Cover Me

By Mangrove Publishing

Reviews:
"I have to begin this review with a big HELL YEA!!!! I loved this book!!! From the first couple of pages to the very last of the book I was enthralled with the characters and the story."

"Jennifer Lewis is one of those authors that writes characters that sneak in and captivate your heart."

"Five stars. Hot, steamy, creative. Everything I loved. This story enthralled me."

Former supermodel Allie Gibson is single, broke and desperate. Only getting her body and career back—fast—can save her apartment and her last shreds of self-respect. Her agency insists on a personal trainer, and now muscled hard-ass Ray Diaz is in her business from dawn until dusk. Everyone warns her to stay out of his bed—no problem! But when a diamond G-string disappears from a shoot and Ray is charged with the crime, she’s determined to help clear his name. Being seen together puts both of their careers at high risk, but suddenly they can’t stay away from each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mangrove Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781939941046

Book preview

Description

COVER ME: A steamy romance with New York attitude… Former supermodel Allie Gibson is single, broke and desperate. Only getting her body and career back—fast—can save her apartment and her last shreds of self-respect. Her agency insists on a personal trainer, and now muscled hard-ass Ray Diaz is in her business from dawn until dusk. Everyone warns her to stay out of his bed—no problem! But when a diamond G-string disappears from a shoot and Ray is charged with the crime, she’s determined to help clear his name. Being seen together puts both of their careers at high risk, but suddenly they can’t stay away from each other. Passion burns hotter than the NYC summer nights as they tackle their worst fears and fight the odds against them.

Chapter 1

I’m Allie Gibson.

She struggled to keep her tone even. She hadn’t walked into these offices in two years, and last time it had been her face plastered all over the walls. She glanced around at the framed glossies of the younger girls who’d replaced her, not only on the walls of High Profile Inc., but on the covers of magazines, in the lavish fashion spreads, on the couture runways.

But she was back. Dammit.

She lifted her chin as the receptionist buzzed Stella Resnick, ruthless connoisseur of all things beautiful. Founder and sole owner of the agency that had helped make Allie the face of the year.

Seven years ago.

She cleared her throat. Her heart pounded uncomfortably inside the tight strap of her new push-up bra.

Take a seat. The receptionist started sorting through some envelopes piled on her desk. Allie made her way to the familiar gray leather sofas.

Half an hour later she was still sitting there.

Perspiration pricked her underarms and her feet were starting to swell inside her uncomfortable new high heels. Was this Stella’s way of punishing her for not keeping in touch over the last two years? Allie hadn’t wanted anything to do with the business she’d been happy to quit.

She’d been naïve.

Three girls burst in through the glass doors, laughing, high on the excitement of whatever they’d been doing.

He is such a dog, girl!

I think he’s sweet.

The two blondes laughed at the redhead. She recognized the girl from a popular soap campaign. The moisture your body craves. They waved at the receptionist then plunked themselves down on the sofas around Allie.

I swear, he never tried anything!

Not yet, girl, but watch out tonight. They giggled. They were so young, probably not even seventeen. Allie tried to look relaxed. As if sitting next to them didn’t make her feel like a wizened hag. One of them got some lip gloss out of a bag and slathered it on her pouty lips. Allie looked up at the receptionist, who murmured into her headset while writing something down. She could hear the bookers in the room next door making appointments, the phone constantly ringing.

No one recognized her. Who did she think she was, anyway, to walk in here and try to compete with these fresh girls ten years her junior?

Allie! Stella strode into the reception area, halo of apricot hair still fluffed around her artfully preserved face. Allie leaped to her feet, stomach clutching as she extended her hand.

Hi Stella.

What a surprise. A beat of silence followed and Allie wondered if she was supposed to make a sales pitch for herself in front of the three now-silent girls. Come in! Stella turned on her Ferragamo heels and Allie scurried after her, suddenly sure she should have at least brought a portfolio of recent photos. Except that she didn’t have any recent photos.

