First Impressions: The Fix Up Part 3

Ben hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket. He turned back to his computer, eager to return to the sea of numbers and data that always gave him comfort. He'd just flicked his screensaver off when he heard footsteps.

His secretary's voice came from the intercom. "Ben? There's a Holly Colvin here to see you."

A satisfying jolt of energy coursed from his gut to the rest of his extremities, and he took his hand off the keyboard long enough to punch the intercom b.u.t.ton on his phone.

"Really?"

"That's what she said."

Hot d.a.m.n. "Thanks, Carol. You can send her in."

He turned back to his computer, determined to finish one last calculation. He could hear footsteps behind him, but he had to tally up the figures for the- "No," the voice said behind him. "Are you kidding me? No. Just-no!"

Holly stood in the doorway, studying her new client. At least she hoped he'd be her new client.

Please say the offer is still good...

Right now, though, she had more pressing concerns. Ben had kicked off his shoes, which revealed one brown sock with red and blue stripes and one black sock with gray checks. The only thing about them that matched was the fact that both had holes in the toes.

His shirt was even more wrinkled than it had been in the furniture store, which was saying something. There was a smear of something orange on his sleeve, which she guessed might be cheese from the half-eaten plate of nachos on the edge of his desk. His hair was rumpled and his gla.s.ses were slightly askew, though those details gave him a s.e.xy professor vibe she wished wasn't so d.a.m.n hot.

This is bad.

He hadn't been wearing a jacket when they'd met earlier, but she could see one hanging on the back of his chair, its corduroy sleeves and beige elbow patches making her cringe at the thought that he'd worn it anytime in the last decade.

Really bad.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I honestly have no idea where to start." She looked at her watch. "The event is at seven thirty?"

"Yes."

"You weren't planning to go there straight from work, were you?"

"Of course. Is there a problem?"

"A problem," she repeated, too dumbfounded by his appearance to sugarcoat her words the way she normally would with a new client. "You're planning to show up at your first corporate event wearing holey socks, a cheese-stained shirt, and a jacket that looks like you kidnapped a retired librarian and ripped it off his back?"

"The librarian's tied up in the coat closet," Ben deadpanned, and Holly tried not to notice how stupid-s.e.xy it was. "I promise I'll let him out after the event."

She shook her head. "Ben, you can't attend a corporate function like that."

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow and gave her a smile that was half puppy-dog hopeful, half self-satisfied smirk. G.o.d, she wished that weren't so hot.

"Is that why you're here?" he asked. "You changed your mind about taking me on as a client?"

"Yes," she said. "If the offer still stands."

"It stands. It definitely stands. What changed your mind?"

Holly hesitated. I'm desperate for money was hardly the right answer. Neither was, I'm pretty sure I can keep myself from groping you.

She cleared her throat. "I don't like to turn down clients with such an urgent need."

"I definitely have an urgent need."

You and me both, buddy.

She folded her arms over her chest and tried to look professional. "First things first," she said. "Your clothes."

He looked at her for a few seconds, like he was considering this new option. He seemed to come to a decision, then, because he looked down at his shirt and shrugged. "I think there's a spare shirt stuffed in my gym bag."

"You have an iron in there, too?"

He gave her a funny little half smile that made her feel like she'd just swallowed a ball of sunshine.

"I'm getting the sense you have concerns about my wardrobe."

She sighed. "Ben, it's important to make a good first impression. What sort of impression do you think you're going to make if you walk in there looking like a homeless guy?"

"That I care more about the company's bottom line than what I'm wearing?"

"A nice thought, but no." She shook her head. "A man walks into a room looking like he dressed himself while blindfolded and people are not going to think, Wow, I bet he's really good with numbers.' They're thinking, Wow, do I trust a guy to put together a million-dollar business deal when he can't even put together a matching pair of socks?'"

"Ouch."

He didn't look terribly pained, but she softened her tone anyway. "Look, you're not paying me to pat you on the head and give you a lollypop. You're paying me to fix what's not working."

"Is it too late to get the lollypop?"

"Ben-"

"I know, I know." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I get it, I do. I need help. That's what I'm paying you for." He nodded at the folder she'd forgotten she was holding. "Is that the contract?"

"Yes." She held it out to him, and an electric current sizzled up her wrist as his fingers brushed hers. "Speaking of paying me, I took you up on your suggestion to triple the regular fees, due to the unusualness of the situation."

She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. He opened the folder and studied the forms, his amber-flecked eyes moving back and forth over the words.

Feeling nervous, Holly swallowed hard. "The retainer is high, but I can a.s.sure you it includes a comprehensive action plan beginning with-"

"It's fine," he said, pulling a pen out of a dirty-looking coffee mug and scrawling his signature on the form. Holly stared at his hands, wondering if he'd ever played football or wrestled grizzly bears. He had huge hands. Man hands. Big, beautiful, magical hands designed for gripping and squeezing and stroking and- "Shall we get started?"

He looked up at her, and she tried to remember what they were talking about. "Wh-what?"

"With the action plan," he said, c.o.c.king his head to the side and studying her with an expression that made her wonder if he knew she'd been fantasizing about his hands all over her body. "The terms you've outlined here are acceptable, and I'll have a check to you first thing in the morning for the first half. I'm ready to get a jump on this."

So am I, Holly's body telegraphed as her gaze fell to his hands again.

Fortunately, her brain had the good sense to override it.

"Yes. Absolutely, of course." She cleared her throat and met his eyes. "First things first, Ben. Let's get you out of those clothes."

Chapter Four.

Holly glanced at her watch as she leaned against the wall outside the dressing room at the trendy men's clothing boutique. She'd texted Miriam from the elevator at Ben's office seeking emergency advice on men's business attire.

