Mixing Business With Pleasure

By Bronwyn Stuart

What's a girl to do when she finds herself naked except for her stilettos and backed up against a cold mirror, stuck between a rock and a very hard man? 

Alison Marcum loves her baby brother and would do anything for him–until the day his loan sharks arrive on her doorstep and demand she pay them ten thousand dollars or else.

With no way to repay the money, and not wanting to find out what they're capable of, Alison transforms herself from boring social worker to smoking hot model–but getting work isn't going to be the hard part for a woman who'd promised herself she'd never step in front of a camera again.

Sam Mason is overseeing a jewellery advertising campaign, and after spending ten minutes in the boardroom with a nearly naked Alison, he decides he might actually enjoy the job. Strictly business, though. Sam's been burned by a model before and no matter how attracted he is, there's no way he's getting involved.

As the lies begin to unravel and the loan sharks get impatient, will they both risk it all to be together or lose it all in a bid not to repeat the past?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Apr 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781760370336

Bronwyn Stuart

Bronwyn's love of reading all things romantic got her into trouble at a very young age. Starting with Mills and Boon 'borrowed' from her mother and then progressing to meaty historicals. It's only fair that romance pays her back with unique ideas for her own novels. She now writes dark and gritty Regency from her treehouse in the Adelaide Hills surrounded by the laughter of her young children and the love of a great man.

Book preview

Chapter One

If only she couldn’t find the building.

If only she could come up with the perfect excuse to turn tail and run.

Alison Marcum paused on the sidewalk in the cool shadow of a high-rise. The job sheet she held burned a hole through the palm of her hand as she reread the address.

In those terrifying moments of indecision, old tried-to-forget-with-vodka memories jumped the wall she’d built around them and bounced chaotically inside her head. Was she really ready to step back into that kind of hell? Into the elite society of starving models, hands-on photographers and media men with the word ‘pimp’ practically tattooed on their greasy foreheads? If she did step into Satan’s lobby, would there be any going back?

Who was she kidding? There was no going back now. Squashing her restless nerves down, Alison pushed open the heavy door.

A small smile lifted the edges of her glossed lips as she entered the lobby. Satan had taste. Instead of the debauchery and sin she’d hoped would give her the perfect excuse to bail, there was white as far as the eye could see. White leather chairs, white-washed walls, even the carpet was devoid of vibrancy but screamed sophistication. Gleaming polished pine broke up the continuous lack of colour and led the eye straight to the wall where ‘Mason Advertising’ hung, suspended from chains, moving slightly in the breeze of the chilly air conditioning.

Simple yet elegant.

Beneath the sign, a pretty receptionist sat behind a tall desk. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked with a wide, welcoming smile.

When Alison didn’t answer right away, her smile fell away and the woman stared at her, a question on her face, until Alison realised she would actually have to say the words out loud rather than just in her head. ‘I’m here to see Sam Mason.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’ the receptionist asked, her thin brows rising along with the hot-pink glasses perched on her flawless little nose.

Alison leaned closer to the desk and nodded. ‘I’m from the modelling agency.’ Her cheeks burned and she had the overwhelming urge to run back to her respectable life, to her safe, average job, to familiarity. But she couldn’t. Back there a shark loomed and if she didn’t get this position, she was in for a world of trouble. All she could do was cross her fingers and hope no one saw through her blushes or her lies.

‘Take a seat. Someone will be with you in a moment.’

As she sank into the soft leather of a single chair, she finally let out the breath she’d been holding. So far so good. Now all she had to do was fake her way through the next half hour and make an advertising mogul believe her to be an enthusiastic and experienced model.

Sure. Piece of cake.

‘Alison Marcum?’ another pretty woman called from the corridor beyond the reception desk a few minutes later.

Alison stood and walked toward her, hand held out, all the while mentally cursing her brother for putting her in the situation of deception and discomfort in the first place. ‘That’s me,’ she said, and hoped like hell she sounded more confident than she felt as they shook hands in greeting.

‘I’m Gloria; if you’ll follow me to the boardroom.’

Perhaps Sam Mason had shoved her off to one of his minions? There was going to be a point over the next thirty minutes when she would probably have to take her clothes off. Hopefully not all of them, but if that’s what she had to do, she was kind of ready. Damn Nathan and his gambling! Her anxiety lessened as anger took over and she shook her fingers out of the fists they’d curled into.

Gloria led her down a series of narrow, white-washed corridors past so many offices, some with open doors and others closed to prying eyes. They stopped for a moment in a small kitchen with modern stainless steel appliances and the delicious smell of brewed coffee. Alison’s inner voice screamed at her to admit right then that she wasn’t a real model but her life was in danger and she needed the money from this job to pay off her brother’s loan sharks.

She clamped a lid down on the voice of honesty and watched as Gloria picked up a cup of coffee. The silence was thick as Alison followed her past a few more offices. Should she talk? Ask her about the weather? Compliment her shoes?

Finally they went through the door of a boardroom. ‘Mr Mason, the agency girl is here.’

