Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

A bby slid into the seat opposite Judd and dumped an armful of paperwork on the table, raising an eyebrow as she sent a pointed look at the three empty coffee mugs in front of him.

"Good morning."

He cradled a fourth and shrugged, flashing a rueful smile. "What can I say? I'm lousy in the mornings without a caffeine hit."

What could he say? He could start by explaining what that kiss last night was about. However, rather than broach the subject that had kept her awake for most of the night, she passed a folder to him.

"Here's our schedule for today."

She watched him sip his strong black coffee and savour every mouthful with a low, satisfied ‘mmm' akin to a moan. She definitely didn't need to hear that.

"Perhaps you should try a healthy breakfast to kick-start your day rather than all that coffee? The last thing I need is my photographer bouncing off the walls."

"Did you always nag me like this or is it a new endearing trait you've picked up?" He smiled, the laugh lines crinkling at the outer corners of his eyes as he raised his mug in a ‘cheers'.

Though it had only been a few weeks since she'd last seen a photo of him online, he looked different: older, weary, like a guy in desperate need of time-out. The deep creases around his eyes, the groove between his brows, the odd expression she glimpsed at times…he had some major stuff going on and she wondered if she should pry as she usually did or wait until he told her in his own sweet time.

"You think I'm a nag, huh? Tell me again why you're my best friend?"

She tried a mock frown and failed as they smiled across the table at one another like two people in perfect sync; which they usually were, and apart from that lapse last night, would remain so if she had any say in it.

His grin faded as he placed his mug on the table. "Speaking of friends, I need to apologise for last night. That kiss was way out of line."

"You bet your sweet butt it was, Mister. Been spending too much time in the Sahara and I happened to be the first woman who came along?"

"I wouldn't put it exactly like that…" He trailed off as she laughed, an answering smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You could be right. It's been a while since I've had a date, you looked incredible last night, and I lost my head. How does that sound?"

Plausible and probably what that kiss had been about, but she wouldn't let him off that easily.

"Pretty pathetic actually, but then I'd expect nothing less from you."

He clutched his heart as if she'd wounded him. "That hurts."

"You ain't seen nothing yet. Now, let's talk business. We've got a lot of work to do."

Thankful they'd put any potential awkwardness behind them, though she wasn't entirely convinced by his reasoning about the kiss, she flipped open the folder for the day's schedule. However, before she could hand him a copy her phone rang and a quick glance at the screen told her she had to take the call.

"It's Mark Pyman. I'll only be a few secs," she said, and Judd nodded.

She slid the answer bar across. "Hi, Mark. What can I do for you?"

"We've got a problem, Abby. A big one."

Abby stifled a sigh. It must be huge for the scrupulously polite executive to forego his usual greeting. "What's up?"

" Bassel Designs wants an urgent wedding dress shot added to the spread."

"So what's the problem? Courier over the dress and we'll slot it in."

Mark paused, as if searching for the right words and a ripple of unease slid over her. "The dress won't fit any of the models on your shoot. Apparently they want a more realistic look for the shot."

"Uh-huh," she said, wracking her brain for a lightning-fast solution.

It wasn't the first time the biggest designer in Australia had made an odd last minute request and she'd always come through for them before.

"How about I find a couple holidaying on the island and—"

"Time frame's tight. The dress is on its way over now and I need the shot back to me by tomorrow."

"You're kidding?"

Realising she was fiddling with the leather binding of her notebook in front of her, Abby lowered her hand off the table, only to pleat the tablecloth instead. "That's a pretty steep demand."

"It's doable, right?"

Mark's abrupt question told her exactly how stressed he was and she sighed, knowing she'd do whatever it took to make this happen.

"Shouldn't be a problem. I'll get right on it."

"Thanks, Abby. You come through for me on this, that major deal we talked about is a foregone conclusion."

"Great," she said, trying to inject enough enthusiasm into her voice while her mind raced a million miles an hour to come up with solutions for Mark's request. "What size is the dress, by the way? I can make a start on scouring the guests and have the shot location scouted by the time it arrives."

"A twelve. And the tux is a hundred and two."

"Got it." She jotted down the figures while her gaze quickly scanned the few hotel guests relaxing around them.

"Thanks, Abby. Looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Email me the shots last thing tonight or first thing tomorrow at the latest, okay?"