In the faded jeans and peasant blouse that looked casual and confident at home, she felt foolishly underdressed as she sat down opposite Stella’s crisp black-and-white Chanel suit.

It’s been a long time. Stella tapped a slim Sobranie from her ever-present pack. The skin around her lips puckered, revealing her age as she thrust the cigarette between them and lit it with her heavy silver lighter.

Two years. Allie swallowed. I want to start working again.

Stella looked at her as if she’d announced a plan to join the Hare Krishnas. She blew out a cloud of white smoke. The New York City smoking laws did not apply to Stella Resnick’s domain. Allie’s face heated as she waited for Stella’s reaction.

Sweetheart. Her lips stretched into a condescending smile. A furrow should have appeared between her eyebrows to indicate perplexity, but thanks to a combination of Botox and snipped muscles, it didn’t. You quit the business.

I know. I did quit. I really thought I was through. But, um, circumstances have changed and I need to start working again.

You broke up with Angus. It wasn’t a question. Everyone knew about it. Everyone in New York knew that the love of her life had dumped her. Had thrown her over for the latest model. Literally.

She bit the inside of her mouth hard. She wasn’t going to cry.

Yes.

He spent all your money.

Yes.

And now you’d like to make some more.

Allie nodded. Oh shit, she was going to cry. In fact it was already happening. Hot tears rolled down both cheeks simultaneously and Allie quickly swiped her face with the back of her hand. What the hell was wrong with her? This was no place for an emotional meltdown. Suck it up, and fast!

Stella took a long hard drag on her cigarette. Sweetheart. This is a tough business. You know that. You can’t just take off and come back two years later—two years older—and pick up where you left off.

I know. I’m willing to start over again. Do whatever it takes. Her voice sounded cracked and shaky. I don’t look any different now than I did then, so I don’t see why I wouldn’t be able to do it.

Stella raised a heavily penciled eyebrow. How old are you?

Twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine. Do you know how old most of the girls in this business are?

Allie nodded. She swallowed hard, damned if anymore of those pathetic tears were going to come out.

"Seventeen, nineteen, maybe twenty-one. You had a longer career than three girls put together. You had a wonderful career, the best a girl could hope for. But you quit and two years is a long time to be off the scene. You’re history. It’s over, sweetheart. That’s just reality."

Well, what I was thinking… She drew back her shoulders. I know my look is more…mature… Allie struggled to keep her voice even as Stella took another hearty suck from her cigarette. So I was thinking I might be good for a makeup campaign or a scent. She bit her tongue, hoping Stella wouldn’t say something to chop her in two.

Sweetheart, go find yourself a nice rich man. Stay away from the charming, artistic poor ones. You’re a beautiful girl.

I need to work. And this is all I know how to do.

It’s a business like any other. Supply and demand. I wish I could be more positive. You’re not a girl anymore. You’re in a new category: ‘young mom.’ I don’t handle young moms.

I’m not a mom. An involuntary swallow held back a rising sob. Angus hadn’t wanted a child. Take some photographs of me. I look just the same. I’ll do anything. Anything. Her hands shook and she dug her nails into her jeans to still them. I’m going to lose my apartment.

Stella tilted her head and clucked her tongue. Her eyes shone with sympathy that the tightly stretched skin of her face could no longer reveal. Allie groped in her clutch for a tissue to wipe away the tears she couldn’t seem to stop. Horribly unprofessional. She must look a mess. She was a mess. She’d somehow managed to forget that the image you project is who you are in the business.

Stella blew a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling, punctuating it with a single, impressive smoke ring. Allie’s stomach clenched.

There is a new campaign coming up, she said after a painfully long pause. Estée Lauder. A new wrinkle cream. The words wrinkle cream made Allie’s heart sag.

Stella’s eyes roved over her face with laser intensity that threatened to scorch her epidermis. She stubbed out her Sobranie. It’s a long shot but not impossible.

