he'd dismissed the stupid marriage book from his mind.
The kiss had come out of nowhere. When she'd spilled the orange juice, then tried to wipe up the mess, her touch had immediately aroused him to the breaking point-a fact that hadn't escaped her attention, unfortunately. Men were at a disadvantage that way.
The kiss was not a calculated seduction. And her response, he was pretty sure, was not a premeditated attempt to woo him into a matrimonial frame of mind. The desires pulsating between them had been too raw, too genuine, to be anything but pure instinct.
As for her well-timed retreat, he could only admire her for it. She really was trying to discourage him. No woman played
For whatever reason, she didn't want to marry him. Though that realization might bruise his ego a bit, deep down-really deep-he felt relieved.
In the future, no matter how much he desired her, he would keep their relationship on a completely professional level. If he needed to tell her anything about the show, he would do it at the studio or on the phone.
Satisfied with his decision, he took a quick shower-a nice cold one-and climbed into bed. But sleep was a long time coming.
The next two days went smoothly-almost too smoothly, Wyatt thought. Phoebe showed up at the studio at precisely six a.m. the morning after their orange-juice kiss, looking tired but well polished and professional. Had she lain awake as he had? he wondered, then immediately put a clamp on that line of thought He had to forget about that night. He was sure she would.
She wasn't cold to him, but neither was she warm and friendly and animated, as she'd been in her apartment. She did her job quickly and efficiently, the models seemed pleased with her work, and she proved a hit with the rest of his staff.
As soon as the show was over, she came to him and asked for a briefing for the next day. Then, at precisely eleven-fifteen, she left.
Where was she going? He knew it was none of his business. He should be concerned with her work performance, nothing else. She claimed she didn't have another job. What, then? A boyfriend? If she was in a relationship, why hadn't she just told him, instead of pretending she didn't have time for men?
Was the guy someone she was ashamed of? Maybe he was in prison, and she rushed out of the studio so she could make visiting hours.
He had to laugh at his own speculation. Phoebe wasn't dumb enough to date someone in prison, but a boyfriend was the only explanation for her behavior that made sense to him. She was looking for a husband, she'd found a candidate, but she didn't want to share him yet. That was acceptable, he supposed.
Acceptable, hell. It made him inexplicably, inappropriately furious.
After meeting with Kelly and Kurt about a wardrobe problem, Wyatt stepped into his director's office to brainstorm about upcoming shows. One of the things he did as producer was encourage the entire staff, from the director down to the lowliest grip, to contribute ideas. He figured everybody operated in a slightly different sphere. The more spies he had out in the world keeping their eyes and ears open for cutting-edge trends, the less likely he was to miss something important coming down the pike.
His director, Phyllis Cardenza, was a tiny dynamo of a woman who was as dedicated to the show as he was. She was 45, divorced, with two teenagers on whom she doted.
'We've got the dog trainer confirmed for next Wednesday,' she said, as soon as Wyatt stepped into her office.
'Great. What about the breeder with that new… what's it called?'
'A thimble poodle. She's confirmed, too.'
'Okay, what about…' Wyatt's words trailed off as he spotted a familiar blue-and-white book peeking out from under some papers on Phyllis's desk. He grasped a corner of the book and pulled it out. 'Phyllis, I had no idea you were husband-hunting.'
'Oh, stop it, it's not for me,' she said, grabbing the book back from him. 'Haven't you looked at the bestseller list lately?
'You're kidding? Doesn't that strike you as kind of… I don't know. Distasteful?' he asked Phyllis.
'Why?'
'I don't know. The whole idea of a woman plotting to trap a husband seems so archaic.' And out of character for Phoebe, he added silently. 'Aren't women more liberated these days?'
'It's not that way at all.' Phyllis handed the book back to him. 'Read it. I've already got a call in to Jane Jasmine's agent-don't look at me like that, I wouldn't book anyone without your okay. I just wanted to see when she might be available. All the single women I know are reading this book, and I even know a couple who swear Jane's advice really works.'
Wyatt took the book, his mind suddenly churning with ideas. 'Maybe we could get a few people on the show who've found husbands by using the book,' he said, thinking aloud.
'Or, maybe we could bring some hopeless cases on-you know, women who think they'll never find a man-and Jane can do a relationship makeover on them, give them some strategies, then bring them back in a few weeks to see how they've done.'
'Phyllis, you're brilliant.' And it was a great idea, as long as Phyllis didn't get wind that their makeup artist was one of Jane's devotees. Phyllis would probably suggest they put her on as one of Jane's experiments, and men all over the country would know she was available and looking. Wyatt didn't care for that idea at all.
On Thursday, Phoebe got a break. Her late-afternoon economics class got canceled, so she came home, more exhausted than she could ever remember being. She was actually working fewer hours than she did at the spa. But the tension of working so close to Wyatt and pretending she felt nothing for him was wearing her out.
She'd been skipping her swimming workouts, too, which contributed to her crankiness. When she'd been working at Sunrise, she could usually slip in a few laps between clients. Now she had to either swim at night or not at all, and the evenings had been too cool for swimming.
This afternoon, however, it was downright hot, and she was wilted as a week-old rose. A swim in Mesa Blue's meticulously maintained pool sounded like just the thing to revive her body and her spirits. She was doubly glad of her decision when she found Elise and Frannie in the pool, paddling around on rafts.
'Your class got canceled, too?' Elise asked when she spied Phoebe walling across the courtyard in her hot-pink one-piece.
'Yeah, some staff development thing.' Phoebe made a clean racer's dive into the pool and swam one lap, but her energy abandoned her at that point, so she sat on the steps at the shallow end and put on her straw hat to protect her face from the sun.
'How's the new job?' Frannie asked anxiously, paddling close to Phoebe.
'It's fine.' Phoebe really didn't want to talk about it, but Frannie, meaning well, persisted.
'So what's Wyatt really like?'
Elise and Frannie listened with rapt expressions, smiling slightly. 'He sounds like he really is the paragon his grandparents make him out to be,' Elise said.
'He's okay,' Phoebe finished lamely.
Elise gave her a knowing look. 'You're not telling us something.'
'What wouldn't I be telling you?' Phoebe asked, but her studied nonchalance obviously didn't fool Elise.