"Shall do. Bye, Mark."

Her boss had already rung off and she flung her phone back into her bag, wrinkling her nose as she stared at the figures she'd jotted down, wondering what were the odds of her finding a couple to match the size requirements among the few guests currently staying at Sapphire Island's one and only exclusive resort, coercing them into modelling, and actually having the whole thing go smoothly.

By the end of today.

"The wind will change and your face will stay like that."

She looked up at Judd to find him smiling at her without a care in the world. Half his luck.

"We've got a problem."

"We?" He sat back and clasped his hands behind his head, his infuriating smile widening. "From where I'm sitting, looks like you're the one with a bit of rearranging to do."

"Rearranging?" She lowered her voice when she noticed an older couple wearing the ugliest matching floral shirts she'd ever seen staring at her. "This isn't about rearranging, my friend. It's about jumping through hoops so Mark's biggest customer doesn't throw a hissy fit and ditch the whole shoot."

"Sounds serious. Anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you're a size one hundred and two," she muttered, circling the size twelve on her notepad in vicious circles until the page tore.

"Actually, I am."

Her pen slowed as a glimmer of an idea flickered to life.

No…she couldn't…could she?

Trying to keep the edge of excitement out of her voice, she said, "How good is Tom at taking photos?"

"He's fully qualified. He wants to work with me for a while before branching out on his own. Why?"

"And you're definitely a size one hundred and two?"

He rolled his eyes. "I think I know my own size."

He paused as she gnawed on the inside of her cheek to stop a satisfied smile blooming across her face. It couldn't be this easy, surely?

"Come on, Weiss. Spill it. What's this about? And why are you looking at me like a cut of prime fillet?"

"Am I?" She batted her eyelashes, knowing Judd would come through for her. He always had before.

He laughed and shook his head. "Your poker face hasn't changed a bit over the years. It's still useless, so why don't you tell me what's going on."

"Fine. I need a model to wear a fancy tux today . The shots need to be done and emailed back to Mark tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest."

He grimaced and held up the schedule in front of his face as if anticipating some missile she would lob his way.

"Uh-uh. No way. I'm not a model."

"I don't need a model. I need someone real looking, apparently. And the tux will fit you, which will save me wasted hours scouring the guests to find someone suitable. So you'll do it, right?"

She tried her best smile, somewhat relieved at how he took the news. At least he hadn't thrown anything yet, which is what he'd done in the eighth grade when she hadn't picked him to be on her volleyball team.

His eyes narrowed. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Well, yeah. It's a wedding shot, so there'll be a bride and you'll probably have to look all lovey-dovey but hey, you can do it."

"You're crazy." He smirked, before barking out a laugh.

"Glad my predicament can provide you with a morning's entertainment. And here I was, hoping for a little support."

His smirk faded as he studied her, sensing her discomfort. "You're really in a jam?"

"You could say that. If you won't do it, you could come up with some helpful suggestions."

"Seems pretty simple to me. Find some other crazy guy to pose for these shots, let me take them, and all's well with the world."

She snapped her fingers, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "Brilliant. Now, where do you suppose I find someone like that on such short notice? And find a bride? And have a fitting for them? And scout the perfect location? And reorganise the day's schedule? And organise the makeup artist, the hairdresser, not to mention sorting through the shots after they are taken, choosing the best ones, and getting them to Mark all in one day?"

His skeptical expression meant her sarcasm had fallen on deaf ears if and she knew she had to take a different tack.

Mustering every ounce of persuasive charm she possessed, she leaned forward and fixed him with the same coy smile she'd used to great effect last night, knowing the exact moment when comprehension struck as he frowned.

"I've already said no." He held up both hands and shook his head.

"Come on, you wouldn't need to be crazy, just slightly unbalanced to donate a few hours of your time to help out an old friend."

"Don't even think about it, old friend ."

She reached across the table and captured one of his hands. "Come on, Calloway. At least consider it."

He stared at her as if she'd asked him to walk on water to reach the mainland. "I have, and the answer is still no."

"In all the years we've known each other, haven't I been the perfect friend? Haven't I supported you, helped you with homework, and protected you from the bimbos that wanted to date you? Remember all that?"

His frown deepened. "That was years ago."

"Yeah, but remember what you said to me back then?"

His lips thinned as he glared at her in mutinous silence, before muttering, "That's low."