Allie sat forward. Anything. Just tell me.

They want a face. Someone with recognition. Magazine covers.

I did more than twenty magazine covers.

Yes. You’d need something new, though. You’d have to pull yourself back to the top fast.

I can do it.

Stella tilted her head and raised a doubtful eyebrow. It’ll be work. Hard work. She rose from her chair and walked around to Allie. Picked up a strand of her limp hair and felt it between her fingers like yarn.

She peered into Allie’s face, studying the skin around her eyes for lines. Her thumb dug into Allie’s cheek as she tested the resilience of the flesh. Allie’s breath was stuck somewhere at the bottom of her lungs.

Your hair is a disaster. Have you been living under a rock?

I stopped coloring it a while ago.

At least it’s in decent condition. And your skin looks good. It always did. You were always such a beautiful girl, Allie. Allie bit her tongue fiercely, willing herself not to blubber again. Dry those eyes and get into the studio. We’ll see what we have to work with.

Thank you. Allie scrambled to her feet, teetering in her heels. She staggered to the door, took a deep breath and strode into the studio determined to show them what she was made of.

Holy guacamole, you’ve gained fifteen pounds!

Allie glanced down at the scale she stood on in her bra and G-string. Holy guacamole was right. With extra sour cream. There must be something wrong with the scale.

Maia stepped on the scale herself. Nope. Same as I usually weigh. Guess you’ve been eating some canolis.

Stella wasn’t going to like that.

Maia got out the tape measure and took Allie’s bust, waist and hip measurements, scratching them down on a notepad. She had one of Allie’s old comp cards paper-clipped to the pad and she compared the figures. A petite girl with cropped black hair, she looked up at Allie with kohl-ringed eyes. You’ve gained four inches on your waist, three on your hips and an inch on your bust.

Holy shit. Can we fudge it a bit?

In house? Maia raised a black-penciled eyebrow.

Allie winced. I guess not. I’ll get in shape. No more food for me.

Did you bring a bikini? Allie nodded and pointed to her clutch. Get it on and we’ll see what Stella and Dawn have to say.

The extra inches she’d never noticed now bulged publicly as she stood in her dandelion-yellow bikini waiting for Stella and Dawn, the head booker, to make an entrance. She’d shaved carefully that morning, but her skin was pale. It had a nasty bluish cast in the harsh light of the studio. If she was working she’d have a nice tan sprayed on by this time of year.

Oh, my God. Dawn never minced words. Allie sucked in her stomach as the sharp-featured, sharp-tongued woman with a helmet of lacquered brown curls swept into the room. Right behind her, Stella’s face betrayed no emotion.

Look at her stomach! And her hips. Oh my God. Allie bit the inside of her cheek. Hard.

We’re thinking of her as a face, said Stella coolly.

You can’t be a face with no body. Her singsong Long Island accent made it sound like a jingle. Dawn strode right up to Allie and pinched a handful of flesh just below her belly button. She blew out a snort of laughter. What the hell happened?

I haven’t been weighing myself. Allie felt herself flush beetroot. My clothes still fit me.

Sure, Dawn gave her a conspiratorial wink. And I can still wear my prom dress. She looked hard into Allie’s face, studying it, peering into her eyes as if no one were home. Face looks good, though. And the eyes.

She’s a face. Stella stood just inside the door, arms crossed.

She’d better be, ’cuz she certainly ain’t much else. Dawn walked around her, pinching hard into the skin above her buttocks, and making a rude sucking sound. We can’t take any swimsuit pictures. Got to get rid of the flab first. Once you’ve done something with that hair, we’ll do some close-ups of the face and some clothed shots. Come back tomorrow morning and we’ll get a temporary comp card put together. Dawn shook her head as she surveyed Allie’s stomach and hips one last time. You have let yourself go, girl! You’re going to have to bust your ass to get back in shape, and fast.

