disappointed but
asked one final favor of her: to do a quick makeover job on his assistant. It
was for two reasons, he told her. One, because his assistant was going to a
class reunion that weekend, and she really wanted to knock ‘em dead. And two,
he wanted to test out the set-up for the show, to make certain it was ideally
designed for the beautician to do her best despite the rather tight quarters.
That favor she happily granted Uncle Frank. She did Leslie’s
hair and make-up, making notes along the way of things they could improve on
the set for whoever actually did do the show.
What she didn’t know was that cameras
were silently rolling. After she’d shown Leslie the results in the mirror,
disembodied hands clapped in the darkness beyond the set, and her uncle’s voice
boomed, "Did I tell you, or did I tell you?”
And apparently the Stan guy had agreed.
It had been a really sneaky thing to do,
and Tanya was still fuming when two days ago Stan called to inform her she’d
won the job hands down.
She’d tried to turn it down, to no
avail. The Zegretti-Pierce world would come to a crashing, bloody end if Tanya
didn’t jump on this opportunity.
"He’s expecting you, Ms. Pierce,”
the middle-aged, rail-thin secretary said from behind her, reminding her she’d
been standing in front of the door for who knew how long. She tried to smile at
the woman, but the lady appeared to have woken up on the wrong side of the
universe this morning. So much for the blonde-bombshell, chipper,
dumb-as-a-brick personal assistant stereotype Tanya had been expecting.
"What do the A and J stand for?” she
asked, trying to be conversational and informed all at once.
"They stand for Mr. Landry.”
Oh, goody. A stuffed shirt. Her favorite
kind of jerk. "I’m betting he didn’t win any spelling bees, hmm?” she murmured.
"Ms. Pierce!” That imperious tone
brooked no argument, so with one final breath and attempt to fix her unruly
hair, she knocked softly.
"Come!” a deep male voice barked.
Tanya wanted to run. She was a
marathon runner; she could be in Mexico before he noticed she’d stood him up.
But then the possible recriminations
from her mother and grandmother popped into her head. The badgering it had
taken to even get her down here still rankled. She was thirty-two. At what age
was she legally allowed to tell them to stuff it?
What was worse, once she’d agreed to
shoot what they called a pilot, and five additional episodes, her mother and
grandmother had insisted on accompanying her to "the big city” to help her
settle in.
Since she was staying with Uncle Frank
at his Bel Air home for the foreseeable future, and poor Sharyn had to pick up
the load back home, she wasn’t certain what kind of settling she was supposed
to be doing, but arguing with them was more trouble than she could handle at
the moment.
In fact, a bigshot producer should be a
piece of cake compared to the two of them. She hoped. And there was always that
marathon-running thing.
She opened the door and all but tiptoed
in.
She nearly stumbled when she saw the
man. And not just because she was used to wearing sneakers instead of these
damn dress shoes. He didn’t even bother to look up from the keyboard he was
hunting and pecking on or the computer monitor he kept glancing at.
He was mumbling to himself, and she
thought she caught him voicing a very colorful picture of where he felt all
budgets should go.
He was adorable. Chocolate-brown
hair stood up in various patches, as if he’d been pulling at it in frustration.
His brow was crinkled in consternation, or confusion. His skin was lightly
tanned. Dimples appeared every time he bit those luscious lips.
Tanya stood in shock for a few moments.
She’d expected a grizzly old guy. She’d never expected someone so close
to her age.
Without looking up, he pointed at a
chair in front of his desk and said, "Hi. Sit.”
She almost turned and marathoned it back
to Sonora. He might be cute, but after only three terse words from his mouth,
she’d already figured out that he’d become a curmudgeon early in life. This
didn’t bode well. Her mother and grandmother might have been pushy, but she had
always been able to wrap the men in her family around her pinky. It was a
source of pride.
She was pretty sure her wrapping days
were over.
Tanya sat down... and
waited... and waited. Soon she was getting irritated. There
were good rudes and bad rudes, and he was not displaying the good kind. She
cleared her throat. Twice.
Finally, though still not looking up, he
opened a drawer, pulled something out and tossed it at her. She caught it and
stared back at him. A cough drop. Very cute. She’d never made quick judgments
in the past, but she was not going to like this man. Oh, joy. Another reason to
be thrilled to be here.
"I’m here, as scheduled, but if you
don’t have the time I’ll be more than happy to leave right now, Mr. Landry,”
she said, hoping she sounded professionally ticked off, Hollywood-style.
