Various States of Undress: Virginia

By Laura Simcox

When the president's daughter risks everything with her sexy new boss, they're bound to find themselves in Various States of Undress!

If she had it her way, Virginia Fulton—daughter of the President of the United States—would spend more time dancing in Manhattan's nightclubs than working in its skyscrapers. Tired of dodging paparazzi, she needs a change. And a real chance. So when she finds herself in the arms of sexy, persuasive Dexter Cameron, who presents her with the opportunity of a lifetime, Virginia sees it as a sign … but can she take it without losing her heart?

CEO-to-be Dexter Cameron knows he's taking a risk by hiring a stylish party girl to jumpstart his family's legacy department store. But the president's gorgeous daughter has her thumb on the pulse of Manhattan, and the partnership seems like a win-win … until Dex discovers that his goals now include more than securing the corner office—they include Virginia herself. Dex must decide: does he make a move up the ladder? Or on the girl of his dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Oct 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9780062304667

Laura Simcox

After spending years in professional theater as a costume designer, Laura Simcox eased out of the hectic whirlwind of opening nights and settled in a comfy desk chair to write romance. She believes that life is too short not to appreciate heartwarming, quirky humor, and her novels are lighthearted journeys into the happily-ever-after. She lives in North Carolina with her true love and adorable little son.

Book preview

Chapter One

WHEN VIRGINIA FULTON lifted her Jackie O sunglasses, she realized that, although she’d had a lot of weird days in her life, this one was the winner of a chicken dinner. As she squinted through the tears in her eyes, rain began a steady plink-plinking on the bench. Clouds whisked across the sky, and a glint of sunlight burned her retinas like demon fire. And if that wasn’t enough to piss her off, the paparazzi stalking her were making only a halfhearted effort to hide behind trees. They looked a lot creepier in the daylight than they did at night. Is this what it was like to be outdoors in Manhattan before noon? If so, she didn’t want any part of it.

Sitting in Central Park wasn’t one of her favorite pastimes anyway because when she did, the media—who followed her on a normal day—went crazy. It didn’t help that today she had, without really thinking about it, thrown her favorite sequined jacket over the black funeral dress she wore. Or that she’d chosen purple pumps to accent the outfit—foolishly thinking that all black was too drab. She looked like a shiny penny sitting in the sunny rain . . . and the men with cameras four trees over were just like little grubby raccoons. At least her Secret Service agents were keeping them at bay. Which was a good thing because her eyes were ringed with melted mascara and she was as pale as a vampire. Virginia needed to get out of there, but she couldn’t. Her future depended on the man who should have arrived by now.

Today is going to make me break out in hives, she muttered to no one as she squinted up at the sky again and wiped a rivulet of rain from her cheek. One of the agents, Larry, walked over and wordlessly handed her an open umbrella. She nodded her thanks and pulled out her phone, pressing it to her ear as if she were talking to someone. She had to do something other than just sit there staring across the grassy expanse—self-conscious, anxious, and in deep doody. She glanced up, silently cursing the creepers with cameras, and then, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, she casually stood and began pacing.

Her boss, Sam Owlton, who’d died a week ago at the age of eighty-seven, had finally been buried this morning, which was a bittersweet relief. He’d been a sweet old man, but he’d done something he never should have done. He’d left her his company.

After his will had been read and the news got out that Virginia Fulton, daughter of the president of the United States and New York City’s most famous party girl, was the new owner of the Owlton Company, the few remaining clients had dropped like flies. She hadn’t had a clue that the respectable old real estate consulting firm she’d chosen to intern with had already been on its last legs. Now it was legless.

How could I have known? she muttered toward the blank screen of the phone. During the two years she’d worked for the man, she’d spent most of the time sitting in an armchair in his dusty office a few afternoons a week listening to him chatter about the good old days as he attempted to infuse her with his brand of street smarts and intuition. She’d earned her real estate license and learned a lot, but it hadn’t been an actual job, not really. It was something, which was a hell of a lot better than doing nothing—appearances meant a lot when the media expected the world out of a person.