I know. I’ll do it. Adrenaline raced through her. They were going to give her a chance.

"You’ve only got about a month before they start casting the Lauder campaign. We need you out and working before then. We need you working now."

Allie pulled her blouse on right over her swimsuit. All she needed to make her humiliation complete was for someone to seize hold of a breast and give it a good squeeze, then shake their head in dismay.

Stella approached her, beady pale eyes raking her face. Allie tugged her shirt down and lifted her chin up.

Sweetheart, you must have a personal trainer with you twenty-four-seven. Watching your food. Working you out. Dawn nodded. Someone who can get rid of all fifteen pounds—yes, Maia told me—all fifteen pounds in one month. Sooner if possible. Allie nodded dumbly. "It can be done, but not everyone can do it. This is the agency. You know that. Listen carefully Alison." Allie could hear her blood pumping inside her head. The room was silent, everyone frozen. Eyes probably on her fat thighs.

"I’m taking you back as a client on a trial basis. If you can prove to me over the next few weeks that you are really serious about this, we’ll go places together again. I’ll push hard for you to get the Lauder contract. I know you want it, but wanting it is not enough. I want you fit and I want you working." She emphasized the last sentence by stabbing her wizened and heavily manicured finger in the air.

I won’t disappoint you. I need this.

Stella nodded slowly. Tapped a Sobranie out of her pack and pointed it at Allie. "Things are different now. You’re not the top girl anymore. You’re never going to be the top girl again. She paused, held her cigarette out toward Maia, who whipped out a lighter and lit it. Allie struggled to keep her face composed. You’re going to have to work twice as hard to get half as far. She dragged on her cigarette, then blew a blast of smoke toward the floor. But you’ve got something other girls don’t." Allie brightened, needing a compliment as much as her next breath. But Stella didn’t continue. The receptionist ducked in with a note, and Stella followed her out of the room, heels clicking on the wood.

Stylist. Paul Delgado. Tell him to give her some highlights and keep the cut longish. We’re going classic here. Dawn rattled out her words as Maia scribbled notes in her pad.

Trainer—what about Dominic Ocampo?

"In Paris with the Glamour shoot."

Cindy Hopkins?

Florida.

Soo Kyung Kim?

Too abrasive. He triggered Karen’s nervous breakdown.

Allie’s eyes went back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match. She definitely didn’t want the nervous breakdown guy. She was three-quarters of the way into one already.

Dawn raised an eyebrow. What about that sexy Ray Diaz?

I don’t think he’s training models anymore. He’s starting up a gym or something.

I bet he could be persuaded for the right price.

He’s tough.

Allie needs tough. Look at her. She grabbed hold of a handful of Allie’s thigh. Allie winced with a mix of pain and humiliation. No muscle at all. She needs someone who’ll make her work.

I don’t know if Ray Diaz is a good idea, right now. Allie’s in a fragile state, and he’s…well, you know.

This is Allie Gibson we’re talking about, not some sex-crazed teenager. He’ll get her in shape if anyone can.

All right, I’ll give him a call.

Dawn grabbed Allie’s chin, tilted her face sideways to examine her profile, then yanked it back to face her head on. I’ll see you back here tomorrow, doll, and we’ll put you to work. 

Thanks, Allie gasped. I really appreciate it.

As the door slammed behind Dawn, Allie bent down to pick up her jeans, and shoved her feet into them. Maia was already on the phone to the hairstylist, and by the time she’d zipped up, the appointment was made. Two-thirty this afternoon. He’ll come to you. I told him to call you. Still at the same place?

Yup. For now. If she could keep up with the mortgage and maintenance. For the first time since Angus left her with a broken heart and an empty bank account, things were looking up. Time to get out of here before she started bawling again. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Maia smiled and nodded. Nine AM.

I’ll be here.

Chapter 2

So what’s this I hear about you and Angus MacFadden? Splitsville, huh?

