Was that relief I saw in his eyes? “Friday!”
“That’s when the press release goes out. Marla’s got it all planned. And it’ll be ready, though it’s putting a lot of pressure on my friends, especially to get the ticket sales set up. They’re going to be sold in time blocks, with the VIP tickets separate — two hundred fifty bucks a pop. Is that crazy?”
“Not much for rich people, especially with drinks by the Bohemia Bartenders, Ez’s band playing and Jace doing tours. Do you have food planned?”
“Millie says she knows a new caterer who wants to get her name out there and is willing to work for half price.” More money out of my pocket, but hopefully advance ticket sales would take care of that and more.
Behind me, the sound of hammering and a boom box filled the air as a crew built the forms for concrete footers for the new gazebo. Look at me, learning terms like “footers.” Though I left all the technical stuff to Landon. “I guess I’m going to have to ask them to stop, huh?”
A few minutes later, at my request, the construction crew had jumped in their truck and left on a breakfast run. I’d just clipped the microphone to Landon’s collar — I let him run it up under his shirt from the battery pack, though I was dying to do it myself — and I was making last-minute adjustments to the focus.
I slipped on my headphones and eyeballed Landon. He wore jeans, a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a skinny black tie, along with black high-tops. I’d asked him to wear something different from his usual work clothes and nearly fainted in pleasure when he appeared in this getup.
I was trying to keep it professional. Really. “Put your foot up on the bench and look casual.”
“What am I, a J.C. Penney model?”
“It’s better than having you just stand there.”
He put his foot up on the bench. Oh dear God, he did look like a model. The move made his jeans cling beautifully to his ass, and his crisp shirt caressed his pecs.
I swallowed more drool. “Say a few words so I can check the sound level.”
“A few words.”
“Smart-ass. More words than that.”
He looked around and assumed a sportscaster voice. “We’re standing here outside Milkweed Mansion, about to interview the infamous Landon Putter, well known for his love of chocolate chip cookies.”
I laughed and tweaked up his mike’s volume. “OK, you sound good. Start out by introducing yourself — your first name and one memorable thing about you. Like for me, it might be, ‘Hi, I’m Kayla, and I see the world as one big, beautiful movie.’”
“Do you really?”
“Well, sometimes I see it as more of a Quentin Tarantino movie, but yeah, it’s a movie.”
He smiled. “Neat. I go to the movies a lot.”
“You do?” Another explanation for why he never used to be home much.
“Yeah. We should go sometime. OK. Are you ready?”
I tried not to think about a movie date with Landon and zoomed in, going for a head-and-shoulders shot for the introduction. “OK, go.”
His eyes locked on the lens, and I pictured a million women swooning. I was one of them. He was looking atme.That was the idea. Every single woman looking at him would think the same thing.
He’s looking at me.
“Hi,” he said, a hint of a smile playing about his lips. His voice had gone lower and more intimate. Damn. It was like warm butterscotch drizzled over brownies spiked with pheromones. “I’m Landon, and the one thing I want out of life is true love.”
Chapter 17
Landon’s gaze smoldered for a few more seconds into the lens, and then he looked up at me. “Well?”
“Mmm … mmhmm,” I managed, feeling hot all over. “Yes. That was great. Was that a real answer?”
“Of course.” I couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. “Isn’t true love what every red-blooded guy wants?”
He was totally teasing. Wasn’t he? This was going to be a lot harder than I thought. But I’d promised him this would only take fifteen minutes. I could survive fifteen minutes of Landon wooing the theoretical girl on the other side of the camera, right?