He still didn’t even bat an eye in her
direction. She was becoming certain they’d be Satan-red. "Actually, Ms. Pierce,
you were one and a half minutes late. That better not ever happen on the set.”
Tanya stood abruptly, almost knocking
over her chair. Not even Mama’s wrath was worth dealing with a crummy cute guy.
Oh, to be home in Sonora. "You know where you can stuff your set, Mr. Landry?
Meeting’s over. And just so you know, your hair looks like hell.”
Self-righteous indignation felt good.
And actually a relief. If she were to be honest, her response was probably way
out of proportion to the situation, but grabbing at any straw was just fine
with her. She’d never wanted this gig.
Tanya started to make a sweeping exit.
She figured it would be apropos here in Hollywood.
"Sit, Ms. Pierce.”
She turned around, almost upset she
didn’t have a boa to toss over her shoulder indignantly. "You’re not my boss,
Mr. Landry.”
"Yes, I am, actually.”
That was when she noticed he’d actually
deigned to look at her. Dammit! Gorgeous gray-green eyes. Cute, cute, cute.
Then again, bears were cute too, but
she’d never had any desire to work with one. "Not if I don’t take this job, you
aren’t, buster,” she said. "And after about two and a half minutes in this
office, it’s obvious that working for you isn’t all that appealing.”
He leaned back in his chair. "Not that
I’m doing cartwheels either, but you’ve signed a contract. Sit.”
"I am not a dog, Mr. Landry.”
"You certainly aren’t. Still, that
doesn’t mean you don’t need to be trained. Consider yourself a very pretty
puppy.”
The only thing she had to throw at him
was her briefcase, and she sincerely doubted her aim was all that good. Not to
mention, if he really was her boss, sending him to the hospital probably wasn’t
going to look good on an employee evaluation. She’d have to have a talk with
Uncle Frank about how things like this worked in the surreal world of
television. In the meantime, conciliation seemed to be the best course of
action. She conjured a tight smile. "You’re lucky I’m housetrained.”
"Just don’t chew the furniture,” he said
again, sounding bored and preoccupied all at once.
Maybe conciliation wasn’t all it was
cracked up to be.
He actually grinned, though, and dimples
peeked through again. Damn, she hated that he was handsome. And, worse, that
she’d noticed. And worse than that, that he knew she’d noticed. And that he
knew she knew he’d noticed she knew.
No matter. She hadn’t been known as
Tanya The Terror in high school for nothing. She’d been able to make football
players quake at fifty yards. What could a puny television producer do to her?
"Here’s how it’s going to be,” he said,
leaning forward.
He could irritate the hell out of her,
that was what he could do.
She stood up straighter and went for a
menacing look. "I was told this is my show. If I’m mistaken, I’ll gladly
go home.”
He smiled at her again. It was a really
mean thing to do. "You’re mistaken. It’s my show. You just happen to be
the gorgeous talent. Deal with it, or go ahead and walk out on Uncle Frank. Hethought you could do it. Maybe you’re not so sure.”
Tanya happened to pick out two parts of
that speech: "gorgeous” and "walk out on Uncle Frank.” She normally would have
taken in the rest, but the man had the nerve to stand up during his speech. It
nearly did her in.
No football player here. Not wide
enough. Not quite tall enough for basketball, either. "Soccer, maybe?”
"Excuse me?”
That was when Tanya realized she’d
spoken aloud—a lifelong habit she’d never been able to cure herself of. When
she was nervous, she spoke whatever thought was uppermost in her mind. The damn
habit had gotten her into trouble more times than she cared to wince about.
Most of the time she could talk her way back out of it. But AJ Landry’s gray
eyes were just a little too wise for her liking. "I was trying to decide what
sport you played growing up,” she finally admitted.
"Never played soccer.”
"Rugby?”
"Nope.”
"Volleyball?”
"At beach parties.”
He wasn’t going to give it up easily,
the turkey. "Swimming?”
"For fun.”
Tanya swallowed a growl. "Baseball? Ping
pong? Tiddlywinks?”
He grinned again. "I’ll let you off the
hook. I never played organized sports.”
"Oh.” She almost blurted, You got that
body somewhere, buster, but bit her tongue just in time. "Well, it
doesn’t matter. Where were we?”
"We were deciding if we think you can
handle the job.”
"We were? Have we come to any conclusions?”
"We’re not hopeful.”
That did it. No one, and that meant no
one, told Tanya Pierce she couldn’t do something. The Italian Zegretti in
her wouldn’t allow her to shirk a challenge. The Pierce in her was screaming
that she proceed with caution, pointlessly. Her Pierce side had never
outshouted the Zegretti before, and it wasn’t about to win now.