Virginia knew what she was supposed to be: smart, friendly, kind, witty, attractive, trend-setting—completely and easily in control of her well-balanced, healthy life and bright future. As long as all those boxes were checked, she was the perfect First Daughter. The ironic thing was, the people closest to her—her parents, her younger sisters—didn’t expect all of that. They expected her to be exactly who she was—smart but not too serious. Capable but lacking ambition. They meant well by accepting her as is, but nobody had ever really pushed her to try harder, including herself. Still, at twenty-six years old, she should have been able to find some kind of balance in her life. But the rest of the country expected her to be perfect, and she was no dummy. She just couldn’t seem to check all the right boxes at the right times.

She’d been arrested at sixteen for sneaking into a bar. It had been to haul out a friend whose dad had found out where she was, but instead of finishing the good deed, Virginia had gotten sucked into a good time. At nineteen, she’d helped her sorority sisters raid a frat house to steal back what the guys had stolen from them. She’d been photographed running across their lawn carrying a cardboard box full of liquor bottles. At twenty-one, she’d been caught in a restricted area of a museum, making out with her thesis advisor’s son. She’d only jumped over the rope to call him back before he got into trouble—but in the dark corner where she’d found him, he’d been too delicious to resist. And now, at twenty-six? She was New York’s premier party girl—with no real excuse for her behavior.

How was she going to fling herself headlong into running a real estate business with the paparazzi watching her every move? She’d screw up something—there was a 100 percent chance of that—but if she could fly under the radar for long enough to get some experience, she just might eventually be able to buy and sell Manhattan with confidence. It would be nice to be taken seriously, and this was her chance, even though what Sam had left her to work with was less than ideal. No, make that next to impossible.

At one point, the Owlton Company had been the number one broker for firms who bought posh corporate apartments to use for visiting executives. Now? There was only one client left. One. And she was stalking him like a bounty hunter today. Pacing, looking like a drowned rat as she waited for him to cross her path—all while talking to herself like a nut job as the paparazzi watched. Really, she’d kind of hit bottom, hadn’t she?

This sucks. Totally sucks, and I’m not sure what to do except try not to talk to myself, she said to the squirrel perched on the wrought iron arm of the bench. The squirrel ran away.

Fine, Virginia said, giving in and letting the words come tumbling out. She sat back down and angled the umbrella to better hide her face as she mumbled. "I know. Sam was getting erratic, but I didn’t think anything about it. Besides, erratic is my middle name . . . if you believe the media. She paused, frustration welling up. But Sam shouldn’t have dumped all of his assets, or lack thereof, onto one person. What am I going to do with his apartment? And all of his ancient furniture? And Junior Mint. What am I going to do with a twenty-pound cat who hates me?"

Glancing up, Virginia looked at Larry’s ramrod straight back. He stood a polite distance away, pretending not to listen while she pretended she was actually talking to someone. That guy would have no problem figuring out how to take care of a cat. Despite the fact that she referred to him as Muscles, he was a sharply intelligent federal agent. He had his shit together. Most of his life wasn’t spent playing at work and working at play, and the only reason he went out clubbing every other night was because he had to. Because she did.

She looked down at her pumps, which she’d bought on impulse two days ago, thanks to her friend Stacey, who knew just how to coax Virginia into buying something new and pretty—something to make her feel good. She sighed. Stacey was a personal shopper at Saks, and a damn good one. She was also Virginia’s clubbing buddy, and when the two of them got together, they did a lot of things they didn’t need to be doing. Virginia turned her foot to the side and grimaced because the shiny patent heels were caked with mud. Kind of like her reputation. I need to grow up and . . . start wearing sensible shoes. Or something. Movement at the end of the sidewalk caught her eye, and she watched as her two agents converged on a man in a suit—a man who stood there stiffly as he was patted down. Her client. It had to be.

She stood up, her heart lurching a little as she slid the phone into her bag and clutched the umbrella. Too bad it wasn’t a magic Mary Poppins umbrella. If it had been, she would have lifted off straight up into the sky thirty seconds ago and transported herself back to her apartment and cozy bed so she could think until her head was on completely straight. But she didn’t have that kind of time—she only had opportunity.