Luckily, her business partner was also First Impressions' resident fashionista. Miriam had come through in spades, texting oodles of shopping tips, the name of her favorite boutique, and a dozen screenshots of men's clothing.

He'll look super-hot in this, read the text accompanying one photo.

That's the understatement of the millennium, Holly thought as Ben stepped out of the dressing room and ambled toward her. He wore a charcoal and turquoise stripe worsted wool Sartorial two-b.u.t.ton suit from Armani, something Miriam had expressly told her to look for. The salesman had been happy to comply, and from what Holly had seen of the price tag, she couldn't blame the guy for getting giddy.

But she couldn't blame herself, either, for wanting to climb Ben like a cat tree now that she'd seen him in the suit. He looked s.e.xy, refined, and utterly, deliciously handsome.

Keep your eye on the prize.

This was a business relationship. Nothing more. That kiss notwithstanding. Not that she hadn't replayed it in her mind a dozen times in the last hour, his mouth hot and demanding on hers as his hands moved up her body...

Before she could make a move-thankfully-the sales a.s.sistant scurried over and began fussing over Ben.

"Oh, that's just fabulous," gushed the dapper young clerk wearing a bright orange tie and an engraved silver tag that indicated his name was Marcus. He adjusted the sleeves of Ben's jacket, clucking to himself as he stepped around to survey him from the other side. "The shoulders will need to be let out a little bit, but we have an amazing tailor who can have it done in a jiffy. How do you like that tie?"

"It's, uh-a tie," Ben said, tugging at his collar. "Is it supposed to feel like I'm being strangled?"

Holly laughed and stepped forward, hesitating a moment before reaching out to adjust the knot at his throat. It clearly didn't need any adjusting, but she kept doing it anyway just to feel the warmth of his skin through the blue cotton shirt. "Have you never worn a tie before?"

"Only for funerals and weddings. Oh, and for Halloween one year."

"Halloween? What was your costume?"

"Dirty Harry." He made a pistol with his thumb and forefinger and pointed it at the mirror. "Do you feel lucky, punk?'"

She shivered, fl.u.s.tered by the unexpected show of masculine charm. She compensated by running her fingers down the tie to smooth out imaginary wrinkles. "It looks good on you," she said, trying not to notice the swell of his chest. "It's a nice color."

"The pants are a great fit," Marcus said, giving Holly an excuse to look down and admire the fit of the inseam. Or admire something, anyway.

Wow, flat-front slacks don't leave a lot to the imagination...

"How does that length feel?"

She tore her gaze off his crotch and blinked at the clerk. "What length?"

"The pants." Marcus gave her a tiny smirk before looking up at Ben. "I think they're perfect, but some men prefer about a quarter-inch longer."

"Longer, right," she babbled, feeling like an idiot. "Um, finding the right length can be hard." s.h.i.t. "Not hard in the sense that-"

"I think I'll defer to your judgment on the pants," Ben said to the clerk before yanking on the tie again.

She took a step back so she wouldn't do something stupid like grab his a.s.s.

Ben looked away from her and turned to the mirror, pivoting to check out his reflection. "I don't suppose there's any chance of having the jacket altered in time for an event this evening? I'm happy to pay extra, of course."

"Let me go have a chat with the tailor and see what we can do," Marcus said, whipping out a measuring tape. "Can you turn for me just a little? There you go. Wow, you're certainly a big fellow, aren't you?"

Ben said nothing, but Holly felt her face grow hot and ordered herself to keep her gaze above Ben's waist. Was she imagining things, or did everything out of anyone's mouth sound like a phallic reference?

"That's a little stiff, isn't it?"

She coughed, then regained her composure when she saw Marcus adjusting the collar of Ben's dress shirt.

"It is a bit stiff," Ben agreed, meeting her gaze in the mirror. He gave a small smile, and she hoped like h.e.l.l he had no idea what she was thinking.

G.o.d, she just needed to stop looking at him. She turned to study a rack of women's clothing behind her so she wouldn't risk letting her gaze drop to the front of Ben's pants. She flipped blindly through the garments, not really seeing any of the slacks or skirts or blouses as the temperature of her cheeks slowly returned to normal.

"That would look outstanding on you, sweetheart," Marcus said behind her.

Holly stopped flipping and froze with her hand on a blue silk dress with a plunging neckline.

"It's totally your color," Marcus added. "That's our last-chance rack. There's only one left."

She glanced at the tag and realized it was in her size. She hesitated, stroking the edge of the cap sleeve. "It's lovely."

"It's a total steal at that price," Marcus said. "That bias hemline would show off those gorgeous legs of yours, too."

"Get it," Ben said, startling her with the directness of his words. She looked up and saw an expression of mild embarra.s.sment on his face. "If you want to, I mean," he said. "My treat. Since you're stuck accompanying me to the event tonight, it's the least I can do."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"I mean it," he said. "I owe you. You had to rearrange your whole schedule just to fit me in."

"I guess I could try it on." She looked at the dress again. She bit her lip, not sure how she felt about the idea of a man choosing her clothing. She remembered Chase laying out dresses at the end of the bed, intent on telling her exactly what to wear to his next office party.

Then again, this blue silk dress was much more her style than Chase's picks had been.

No harm in just trying it on...

She looked at Marcus. "Can you point me to the women's fitting room?"

"Right over there," he said, pointing down the hall. "We'll just finish up here and I'll run the jacket down to the tailor."

Holly held up the dress. She didn't usually accept expensive gifts from clients, but she could always insist on paying for it herself. She hesitated. "I guess it won't hurt to try it on. You'll be okay here for a minute?"