"You said if you could ever do anything for me, your best friend in the whole world, in return, all I had to do was ask."

He yanked his hand out of her grasp and folded his arms. "You sure know how to turn the screws."

"Call it gentle persuasion."

"I'd rather call it emotional blackmail."

"Are you pouting?"

His lips twitched and she grinned.

"Damn you, Weiss."

She let out a loud whoop that had nearby guests craning their heads to stare in disapproval. "It's only a few hours. It'll be quick and painless, you'll see."

"Yeah, right."

Abby stifled her first impulse to fling herself into his arms. After that kiss last night, any physical contact beyond hand-holding or arm-around-the-shoulder wouldn't be a good idea. Not with the memory still fresh, and making her wonder what it would be like to do a lot more than kiss her best friend.

"Thanks, Calloway. You're a real pal."

"Yeah, that's me, a regular run-of-the-mill friend who has just agreed to the most outlandish scheme he's ever heard." He made circles at his temple. "I must have rocks in my head."

"No, you've got a warm heart."

His expression softened, a second before his lips curved into a wicked smile. "You know this is going to cost you big time, right?"

"No problem," she said, her pulse picking up tempo at the calculated gleam in his eyes.

Whatever he had in mind, it had naughty written all over it.

"It's going to be fun having you in my debt." He tapped his bottom lip, pretending to think. "You owe me and you never know when I'll ask you to pay up."

She fiddled with the sugar bowl, her fingers twirling the spoon around and around as she wondered if his husky tone was a figment of her imagination.

"Like I said, I can handle it. Now, if you don't mind, I have a bride to find, a location to scout, and a day's worth of work to rearrange."

"Need a hand?"

She shook her head, her mind already racing as she multi-tasked what she needed to do over the next few hours.

"Thanks, but I'll let you know as soon as the tux arrives. If you can word Tom up, maybe check out a few locations, that would help."

"Shall do." He pointed to the notepad on the table. "I take it the bride has to be a size twelve?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why waste time searching for a model?"

"What do you mean?"

Abby picked up her notepad and pen, shoved it into her bag, and gulped down the mango juice she'd become addicted to on the island, only half-listening to him.

"You're about that size, aren't you?"

She almost choked on the last sip of juice, clearing her throat several times while his speculative gaze roamed her body with ease.

"What if I am?"

She didn't like the cunning gleam in his eyes. Worse, she didn't like the way she'd cottoned on to what he was implying straight away.

He chuckled and squeezed her upper arm. "Come on, Abs, don't play dumb. You'd be a perfect fit for the dress, why waste time trying to find someone else? After all, isn't that the lame-ass argument you used on me?"

She shook her head, hating that he made sense. "I can't coordinate the shoot and model at the same time. Wouldn't work."

Her pathetic protest fell on deaf ears as his grin widened. "You're a professional. What's to coordinate? Tom will take the shots, you stand there and look like a blushing bride. Easy. And think of all the time you'll save not screwing around trying to find someone the right size to wear the dress?"

He laid his hands out as if his suggested plan was foolproof. "Looks like an easy solution all round. Unless you think you can't pull it off—"

"Don't try your twelfth grade reverse psychology on me. I'm not stupid. I can see it makes sense."

"Then what are you waiting for? Let's get moving. We've got a lot of work to do before our big event."

Her eyes narrowed at his cocky expression, his smug grin.

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

"Hey, I'm not the one who was cruelly coerced into helping his best friend by some lame duck act."

"Lame duck? You are a—"

"Uh-uh. Is that any way to talk to your model groom?"

His words didn't shut her up as much as the finger he placed against her lips. The same finger she had an instant urge to nibble on.

"I haven't got time for this," she muttered, swinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her room keycard off the table.

"Before you go, there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"How about a kiss to celebrate our engagement?" He pursed his lips and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she couldn't help but laugh, whacking him on the arm.

"You wish, Goofball."

In reality, she wished for another scintillating kiss, exactly like the one they'd shared last night, before she gave herself a resounding mental slap to stay with the program, considering she had a promotion on the line.

"Come on, we haven't got all day," she said, annoyed by how many times she'd thought about that kiss, and how much she wanted an action replay in slow, sensual detail.

Draping an arm around her shoulders as they headed for the foyer, he said, "Now is that any way to treat your pretend husband?"