Paul Delgado, coiffed and dapper colorist to the almost-stars, sat across from her at her kitchen table. Foil strips poked out from her head like porcupine quills. She tightened her grip on her mug of coffee. Black, no sugar.

Mercifully, the phone rang. Excuse me. She punched the button. Hello.

Allie Gibson?

Yes.

This is Ray Diaz. Maia said you need a trainer for a month. Deep voice. New York accent.

Yes.

Are you home?

Yes.

I’m two blocks from your apartment. Can I come over now?

Um… Great. Meeting her new trainer with a silver porcupine do, in the misshapen T-shirt she’d worn to get her hair colored, was not a good start. But it was a start. Sure. You have the address?

Yup. 117 Fourth Avenue, apartment 5 D.

That’s it.

I’ll be there in five minutes.

She turned off the phone. My trainer’s on his way over. How long is the hair going to take?

Another fifteen minutes on the highlights, and let’s say thirty for the cut.

Allie’s stomach gurgled with acid and she longed to spread some cream cheese on one of the cinnamon raisin bagels she’d bought for breakfast. Willpower held out. She took another sip of her coffee.

I hear Angus is seeing Betti Saarinen. Paul’s look of sympathetic concern no doubt masked a desperate hunger for some dirt to dish.

I heard that too. She licked her dry lips.

She’s new on the scene, but the magazines seem to like her. She has a different look.

I heard she’s only five foot seven.

Yup, if that. Petite.

Allie stretched her legs under the table, feeling suddenly giraffe like. Surely she can’t do runway work at that height?

She was a hit in Paris at the Christian LaCroix show. She stands out from the crowd.

Pointy claws of jealously dug into Allie. Crap. She took another sip of her coffee. Angus left her for her exact opposite. A short, curvy, dark brunette with a cleft chin. Someone who by any normal standard would be laughed right out of every modeling agency. Except that she was the toast of Paris. And Angus was in love with her.

"It was Angus’s shots of her for British Vogue that got her noticed, Paul continued, apparently ruthless in his quest for drama. He’s a talented photographer."

No shit. She’d been the one to suggest he try his hand at fashion photography. Allie stood up and walked across the room, looking for any plausible reason to get out of Paul’s line of fire. She picked up a plate with a half-eaten slice of apricot pound cake on it and carried it to the trash.

Did he take a lot of pictures of you while you were together?

Yup. She dumped it in.

You seeing someone new?

Nope. And to be honest, this little chat is giving me a stomachache. Can we talk about your love life instead?

I’m sorry. I can be so insensitive. My love life is a friggin’ disaster as always. I don’t suppose you know any handsome single men between the ages of seventeen and fifty?

The buzzer from downstairs sounded.

My trainer. Allie practically skipped across the room, grateful for any interruption. She let him in then waited while he climbed the stairs.

Hi. The big, dark-haired, dark-eyed man in her hallway looked at her with a curious expression. He stepped over the threshold.

You must be Ray Diaz. I’m Allie Gibson. She closed the door and held out her hand. Ray took it and shook it with a firm yet gentle grip. He smiled with what appeared to be genuine warmth. Two dimples.

I’m Paul Delgado. Paul materialized beside her, hand extended. Ray shook his, too. Paul positively glowed. Apparently Ray fit his love-quest criteria.

Would you like some coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.

Don’t drink it. It tastes like dishwater, whispered Paul.

No thanks, Ray said to Allie, raising a dark brow. And you don’t want any either. Maia said nutrition as well as exercise and that means no caffeine. He said it nicely, with an apologetic expression. Can I put my bag down somewhere?

Sure, anywhere you like. She wondered what was in the brown leather bag. His impressive arm flexed, muscles bulging as he lowered it to the floor. She was glad she hadn’t offered to take it from him. Probably held fifty pounds of free weights.

Can I get you a glass of water? Allie never felt hospitable until she’d plied a guest with food or drink. She was confident Ray Diaz would disapprove of her cinnamon raisin bagels.

