Sheer Decadence. Tanya Michaels

errands that hadn’t been quite finished the week before.

      The piles on her desk were organized by “Can put off,” “Must finish or I can’t go home today,” and “So long overdue I don’t even remember what needed to be done with it.” And those stacks threatened to grow even larger with the company’s expansion. Sweet Nothings, an Atlanta-based lingerie catalog had started as a strictly mail-order business, but with increased presence at fashion shows and a tremendously successful Web site, preparations were being made to open brick-and-mortar stores.

      To increase buzz, corporate management had asked Olivia’s boss, Steve Reynolds, to bring in a second full-time photographer and begin planning the first ever Sweet Nothings calendar. Until now, their on-staff photographer, Fred, had handled the workload with the help of some freelancers, but Sweet Nothings was evolving every day. Olivia just hoped an upcoming promotion to Design Supervisor would be part of that evolution.

      Seeking inspiration for all that remained to be done for the current issue, she thumbed through the catalog that had come out in December. She stopped on a glossy page featuring their most popular model, blond statuesque Stormy, in a lacy negligee.

      Looking for something more effective than mistletoe this holiday season? Try surprising him in our burgundy silk… The text went on to detail make, fit and care of the garment, but all any man would care about was the fastest way to get the woman out of it.

      Reminding herself that many women bought lingerie for the express purpose of having it removed, she told herself not to be bitter. Her bad mood was ironic since, as a teenager in what her mother had injudiciously dubbed the “ugly duckling period,” Olivia would have thought a single date with a gorgeous worldly man like Sean would translate to infinite bliss. Ha. She wasn’t sure they’d achieved bliss, but whatever they’d shared, it had definitely been finite.

      Next time she met a man who seemed too good to be true, she should keep in mind he probably was. You’re too easily seduced. Not in the literal sense, but seduced by the romantic fantasies she’d built up during her wallflower years.

      Prior to high school, Olivia had been taller than all but a few boys in her class, and had outweighed many of them. It wasn’t until college, when she’d taken every athletic elective her marketing degree allowed and walked several miles a day just to get around campus, that the last of her “baby fat” had really melted away. By graduation, the only area of her body she hadn’t been able to slenderize was her chest, but men didn’t seem to mind.

      Since nothing could be done about her height, she tried to use it to her advantage, projecting confidence she didn’t always feel, a confidence that was at first bolstered by a dramatic increase in dates. It had been exciting to go to clubs on the arms of attractive men and, though the feminist in her cringed to admit it, validating. Too bad so many of her boyfriends had turned out to be jerks—Sean being the most recent in a parade of romantic mistakes.

      The breakup, paired with her ethics-free roommate moving out and leaving Olivia to cover both halves of the rent, made this the perfect time to concentrate on becoming Design Supervisor. The promotion would include a raise and a much-coveted corner office. She’d been assigned more responsibilities lately, including her first supervisory role on an upcoming shoot, and she knew she was being tested. Maybe if she got the promotion, she’d dip her toes back into the dating pool, but when she did, she’d find someone nice and reliable, not another sexy playboy heavy on charm and light on scruples.

      A knock against the open door startled her—people bucking for advancement shouldn’t be caught staring into space—and she jerked her head up to find a golden Adonis of a man leaning against the doorjamb. His eyes were a clear jewel-tone green, and his face was flawless, with a strong square jaw and chiseled cheekbones. Very tall, he had the kind of broad shoulders that would photograph equally well bare-chested or in a tuxedo shot.

      Hardly the first time an incredibly attractive man had appeared in her doorway. Of course, they showed up at 461 when what they really wanted was 416. Story of her life.

      “Male models should check in with Meg Jansen,” she told him. “Office 416, on the other side of the elevators.”

      He arched a dark blond eyebrow in surprise. “Male models? I wasn’t looking for Meg Jansen. I wanted Olivia—” he consulted the yellow sticky-note in his hand “—Lockhart. Is that you?”

      “Y-yes. And you are?”

      “Justin Hawthorne,” he introduced himself. “Your photographer for the South Carolina shoot.”

      This paragon of masculine appeal? No, no, no. “I believe Fred Elliot is my photographer for our swimwear issue.” She and grizzled veteran Fred already had a solid working relationship, had brainstormed locations and concepts often.

      “Sorry, with Fred’s sister sick in Cincinnati, they substituted me for Stormy’s swimsuit shoot.” Justin grinned. “Try saying that three times fast.”

      In addition to an obvious sense of humor, he had a great smile. Perfect even white teeth. A half dimple to the left of his mouth.

      You are not going to notice his mouth.

      Too late.

      “I wanted to drop by and introduce myself before the meeting this afternoon,” he told her. “Steve just hired me away from Hilliard High Life, the sporting goods line for the ski-lodge and country-club set.”

      She nodded to indicate familiarity with Hilliard’s catalog, but she’d only partially heard everything after hired. She’d assumed Justin was one of the freelancers, not realizing Steve had made a final decision.

      “Don’t worry,” Justin added. “I’ve got plenty of experience, so you’ll be in good hands.”

      The thought of being in his experienced hands made her mouth go dry. “Um…right, okay.”

      He glanced past her shoulder at the bold painting that hung behind her desk. “Interesting.”

      She followed his gaze. Her original Kallie Carmichael had been a gift to herself when she’d received her very first promotion at Sweet Nothings, graduating from copywriter to the layout team. The obscure artist’s use of bright colors and odd abstract visuals drew mixed reactions. Olivia wondered if Justin, as Sean first had, would pretend to like it in order to impress her.

      “What do you think?” she asked.

      “I’m not wild about it.”

      Well, if he hadn’t appreciated Kallie’s brilliant work, at least he’d been honest.

      “I much prefer Ms. Carmichael’s later pieces,” he added. “Particularly the series in green she called Rebirth.”

      She blinked. “You know who Kallie Carmichael is?”

      His grin widened. “Did you think you were her only fan?”

      What she thought was that Justin Hawthorne had one of the best smiles she’d ever seen.

      When she couldn’t form an immediate answer, he nodded a quick goodbye. “See you at this afternoon’s meeting.”

      Once he’d gone, Olivia exhaled in frustration and self-disgust. There was no good reason for her mind to have gone blank and her pulse to have jumped. Yes, he was incredible-looking, but so what? Her last boyfriend had been a model, and a very clear lesson that the insides weren’t always as attractive as the outside suggested.

      Still, something about Justin…Don’t think of him as Justin. Think of him as Mr. Hawthorne. Or the photographer. Or even “that guy.” The less personal, the better.

      They did have something in common, though. While she hadn’t been able to afford any of the paintings, Rebirth was a favorite series of hers, too. But shared admiration of an artist was no reason to lust after a co-worker she hardly knew. Co-worker. She clung to the steadying reminder that they’d be working together.

      Securing her promotion required consummate professionalism, not drooling over J—that guy.