The Man Upstairs. Pamela Bauer
hello that neighbors give one another. She’d experienced the power of celebrity charisma and had come through without any scars. Now she could go back to the real world. Her work.
DENA THOUGHT that once she delivered the news that Quinn Sterling had agreed to be Mr. January, her part in the calendar project would be finished. She never expected Greg Watkins would ask her to go with him to the photo shoot.
“I hope this guy shows up,” the art director said as they sat in the Delaney van with the engine running, waiting for Quinn to arrive. The camera crew had already set up their equipment on the skating rink. “If we have to reschedule, this snow and ice could be gone.”
“He’ll show up,” Dena said as she stared out the window, hoping that she was right. The outdoor conditions were ideal, especially for the first week in March. She knew that an early spring could turn the solid ice into slush and force them indoors for the shoot. Besides, if Quinn didn’t show up, she was going to feel responsible, which was ridiculous. All she’d done was get him to agree to do the calendar. She hadn’t even recommended him for the job.
“Well, I hope he’s on time. The professional athletes I’ve worked with have acted like the world should wait for them,” Greg said with disdain.
Dena didn’t comment but pushed back her cuff to see her watch. “He has seven more minutes to get here before you can call him late.”
“This Sterling character must have had his picture taken often enough that this should be a piece of cake. I hope it goes bing-bing and we’re done,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I don’t fancy having to stand out in the cold for hours on end.”
“I thought that was why you brought me. So I could stand out in the cold,” she quipped.
“I brought you because you were a part of the deal.” He tapped his gloved fingers on the steering wheel. “Besides, if you want to be an art director someday, this is good practice.”
She could have pointed out that she’d done her part of the deal—getting Quinn Sterling to agree to be in the calendar. Instead she focused on the fact that he’d brought her along because he wanted her to get experience. That meant he thought she had the potential to serve as one of the eight art directors at the agency, that she was talented enough to work at the same level as he.
“Yes, it is, and I thank you for such an opportunity,” she said sincerely. She knew that he could have chosen any one of the graphic designers working under him to accompany him on the shoot, yet he’d chosen her.
“Don’t thank me. I would have left you behind except Quinn Sterling said the only way he’d do the shoot was if you were there.”
“You’re kidding, right?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Oh my gosh, you’re not.” Disappointment replaced the thrill of pleasure his earlier words had produced.
“Do you have something going with this guy?” he asked, giving her a slanted glance.
“No!” she denied vigorously. “Good grief, he’s my neighbor. That’s all.”
“I don’t care what he is as long as he’s on time.” His attention was captured by the silver SUV approaching. “And it looks like he is.”
Dena recognized the vehicle and knew it was Quinn.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Greg said when the SUV had parked on the other side of the photographer’s van.
Dena pulled on her gloves and went out into the cold. They walked over to Quinn’s SUV, where he stood with the back open.
Other than shaking his hand and saying hello, Dena remained quiet, content to let Greg do the talking. Determined to keep everything on a professional level, she followed the art director’s instructions and paid close attention to the technical aspects as the photographer did his job.
To her surprise, Quinn treated her as impersonally as he did the others at the shoot. He said little, cooperating in a manner with which Dena knew Greg could find no fault. There were no flirtatious glances, no sexy smiles tossed her way. By the time it was over, she was wondering why he had even insisted that she be there and decided she’d misread his interest in her earlier.
When the last of the shots had been taken, he skated over to the wooden bench from where Dena had watched the shoot. He sat down beside her so he could slip a pair of skate guards over his blades.
“So how do you think it went?” he asked.
“Good. Richard Davis does beautiful work. I think you’re going to be pleased with the results,” she said, nodding toward the photographer. “Greg has already shown me the proofs for several of the calendar models, and they’re incredible.” It had started to snow, and huge white flakes fell around them. She caught some in her gloved hand and said, “Looks like we finished just in time.”
When she glanced at him, he was staring at her. The look of interest was back on his face. There was no mistaking it and his words confirmed it. “I’m glad you came today.”
“Greg told me you requested I be here.”
“Yeah, I did,” he said, taking off his gloves.
“Why?”
“Because I like being around you.”
She thought the warmth of his words could have melted the snow settling on her coat. “I didn’t think you even noticed I was here,” she said softly.
He gazed into her eyes and said, “Believe me, I noticed.”
“Dena!” Greg called out from a few feet away, causing her to look away from those penetrating eyes. “You can head back to the van if you want. I’m going to talk to Richard.”
“I will. It’s cold out here,” she called back to him, then rose to her feet.
Quinn got up, too. “I have something for you. Come with me,” he said, nodding toward the parking lot.
The cars were only a few steps from the ice rink. As soon as Quinn reached his, he stashed his sticks, gloves and helmet in the back, then went around to the side to open the passenger door. He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a slip of paper and handed to her.
On it was a date and an address. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Your end of our agreement,” he answered.
“It’s only a time and a place. What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Do you like to read?”
“I love to read.”
“Good. That’s an elementary school in St. Paul. The kids there love reading. The Cougars have set up a program that encourages them to read as many books as they can. Once a month we visit the school, read a few stories to them and then talk about books they’ve read—you know, what they liked and didn’t like, that sort of thing.”
“And where do I fit into this picture?”
“You’re going to be a part of the program. They love having adults read to them.”
“I’m sure they love having famous hockey players read to them,” she corrected.
“Listen, some of these kids don’t even have a clue what I do for a living,” he pointed out, then added with a wry grin, “so you won’t feel out of place.”
Oh, yes, she would. Just being around him was enough to make her feel as if she were way out of her league.
“It’s a great program and not a bad way to spend a morning,” he went on. “And you’re lucky because the next visit isn’t until the twenty-fifth so you have a couple of weeks to prepare.”
“Prepare?”
“To see me again,” he said with a sexy grin.
Yes, it was getting to the point that