So she waited and watched as the agents finished frisking the infamous Dexter Cameron—or at least that’s who she assumed he was. She’d never met him, never seen a photo of him, and—as far as social media went—he was a complete void. From his posture though, he was none too pleased at the moment, and it was widely rumored that even on a good day he could scare the crap out of people.

But what did she have to be scared of? Just the fact that his company was her only remaining client? And that since he hadn’t returned her calls, she’d stalked him a teeny bit? Cameron Enterprises was also Owlton’s oldest client, and that had to count for something—even though Cameron only used Owlton’s relocation services when they moved employees to corporate headquarters in New York—which wasn’t often. Still, his apartment was only three blocks away. He hadn’t had far to go, even if he was old, and he could take five minutes to speak with her. And if he tried to railroad her or treat her like—

Virginia’s pep talk flew right out of her head as he emerged from the cocoon of agents and shook his shoulders, striding forward. Wow, he was tall. And a lot younger than she expected.

Why the hell had she thought that Dexter Cameron I was just shy of putting his teeth in a glass? Nope. He definitely wasn’t geriatric. Not even close, which meant . . . her agents had gotten the wrong Dexter. Dammit!

But it wasn’t their fault because she hadn’t been specific, had she? Virginia sighed and tried to think positive thoughts. So she wasn’t going to meet with Dexter Cameron I. Or with Dexter Cameron II—whom she’d learned had been living overseas for years. No. The guy walking toward her had to be Dexter Cameron III. The grandson. She didn’t know a thing about him, either, but he had to have some pull with his grandfather. This meeting wouldn’t be a total loss—she couldn’t let it be.

As he approached, his features became clear, and as she realized how handsome he was, her heart sped up a little. Quickly, she pasted on her sparkly smile—the one usually reserved for bartenders and friends of friends—the one that lit her eyes but not enough to be genuine. When he stopped in front of her, she unlocked her knees and stuck out a hand. Mr. Cameron? I’m Virginia Fulton. Nice to finally meet you.

It’s Dex. As she watched, he glanced down at her hand and then shook it reluctantly. I understand you’ve been trying to get in contact with my office regarding your . . . former employer. My condolences on your loss. He squeezed her hand lightly, and then his fingers slid away from hers. Holy crap. His voice was deep, and his hand had been so strong and warm, however reluctant. Virginia lifted her chin. Thank you. Did you know Sam Owlton?

No. But I’m happy for anyone who’s at peace. He gazed at her, his expression unreadable.

She gazed back, grateful for the dark lenses covering her eyes. What an odd thing for him to say. Nice, but odd. As for peaceful, she didn’t know how that felt, especially not at this moment, because Dex stared at her with green eyes so sharp and clear it was as if he could read her thoughts. She twirled the umbrella between her fingers, not dropping her gaze, even though the staring contest was getting kind of strange. Did the guy ever blink?

I’m not sure what’s so urgent, but I don’t usually have business meetings in Central Park. This is surprising and inconvenient. I’ve never been frisked before, he said tersely.

You weren’t supposed to be the one getting frisked, she said. I thought I would be meeting your grandfather. I’m sorry.

Dex’s eyes widened, and then he let out a disbelieving laugh. You actually thought my grandfather would agree to being ambushed by federal agents and brought to Central Park for a clandestine meeting?

It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize again—graciously—but her nerves roared to life and took over her mouth. Well, damn. Cameron Enterprise’s office hasn’t returned my phone calls, Dex, and I didn’t feel comfortable arriving unannounced at a private residence for a business meeting. She paused and then casually gestured toward the trees. The paparazzi are everywhere I go, but at least in the park, they’re way over there, so they can’t eavesdrop like they could at a restaurant. My agents weren’t pleased about me tracking you down, either. Just so you know.

He shrugged. I obviously know now.

Obviously. Her sunglasses were fogging up from the humidity, but she didn’t want to take them off. They hid her raccoon eyes. So she lifted a corner, hoping the steam would evaporate. It didn’t. Whatever. She was too annoyed to care anymore. She whipped them off and leveled a stare at Dex, who wore a hint of a smile. She could have sworn she heard a diabolical laugh rumbling in his chest.