Past Gloria’s shoulder, Alison could make out the silhouette of a man in a director’s chair. He faced a long bank of windows overlooking Adelaide’s south parklands. His feet rested on the window sill and as he lowered his shiny black shoes to touch the carpet, Alison thought she heard him curse. The hair on her nape stood on end and the dread settled lower in her stomach.

‘Thank God for that.’ He didn’t even try to disguise it, the guy was pissed off. There was a frustrated edge to his voice that made Alison’s heart rate kick up another notch.

‘Drink your coffee and be good,’ Gloria told him as she set the cup and Alison’s portfolio on the table top.

‘Yeah, yeah.’

If she hadn’t been scared to death in that moment, between Gloria backing out of the room and the door closing with a loud click, she would have asked herself why this man acted so unprofessionally. But then again, if he was having the kind of day she was, she totally understood the emotions. When finally he met her frightened gaze, his anger seemed to fall away and a brilliant smile lit his mouth all the way to his forest-green eyes. It was as if he saw something in her face she hadn’t been aware of.

‘Good morning,’ he said, his voice low and deep. He stood and moved toward her, though the walk was more a stalk.

‘Alison Marcum,’ she said, extending her hand and finally remembering who she was. She wasn’t a scaredy cat who could be easily intimidated.

She kept telling herself that as she took the final step that would bring her closer to her would-be boss.

‘Sam Mason,’ he replied, eating up the distance in one step.

When her skin touched his, an innocent meeting of palms, she shook his hand firmly, once, twice and then let go, resisting the urge to hide her trembling fingers in the pockets of her trench-style coat. It may have been the fact she was edgier than shattered crystal, but Alison could have sworn there’d been an imperceptible tightening of fingers around fingers. More than a handshake between strangers required.

‘Take a seat,’ Sam said, still staring at her with those eyes that maybe saw too much. He held out the chair right next to where he’d reclined.

She wanted to shake her head and move to the other end of the corporate table. Eye contact and close proximity were sure-fire ways to blow her cover but she sat anyway, ignoring the way his gaze never left her face. ‘Thanks.’

After a few more tense seconds, a shuffle of papers where he read her exaggerated credentials and appeared satisfied with her half-truths, he finally spoke. ‘What makes you think you’re right for this job?’

Alison had been to enough interviews to know he’d resorted to scare tactics. The big bad boss asking the hard questions straight up. ‘I don’t think I’m the right person for it. I know I am.’

His eyes changed under the harsh fluorescents, from confident to thrown. Good, now he knew how she felt, although Alison doubted fear was a familiar emotion to this man. From the sandy blond hair curling against the collar of his suit jacket, down to his shiny black shoes, Sam Mason exuded power and confidence. She knew his type. Born sucking the silver spoon.

CEO and owner of an advertising conglomerate made him better than her. Gave him the right to intimidate to gain his own ends. And he would have succeeded ten years ago, but not now. Those old tricks didn’t work on her anymore.

He cleared his throat and then broke the silence. ‘Well, Mason Advertising doesn’t actually take on this kind of account anymore but, as the job sheet explained, my sister designed a line of jewellery and asked me to handle the visuals at the launch. It’s my job to find the face of her campaign and then build it from the ground up.’

‘That’s nice of you.’ Alison nearly slapped her forehead in horror. What an inane comment to make.

‘Nice isn’t the word I would use.’ A sad kind of smile crossed his full lips but then disappeared. ‘Would you be willing to work weekends, out of hours? Maybe a little interstate stuff? We only have a few weeks to get most of the details sorted before I have to be back in Sydney.’

Apprehension lay like lead in the pit of her stomach. Travel? Weekends? ‘If it’s jewellery, why does the job call for semi-nude?’

When her best friend and agency owner, Victoria, had handed Alison the details for the highest-paying job she had on her books, Alison’s heart had jumped into her throat at the typed words. Semi-nude model. But there had been nothing else, no other jobs that even came close to a payload like this one. You can’t afford to be picky, her subconscious screamed.

Sam Mason’s smile went from dry to predatory in a heartbeat. ‘Well, Alison, it’s all about sex.’

‘Sex?’ She straightened in her chair, panic setting in.

He nodded and met her gaze head-on. ‘Sex.’

***

Sam knew success when her cool composure slipped and her freckled cheeks flushed a vivid red. Alison Marcum was flustered and Sam could not have been happier.

When she’d walked into his boardroom, he’d nearly fallen out of his chair. After the tedious and unwanted task of interviewing women who were more likely hookers and strippers than models for most of the morning, Sam had been shocked to find an angel in his doorway. One minute he’d contemplated slow and painful torture for the state manager who’d suggested advertising in newspapers to save his sister high modelling costs. In the next, he’d lost his train of thought completely and forgotten where he was, even who he was.

He suddenly had the urge to make her blush again. He wanted to see her skin tinge pink beneath the halo of auburn curls atop her head. He wanted her to peek up through her lashes, her head tilted to the side a little, teeth worrying at her plump bottom lip. Obviously all an act from the Model’s Guide to Manipulation but an act he was swallowing hook, line and sinker.

‘You see, Alison, sex sells. Laughing babies or cute puppies aren’t going to make my sister a hit. It’s going to be your half-naked body draped in satins and silks that will sell her diamonds.’