"I can handle anything you throw at me,
Mr. Landry. Even hair like yours.”
JUST WHAT IN hell was wrong with his
hair? AJ wondered. He’d never heard any complaints before. Actually, he didn’t
think he wanted to hear one now, either, fairly certain this woman would have
no trouble telling him.
Frank Pierce had torpedoed him. Kind of
shy, his ass. This woman could stare down a mafia hit man.
AJ waited for his natural Hollywood
cynicism and bitterness to take hold and reject her, but it didn’t seem to be
happening. He was almost mentally high-fiving Frank.
He could easily have screened the
audition tapes Stan had couriered to his office, but, since Stan had included a
slobbering note that they’d found "the one”, AJ had stubbornly wanted his first
view and impression of her to be in person.
Tanya Pierce was beautiful. He
was certain the camera would do justice to her wild black hair, well-defined
cheekbones, heart-shaped face and full, sassy lips. Her big brown eyes would
translate well, too... when they weren’t narrowed with anger
and disgust.
Disgust? He wasn’t used to being looked
at that way. Well, not since Heather had walked out three years ago. But that
had been okay, because he’d been completely disgusted with her, too. Sudden
fame did amazingly crappy things to people. He’d seen it over and over again.
AJ checked out the woman in front of him
and began to wonder what fame would do to her if this show took off. He got a
sour feeling in his stomach thinking about it. But it was bound to happen. Too
bad.
He stifled a sigh. "I’m sorry, Ms.
Pierce. It’s been a long morning and looks to be an even longer night. Please
have a seat. We have a show to produce.”
She hesitated for a moment, but the fire
in her eyes tamped down a bit, and then she sat primly in his guest chair.
AJ sat, too. "You didn’t really ask for
this gig, did you?”
Her eyes went wide. "How did you know
that?”
So his instincts were right again. Frank
Pierce had recruited his niece, not the other way around. That was kind of
cute, actually. And refreshing. He shrugged. "Just a guess.” He nodded at the
briefcase she was clutching in her lap. "Show me what you’ve got.”
She looked down and frowned. "I don’t
have anything to show you. I brought this to look... you
know... professional... and just in case
you had stuff to give me.”
Oh, great. Yeah, this was going to work.
"Then tell me about your credentials.”
"Credentials?” Her brow furrowed cutely.
Then she flashed a smile that kicked him in the mid-section, it was so glowing.
Yep, the camera would love her.
She dumped the briefcase on the floor
and leaned forward. "I do all the make-up and hair and wardrobe at our
community theater.”
They were doomed. "Great. Anything
else?”
"Well, I don’t want to brag,
but...”
"Please. Please brag.” Give me
something to work with, babe.
"I graduated top of my class at Tammy’s
School of Beauty.”
He felt that would somehow miss the bio
on their website. "Anything else?”
She looked down, apparently not wanting
to boast. That too was kind of sweet. He’d had women climb under his desk
trying to show off their credentials. Maybe he could work with this new
modesty. "Go ahead,” he encouraged. "Brag some more.”
"Well, I own All About You.”
"What’s All About You?”
"A beauty salon in Sonora. And it’s not
just haircuts and manicures, either. We work with the entire package. Makeup,
massages, saunas, mud baths, facials, even fitness. The whole works.” Her face
turned even more cherry-red after that excited speech.
"That’s great!” he said, feeling an
insane need to boost her confidence. He needed her to take charge on camera.
Still, he just hated the thought of what
fame was going to do to her eventually. It was poison, and every star
succumbed.
Why was he in this business again?
"So what’s your vision for this show?”
he asked.
She perked up, perked up really, really
well according to his pulse.
"I’m going to give the customer exactly
what she wants.”
That sounded boring.
"And get to know... a
couple of things about her.”
Boring.
"Which will help me decide what would be
perfect for her. And then I’m going to make her do it my way.”
That was better.
"And I’m going to prove to her that she
should listen to her makeover artist.”
AJ might actually end up liking this
woman. At least until her ego inflated to the size of a Goodyear dirigible.
"Sounds good so far.”
"So what we need is to find vict—I
mean... women who want radical changes that are pretty
ridiculous.”
"How do we do that?” he asked, really
enjoying her in an animated state.
"Leave that to me.”
"I’m going to have to,” he said. "I
don’t have a clue what we’re doing.”
"I could tell that right away about
you,” she said, leaning over his desk and patting his hand sympathetically.
Maybe he wasn’t going to like her much
after all.