He looked up at the sky. At least it stopped raining.

Yes, that’s a bonus. Do you have a few minutes to chat? Virginia snapped the umbrella closed and jammed the point into the grass, where it stood upright like an arrow. Dex’s smile grew wider.

Sure, whatever, he responded easily.

Virginia stared at him. What was with this guy? He looked like a billion bucks, but he had the social skills of a rock. He acted as if he didn’t care one way or the other if—oh. Of course. It was the whole daughter-of-the-leader-of-the-free-world thing. It tended to make some people pretend that they weren’t affected by her fame. In her experience, those types of people tended to have egos the size of the Brooklyn Bridge.

With a silent sigh, she clasped her hands together. The Owlton Company and Cameron Enterprises have had a partnership for forty years. I want to make sure that continues.

A hint of surprise crossed his face. You want to make sure what continues?

The partnership, she repeated. I’m the new owner of Owlton.

It was the first time she’d said the words out loud, and they hung in the air, not quite convincing, kind of like the new warmth of the muggy spring day.

I see. Dex nodded, but also not convincingly. And . . . you have a lot of real estate experience?

Virginia let out a laugh, and when he raised an eyebrow, she pressed her lips together. This wasn’t going so well. My college degree is in an unrelated field, she offered. Just like a lot of realtors.

He shrugged again, maybe in agreement, and maybe not. What did you study?

Art, she answered. Well . . . fashion merchandising and then art. Both fields prepared me for all types of challenges. She paused. In the business world. What the hell was she talking about? This wasn’t a job interview. She glanced at Dex, who had a strange look on his face—intense, surprised, and really kind of sexy.

He stared at her for a moment and then pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped beads of rain from the bench. Join me. He gave her a half smile and sat down, crossing an ankle on top of a knee. His ankle jiggled, and he stopped it. A few seconds later, it started again.

She stood her ground. After a few seconds, she replaced her sunglasses, opened her bag, and took out a notebook and pen. If there are any changes you’d like to make to our agreement, I can make some preliminary notes and—

Join me, Dex repeated. He gestured to the seat next to him. There was that half smile again. When his lips curved up, little lines bracketed the corners. It was hard not to stare, but her lenses were dark and she was in a really weird mood. So she stared. His lips were kind of . . . tasty. They looked warm, unlike the words that came out of them. He was one of those guys who thought he couldn’t be pinned down, wasn’t he?

She narrowed her eyes and sat on the bench. Well, he was about to be pinned—like an insect onto a piece of cardboard. With all due respect, Dex, you need to let me know if Cameron Enterprises intends to continue as one of my clients.

It had to continue—it was a huge corporation—and one of the premier jewelers in the nation, with showroom locations all over the country. Sure, they’d started as a department store—Lilah’s—around the same time as Barney’s. Lilah’s still existed, but in the past thirty years, Cameron Enterprises had grown far beyond that. She needed them, and, as she waited for Dex’s answer, she held her breath.

He laughed. And as her heart began to sink, the passing thought that his smile made him handsome went out the window. The man was downright gorgeous when he laughed, which sucked for her. She opened her notebook and flipped through several blank pages. I’m fully prepared to book apartments for your quarterly corporate retreats, but if you intend to break our contract, I can speak with an attorney.

That wiped the smile from his face. He glanced around, his gaze flicking over the agents and then the paparazzi. Finally, he turned sideways and his knee brushed hers. I’d like to help you.

You like to help me . . . but? She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice.

No buts. You’re in over your head, Virginia Fulton.

Well, no shit. Even the squirrel who’d been sitting on the arm of the bench knew that. She’d never managed an account on her own, much less a huge one, and she had yet to sell a single piece of real estate. The ink on her license was barely dry. But she hadn’t expected Dex to be so blunt. People weren’t blunt with her, especially people she barely knew.

It’s not your fault, Dex continued. Owlton was losing money hand over fist long before he kicked the bucket.

I’m not blaming myself.

I didn’t say you were, did I?

Virginia flipped her notebook closed. You implied it, but let’s move on. Why do you want to help me?

