Friendly Persuasion. Dawn AtkinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
a battered bike. He considered a kegger in the desert to be high entertainment, and, despite talent, intelligence and a terrific way with clients, he was perfectly content to remain an art director at S&S, designing ads, not overseeing anything or anyone, until they closed shop.
But it was more than his lifestyle. He was a babe magnet. And Kara was too ordinary to be considered a babe. Ross would never say that, but she’d read it in his face and that took care of any desire to flirt she’d had.
Right now, he’d barely gotten inside the bar and was already talking to a woman. He had an easygoing, bad-boy-who-brings-his-mom-flowers way about him that women warmed to. He made you feel really seen, and he was an excellent listener. It was a routine, probably, since Ross looked after Ross and never went far beneath the surface, but the blonde on the bar stool was interested, Kara could see by her open body language.
“So what if he’s a friend?” Tina asked. “He’s hot. He’s experienced. And you could never fall in love with him.”
“You got that right,” she said, watching the woman write something—her number, no doubt—and hand the paper to Ross, with an extra touch of his sleeve. How did he do it? He was indifferent about fashion and tended not to comb his dark, longish hair, though he always managed to look arty. On him, stubble looked charming.
Could she sleep with him? The idea gave her a sharp charge. This is Ross, she reminded herself. The brother she’d longed for as an only child. He was like Tina, but better in some ways. Tina told her what to do; Ross mostly listened. He gave her the male perspective on her breakups, until she ended up laughingly philosophical instead of morose.
He was also the guy who’d held her forehead in the S&S bathroom when she’d gotten sick on fish tacos, then driven her home and watched over her all night. Of course, he’d kept her awake with Three Stooges movies at top volume and consumed all her imported beer and impress-your-date pâté, but it was the thought that counted.
Meanwhile, Ross had caught sight of them and was headed their way with his great affable smile, which faded as he got closer. “What’d I do?” he asked, and Kara realized she and Tina had stared at him during his entire approach. “Is my fly down?” He checked his zipper.
“You’re fine,” Tina said. “We were just noticing how cute you are.”
Kara jabbed her in the ribs. Don’t you dare.
“Uh-uh. No way,” Ross said. “You can kiss up to me all night, but I’m not doing that Emerson project, not even with overtime. I save my nights for romance.” He waggled his brow.
“You are so lazy,” Tina said. “If you’d show a little initiative you could manage the whole art department.”
“All that responsibility, with a mortgage and an ulcer to match? No thanks. I want my options open. Who knows when I might decide to hike the Andes?”
“Think about it. I’m taking off,” Tina said, sliding down from the stool. “We can talk about Emerson Faucets and Stoppers tomorrow. I’ll let you two make your plans.” She winked at Kara.
“Tina,” Kara said between gritted teeth, but her friend had wiggled off on her impossibly high heels and ultratight skirt.
“What plans are we making?” Ross asked Kara.
“Nothing,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “I noticed you’re in trolling mode.”
He feigned innocence. “You mean Lisa?” He tilted his head toward the blonde at the end of the bar. “Don’t give me that ‘Ross has hooked himself another bimbo’ look. She’s an accountant with Smith Barney.”
“I’m pleased to see you’ve raised your standards.” Ross tended to share his conquests with her—blow-by-blow once he’d had a couple beers—and the last few women he’d dated had needed Cliffs Notes for their driver’s tests.
“You know too much. Now I’ll have to kill you,” he said, pretending to go for her throat.
“What can I get you?” Tom said, interrupting Kara’s strangulation.
“Just practicing for the next agency meeting,” Ross explained to Tom.
“Looks like you need a beer with some guts,” Tom mused. “How about a black and tan?”
“Exactamundo.”
“Your friend left?” Tom asked Kara. “Tina?”
“She wanted to get home.”
“I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings. I just didn’t expect her to do that. Hit on me.” He sounded surprisingly shy.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” she said. Kara didn’t dare explain that Tina had him in mind for a demonstration of meaningless sex, but she added, “She thinks you’re quite attractive.”
“Really?” He quickly frowned out his eagerness. “She’s just lonely.” He left to get Ross’s drink.
“What was that about?” Ross asked.
“Tina was flirting with Tom.”
“He doesn’t seem her type—too humble and lovable.”
“I guess that makes him a challenge.”
“And God knows our Tina loves a challenge. So, where was I? Oh, yes.” He put his hands loosely around her neck again.
She noticed how warm and strong his fingers were. She wished Tina hadn’t suggested sleeping with him. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. “I give,” she said, leaning away from his grip. “I was just keeping you on your toes.”
“If you can’t do something right, don’t do it…in front of Kara.”
“You think I’m uptight?”
Her tone caught him and he searched her face. “What happened? You’re upset. Didn’t Miller like the presentation? I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.”
Ross liked to present the creative concepts to clients. Kara preferred to have him at those meetings—his energy was infectious and he inspired confidence.
“No, he was pleased. You were right that he’d like the ads in that order. And he worshiped your print ad with the dancing beagles.”
“Worshiped? The only thing Miller worships is his bottom line. You’re my biggest fan at the salt mines.”
“No. Tina’s right. You’re very talented. I heard Lancer is heading to L.A., which means the creative department manager spot will open up. You should apply.”
“Stop shoving me up the ladder of success. I’m happy hanging here on this bottom rung, thank you.” He paused and looked at her closely. “So if it’s not the Miller thing, what is it? Your eyes are sad.”
“It’s just…Scott broke up with me.”
“Damn. You want me to beat him up?” He took a boxing posture and jabbed, his biceps swelling nicely under his black T-shirt. The shirt looked great with the peace sign on a collar-length leather strap around his neck.
“No need. He was very considerate about it.”
“Figures,” he said, dropping the pose. “You go for those Fortune 500 types, who consider a snappy game of squash to be a test of their manhood. I know how to fix him—restring his squash racquet with low-test catgut. That’ll destroy him.”
“Scott’s a good guy. And since when have you been so Neanderthal?”
“Good point. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
A lover. She felt that charge again. Looking at him made her feel even worse. The stud in one ear complemented his smart-ass half grin, faint stubble and tousled hair, black as his shirt.
“Anyway, he can’t be that good if he was bad to you.” He squeezed