Sure.

Ray followed her to the kitchen. Paul trailed behind, probably admiring the rear view.

I’m getting my hair done, she said as she filled a glass with water from the fridge dispenser.

I figured.

She handed him the glass. She noticed his nails were clipped very short, neat and clean. Big hands.

Thanks. Maia said you need to lose fifteen pounds. He sipped his water. Wide lips. Full.

Yes. I had no idea I’d gained weight at all. She shrugged. I quit modeling two years ago. Haven’t been paying attention to my body.

I can see that.

Allie’s eyes snapped open. I can still wear the same clothes!

So you say. One side of his mouth lifted and a dimple appeared. Allie became vividly conscious of the baggy T-shirt and ragged cutoffs she was wearing.

Nice place. Ray looked around. The apartment was a mess. Books and papers piled here and there on the bare wood floor. An old sweatshirt flung over the blue leather sofa. The walls stark white, denuded of Angus’s photographs, nail holes in the Sheetrock the only reminder. Dishes cluttered the kitchen counter and her new yellow slingbacks sprawled outside the closed bedroom door. At least he couldn’t see into the bedroom.

Thanks. I like it. Understatement of the century. It had been the first apartment she’d looked at, and she’d made the down payment in cash—everything she had—that same day without a second thought. Best decision she’d ever made. The prospect of losing it had finally made her come to her senses in the aftermath of Angus.

Time to rinse, my dear. Paul gestured at the chair propped against the kitchen sink. Allie sat obediently while Paul unwrapped her hair. Ray watched the whole ordeal, standing in front of the fridge with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He seemed to find the spectacle rather entertaining.

I hope you’re enjoying yourself.

Nope. Just planning how to get you in shape.

At least your hair will be in shape. The highlights are perfect. Paul soaked her scalp in perfectly warm water, and she closed her eyes as he rinsed the foul-smelling color from it. She was on her way back. One step at a time.

Paul made her sit on a barstool while he snipped expertly away at her hair. He attempted to persuade Ray that his thick, close-cropped hair needed a design shaved into the back, but Ray resisted. He opened the fridge and rifled through it. Her back was to him when she heard a loud thunk as he pitched something in the trash.

What was that? Her head whipped around.

Easy, don’t make me give you a bald patch!

Mayonnaise. You won’t be needing it. She watched as he pitched the ketchup, the butter, half a loaf of very stale bread and an unopened two-pound container of vanilla yogurt.

Yogurt is healthy!

Not this kind. Loaded with sugar. We’re putting you on a reduced-carb diet.

That cost four dollars! But no need to let the whole world know she was down to her last dime. And letting Paul Delgado know would amount to much the same. She turned back to face the other way, and Paul resumed snipping. She heard the unpleasant thuds and clunks of all her edibles being dumped in the garbage, followed by the whoosh of liquid being poured down the sink.

Don’t pour out the white wine. I’ll have that with dinner.

Too late.

Allie sucked in a breath and bit her tongue.

Looks like you’re in trouble, sang Paul under his breath. I don’t envy you. At least not too much.

A tiny smile forced its way to her lips.

Trash is full. Where should I take it?

There’s a chute in the hall. Let him take the damn trash out. With all her hard-earned groceries in it. What was she supposed to eat now? Her stomach gurgled audibly.

Paul was almost done scorching her ear off with the blow-dryer when Ray reappeared with a bulging bag of groceries and started unceremoniously loading them into the fridge.

What’s for dinner? she asked.

Broiled chicken.

And?

Spinach or broccoli. Your choice.

I have a choice? Lucky me. Am I right in guessing that a hollandaise sauce is out of the question?

Yup.

Thought so. That white wine would have helped me gag down a dry chicken breast, you know.

Loaded with carbs. Pure sugar. Poison.

I can drink diet coke, though, right?