Because you can help me too. Dex shrugged nonchalantly. You’re fun, right? And sexy, which is exactly what I want. So if you’re interested—

Beneath her glasses, her eyes became wide as Frisbees. What?

What? he repeated.

Are you . . . propositioning me?

He frowned. What gives you that idea? I just said—

Virginia threw the notebook and pen back into her bag and stood up. Okay. That’s it. I’m leaving. She turned and walked away from the bench, signaling her agents with a raised hand. Her heels sank into the grass with every step, and she gritted her teeth as the paparazzi slid out from behind trees to snap photos. Dammit. Of all the things she expected today, being so blatantly hit on was not one of them.

Behind her, Dex spoke. Wait! That came out wrong. I shouldn’t have used the word sexy. You’re not sexy. You’re . . .

Narrowing her eyes, she turned around and watched as he stood up, his expression pained. His fingers spread apart and he stared at them as if they would help him find the right words. "I mean, you are sexy—let’s be honest, he continued, but I didn’t mean for that to be the point. I was asking you to be a consultant for Lilah’s. For the department store."

A fashion consultant? Her? Immediately, she loved the idea. No, not loved. Adored. But she’d come here to talk about real estate. Why would he assume he could change the purpose of their meeting on the spot? Because she was sexy? She shook her head, and Dex grinned. His mouth was sexy. She quit looking at it and examined her manicure.

The word consultant never came out of your mouth, she replied, her voice a lot calmer than the thoughts swirling around in her head.

It didn’t?

No. She glanced up and cocked her head to the side. Neither did department, store, nor Lilah’s.

He nodded. Okay. That went . . . not well. After opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, he took a few steps forward. I’ll explain. You’re fashionable and famous, and our flagship store is old-fashioned and forgotten. That store is where Cameron Enterprises began, after all. It’s the last one left, and it’s kept alive only out of nostalgia. But I intend to make it profitable again.

Why?

Dex shrugged. Reasons that have nothing to do with you. He glanced at the two agents who approached, talking into their sleeves.

Virginia walked as gracefully as she could across the soaked grass and stopped a couple of feet away from Dex. Let’s assume I’m interested in helping you. How will you help me?

I can get you a list of potential new clients.

She raised an eyebrow.

A solid list. He grinned, and her breath caught. "A sexy list," he added. Her breath whooshed out in a disgusted sigh.

He closed his eyes for a second. Sorry. I shouldn’t have used the word ‘sexy’ again. Sometimes when I attempt to joke, what I imply and what’s understood aren’t the same thing.

"You think?"

I try not to think about it. Dex coughed. In any case, I believe we could help each other. Maybe we could even start tonight.

The two agents stopped on either side of Virginia, and she folded her arms. Larry on one side, Virginia in the middle, and Charlie on the end. Muscles, the bad-ass president’s daughter, and Silent. With any luck, the three of them in their sunglasses looked like a vice squad or something. Not that she was actually scared of Dex Cameron. Not anymore. Not much. Tonight? That’s awfully . . . soon.

I need to go to a charity event. Take advantage of a few photo ops. He shrugged. It seemed to be his go-to move. But Virginia bet he did care more than the shrug implied. A lot more.

Take advantage, hmm? I’m going to interpret your situation, and you tell me if I’m right. She stepped forward, a little bit too close to him, but she couldn’t correct herself without looking like she was backing away. And what she had to say needed to be said in his face. You want some photo ops with a wild ’n’ crazy daughter of the president of the United States because you want your name in the news as you move up the food chain in Cameron Enterprises. Maybe you’re eager to take over the reins. Want to prove yourself? Yeah, I’m going with that. So you pounce on the First Daughter, who obviously needs you as a client, and naturally, you assume she will say yes.

A slow smile crossed Dex’s face. I don’t assume anything, Virginia. But I do know that you’re intuitive. What do you say? Can we work together?

No. She turned and half walked, half sank her way to the paved path. Her agents fell into step, one in front and one behind. And even though she was sandwiched by security, she felt vulnerable. Damn Dex. Why did he have to be hot? If she’d met him in a club and didn’t know who he was, she would flirt with him like crazy, no question about it.

Yet there was also no question that her barfly days were over. Now that she