Instead of the blush he’d wanted, she narrowed her eyes and leaned forward in her chair, one hand splayed on the desk next to where his already rested. ‘Does that mean I have the job?’

Sam nearly choked on his coffee at her bluntness and obvious zeal. There was the model behaviour he was familiar with. ‘Ah, there are a few things we need to cover first.’

‘Like what?’

He took his time to answer, let his curiosity roam. From the riot of curls on her head, to emerald-green eyes way too serious for someone so young, over the light dusting of freckles covering her nose and cheeks, her pink lips drawn in a tight line. God, she was tense. He hadn’t noticed before but from the hard set of her shoulders, her hands now back in her lap, fingers wrapped tightly around each other until her skin turned white, he would say she was terrified.

Part of the act?

‘Why has it been so long since your last job? Your resume says you haven’t worked in the industry since you were a teen.’ Maybe her trepidation was merely interview nerves?

She swallowed. He watched the way her necked worked, the way her skin rippled. ‘That’s a long story but let’s just say modelling wasn’t where I wanted to be right then.’

‘But it is now?’ He held his breath while he waited for her answer.

‘Absolutely.’ She nodded but the enthusiasm usually filling the eyes of hopeful models just wasn’t there with her. Old insecurities roared to the surface when he began to wonder if she had another reason for being there, other than the fifteen thousand dollars he offered for the job. Sam pushed the niggling feeling away. He’d promised himself he would come into this with no old prejudices or cynicism for his sister’s sake. If Alison didn’t want the job, she wouldn’t be there. End of story. He didn’t have the time to see something in this stranger that probably didn’t exist.

He definitely didn’t have the time to compare her that backstabbing, idea-stealing Marie.

‘First, you’ll have to sign a confidentiality agreement. Even my sister isn’t to know you came from an agency. Not one word about this campaign is to cross your lips to anyone.’ He wanted to add more, maybe a threat for good measure, but settled for an intense glare instead.

She nodded at first but then her pretty pink lips parted and she asked, ‘Where am I supposed to have come from?’

‘Sharni spent every dollar she had on the jewellery and the launch and then she was diagnosed with breast cancer and hasn’t been able to work since. She was worried about the ongoing costs of hiring a professional model for the launch so if she ever asks, you were hired from an ad in the classifieds. I’m paying a lot more than the norm here out of my own pocket so I can have complete discretion in return. I’m very serious about this. Agreed?’

A minute ticked by but finally she nodded. ‘What’s the second thing?’

‘I’ll have to make sure you don’t have any nasty tattoos or anything like that. Could you take your coat off please?’

‘You don’t trust Victoria’s word?’

He’d been lied to by companies before, lied to by models. By Marie. Just because this particular modelling agency came highly recommended by a friend in TV did not mean he wouldn’t ask all the necessary questions. ‘I don’t trust anyone.’

She nodded slowly after a few shaky breaths and then stood. Now that her hands didn’t grip each other, her fingers trembled and with each button she slipped free, Sam’s own anxiety wound up a notch. Slim fingers worked each opening slowly, almost deliberately taking her time. He wanted to tell her to hurry, that the anticipation was going to kill him, but he held his tongue. No matter how sexy her package appeared, she was as good as a no-go zone. He did not mess with models. His agency didn’t even deal with this end of advertising anymore. He had other smaller firms and creative people he hired to take the shots and do the ground work. Let them deal with overpriced starlets who thought they could lie, cheat and steal to make it in the biz.

Now he just organised where to place the ads and how they would appear. He’d thought his days of exhausting shoots and diva hysterics long past until Sharni had begged him for this one favour. How could he say no when his only family member needed her strength to fight the ugly disease eating away at her insides?

Sam got up from his chair and moved to stand behind Alison, helped slide the coat from her shoulders. Inch by precious inch, she revealed a slim body covered by a black wraparound dress clinging lovingly to her every curve. Sam’s hands closed around the delicate material of her jacket, the fabric crinkling under his grip, all thoughts of cancer and Sharni disappearing from his mind.

His heart thumped uncomfortably. She was a stunner. He had to see more.

‘And your dress,’ he managed to stammer. It’s all for work. It’s all for work.

Her shoulders lifted—for a second he thought she would protest—but then to his delight, she untied the bow at her hip.

Sam draped the jacket over a chair and leaned against the table so he was in front of her. He wouldn’t admit he needed the support to stay half standing. Or that he should have called in Gloria to make the situation a little less weird for Alison.

A minute later, he was eternally grateful for the table. With the knot untied, Alison drew the material away from her body and the dress slid down her arms to the crooks of her elbows. The first thing he noticed was that the small freckles didn’t just dot her upturned face.

He should have stopped. He should have said he’d seen enough and put her out of her misery. But there he stood, spellbound by this woman’s form. To his credit, he didn’t drool over the fantasy of her body in his bed or laid out right there on the boardroom table. What he imagined was a little less carnal. Alison draped over the day bed in his studio wearing a red negligee. Diamonds would drip from her cleavage and the setting sun would light a fire to her already flaming hair. Perfection. Complete and utter