Nope. Water or herbal tea. You need to detox. No chemicals or processed foods.

Ugh. I’m in pain just listening to this. Paul unplugged his drier and wound up the cord. Poor Allie. At least you look like a goddess. Here. He held up a mirror. Wow.

Looks nice, said Ray.

Her stringy, mousy-blond hair glowed with natural-looking highlights ranging from gold to platinum. They lit up her face. Completely transformed it. She hadn’t looked this good in… In two years, since she stopped modeling. The cut was subtle, almost blunt but with a little layering at the bottom to give it lift and interest. It fell just above the collarbone, leaving a lot of styling options.

Paul rubbed a polishing cream on his hands and brushed them lightly over the surface of the hair.

You’re a magician.

I know.

How much do I owe you?

Maia said to settle with the agency. Don’t worry about it. And no tips cuz I own myself. He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Make sure you get my work on the cover of Vogue, okay?" Paul bustled about, gathering his equipment.

I’ll do my best. Would you like to stay for a broiled chicken breast?

Much as I’d love to, I have an appointment uptown. He slung his bag over his shoulder and lowered his voice to a whisper. Good luck with The Enforcer. Ciao, bella. With a wink and squeeze of her upper arm he took off.

Leaving her all alone with Ray Diaz.

All right, let’s get a look at you, said Ray, as soon as the door had closed behind Paul. Want to put on a swimsuit or something?

Amazingly enough, I’m already wearing one. She’d never gotten around to taking off her yellow bikini after the prod fest at the agency. Ray tactfully examined a ceramic bowl on the kitchen counter while she divested herself of her T-shirt and shorts.

She studied his face when he turned to look at her. No expression. A poker player. His dark eyes zeroed in on her midsection, and she sucked in her stomach. That made his dimples appear.

No need to fake it with me. I’ve seen worse. Can you hold up your arms? She lifted them from her sides. His eyes drifted over her boobs with no apparent interest.

Her nipples tightened.

His gaze wandered slowly down to her stomach again, then her hips. He walked around behind her.

Cellulite city, no doubt. She hadn’t dared look in the mirror.

No surprises here. You need to build lean muscle and lose fat. You can put your arms down.

She slumped. How do I lose fifteen pounds? I’ve always been thin. I’ve never had to lose an ounce.

Her stomach gurgled again. They both ignored it.

The exercise will help, and the special diet I’m putting you on. Once you build up muscle, you’ll burn fat faster, too.

How long will it take?

We can have you looking better by tomorrow. In a month, you’ll be perfect. As long as you follow all my instructions. If you order pizza the moment I leave, all bets are off.

As if. Who did he think she was? A professional does the job, no matter how challenging. She cleared her throat. We need to figure out a schedule. I don’t have any bookings yet, but Dawn said she wants me to start working as soon as possible.

Your schedule is my schedule. The agency is paying me to be with you from seven AM to seven PM weekdays. Part-time on weekends.

You’re kidding.

Nope.

For a month?

Yup.

Don’t you have other clients?

No one I couldn’t delegate for what they’re paying me.

You sell yourself to the highest bidder?

Apparently. His brown eyes twinkled. I need money to open my business. This is the right amount of money at just the right time.

Wow.

The agency must think highly of you. One arched eyebrow lifted.

Don’t look so surprised. I worked with them for nine years.

I thought you looked a little older than most of the girls.

Gee, thanks. I quit for a couple of years but I need to start working again. She instantly regretted her words. She didn’t want him to know how hard up she was.

"I didn’t recognize you with the

Reviews for Cover Me

[books007_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Allie is a supermodel gone broke. She needs to make a comeback and Ray is who her agency sent to get her back in shape. She needs him to help her get in shape, he needs to job to help fund opening his own gym. They end up wanting more.Ok, this is your typical romance. Two people thrown together by life's circumstances and find love. Nothing really dramatic, just a light read.I received this book in exchange for an honest review.