job?” she asked in dismay. He was the perfect image she was searching for, the spokesman for Crane.
“Sure, I’m here about the job. I’ll be laid off for the next couple of months, so I’m here about temporary work in the packing plant. It was advertised in the paper.”
He was between jobs and had a couple of months to spare. That was all she needed to know. She smiled and opened her drawer to find her digital camera. “I’d like to interview you for a different job. Something I think you’ll find much more exciting than packing surfboards.”
“What is it?” He eyed her and her camera with suspicion.
“We’re searching for a spokesman for the new product launch into California. You’d become the face, body, and voice associated with Crane Surf and Boogie Boards in North America. You’ll travel, shoot commercials, and make public appearances, promotional videos, and print ads.”
While she became more enthused with each word, she wasn’t getting the same reaction from the man sitting across from her. If anything, he was looking more and more revolted.
“You’re looking for a male model?” He made it sound as though she were asking him to star in a gay porn flick.
“Not exactly. More a product spokesman, though a little acting may be required. I’d like to take a few pictures of you and a bit of video just to get a feel for how you come across on film.”
He raised a hand in front of his face and rose to his impressive height. “Sorry, lady. I’m not your man. I’ll be right packing boxes. I’ll find my way back to the front.”
He was walking away. Vanity, fame, and travel hadn’t hooked him. She tried filthy lucre. “If you get the job, you can expect to earn at least fifty thousand dollars for a couple of months’ work.”
He stopped mid-stride and turned to her, his eyes widening. “Fifty grand? To parade around with a surfboard for a couple of months?”
“At least fifty. Probably more. You’ll travel all expenses paid, naturally. And I did mention the pay is in US dollars?” With the exchange rate, that was a hefty bonus right there.
“Fifty grand.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Thank goodness he wasn’t immune to the lure of filthy lucre. She held up the camera. “Can I take a couple of shots?”
“You did say US dollars?”
“I did.”
He sent her a smile that she suspected would make women the world over take up surfing because he was so sexy. She bet men would rush to buy products he endorsed because he was so confidently virile. If her initial instinct turned out to be right, he was Crane’s dream come true.
“Take your photograph,” he finally said.
“Oh, he’s perfect,” Jen gushed, slapping photos of the cocky looking bastard she’d fallen all over herself running after this morning.
“Perfect for what?” Cam wasn’t feeling quite so thrilled to stare at photos of another man pushed under his nose by the woman who’d just become his lover.
“The spokesman!” she said, as though he were being incredibly dim. “For your California launch. He’s exactly, wonderfully perfect. He’s got the build.” She shuffled through until she found one of the guy shirtless, and looking less than pleased. Couldn’t blame him. The background was Jen’s office. She could persuade men into the damnedest things. “He’s got the look of a hard-playing, rugged surfer, a man who braves the tallest waves and triumphs. Tough, manly, but something in his eyes says he’s got a soft spot for women.” She sighed. “Even his voice is right. Low and sexy, his accent’s not so strong you can’t understand what he’s saying. Like I said, perfect.”
“If he’s so perfect, why haven’t I ever seen him in a film or on telly? Or advertising some fruity men’s cologne in a magazine?”
She glanced at him and, if anything, the sparkle intensified. “That’s what makes him even more perfect. He’s not an actor. He’s a laid-off steelworker. He came here
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