The Dirty Girls Book Club (8 page)

Not these days. It had been true before his agent lost all Woody’s money and got him in debt with the tax people—but even then Woody’d never been into acquiring stuff. Yeah, he’d bought himself an apartment, a sports car, and a big TV, but what else did a guy need? Pretty much the only money he spent—and yeah, it was a small fortune—was on his mom. “I guess,” he hedged.

“But you don’t care about clothes,” Viv said. “You dress for comfort, you don’t like shopping, and you’ll wear clothes until they’re falling apart rather than buy new ones.”

Hey, this woman knew him.

“You buy off the rack, making choices as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah.”

“I saw that in the video clips. Your suit jackets don’t fit right.”

“They don’t?”

“Don’t you find they pull across the shoulders?”

“Yeah.” He’d figured that was what suits did, and that all ties felt like nooses.

“Woody,” Georgia broke in, “you’re going to have to dress differently.”

He grimaced. He had no issue with taking direction from a woman, but he’d have been way happier about it if he’d given her
great sex rather than humiliating himself. He’d have been way happier if just the sight of her didn’t make him want to do it again, slow and thorough and hot and sweet this time.

Viv crossed one leg over the other. “Clothing should drape and hug and caress. Like a balmy breeze, a tropical ocean against bare skin, the touch of a lover’s hand.”

Girly words, but the way her very adult voice lingered over them made his flesh tingle. This was not the way to get his mind off sex.

Georgia ran a hand inside the paired collars of her shirt and jacket. Were they too tight, or was she imagining the touch of a lover’s hand? His hand? When he’d stroked her pussy and made her come, he’d done it right. It was only later that he’d lost control and been a selfish bastard.

Viv went on. “Woody, you’ll see that being stylish doesn’t have to mean being uncomfortable. I promise.” She gave him a dazzling smile.

That, plus her reassurance, made him smile back and say, “Thanks, sunshine. I’m counting on you.” He didn’t get any sense she was flirting with him, just that she was all woman and didn’t mind showing it in the workplace. The blonde’s approach was sure different from Georgia’s, passionate though the redhead was once she let her hair down.

Viv’s foot, in a bright green shoe with a mile-high heel, swung in circles. With a glint in her eyes, she said, “Of course you’ll wear VitalSport underwear, too.”

Jesus. “No one’s seeing my gonch,” he protested.

“Ah, so you’re not dating anyone these days?” the blonde asked.

Since when was his dating life their business?

Georgia, typing notes at the head of the table, froze at Viv’s words. Why had that question never occurred to her? She’d had
sex
with the man and he might be involved with someone. Well, no, Billy’s background research made it clear Woody didn’t get “involved”—he was anti-commitment—but he might be dating someone. And Georgia was
not
the kind of woman who’d sleep with a guy who was seeing someone else.

Of course, until yesterday, she’d never figured herself as a woman who’d have random sex with a near stranger whom she didn’t even like, much less respect. Never figured she’d have the first orgasm in her life, much less two, at the hands of said near stranger.

Ever since she’d broken her shoe heel, her life had tipped upside down.

Looking annoyed, Woody ran a hand over his bushy beard, and the diamond on a big ring he wore flashed. “I don’t date much during playoff season. It’s too distracting.”

Right. And having sex with her wasn’t distracting in the least. It was just a little tension release. Something he felt
sorry
about the minute it was over.

“Bet that pisses off the puck bunnies,” Terry said.

“The what?” she asked.

“You know, George,” Terry said, “like buckle bunnies who follow
rodeo riders. Hockey players have puck bunnies who—well, you get the picture.”

“Right.” Grimly, she stared at Woody. Did he think she was a puck bunny, getting her kicks from screwing a hockey star?

“It’s good you feel that way, Woody,” Viv said.

Startled, Georgia glanced at the other woman. No, Viv couldn’t have read her thoughts.

The blonde was going on. “A man’s judged by the company he keeps, and puck bunnies aren’t the right image for VitalSport. I know this sounds offensive, but—George, do you agree?—I’m thinking that if you want to go out with someone, you should run it by us first.”

“You want to approve my dates?” Woody asked disbelievingly.

“It’s all about image and brand,” Viv said.

“I do agree,” Georgia said coolly.

Woody shook his head. “No way. Stay out of my private life.”

“The contract—” Georgia started.

“Doesn’t say anything about who I date.”

“It contains a morals clause,” she pointed out. “If you’re involved in a scandal, VitalSport can terminate the contract.”

“Morals clause?” he echoed. “Jesus.”

“It’s there for good reason,” she said stiffly. “Billy Daniels and VitalSport did their background research. I understand there was a, uh, situation last year. With a woman who said you’d promised to marry her, made her fall in love with you, then dumped her.”

“Crap. It was all lies. I was up front all along. Told Angela I’m not into serious relationships.” He snorted. “I’m not even into serial monogamy. No way was she in love. She was a wannabe actress who liked dating someone famous. When I broke up with her”—he shrugged—“I guess she figured going to the tabloids would get her some PR and hook her a movie or TV role.”

Terry chimed in. “It never went anywhere. She and her story
weren’t that interesting. Everyone knew Woody’s rep and no one believed he’d led her on, much less proposed to her.”

Georgia nodded. “So I read in Billy’s notes. He and VitalSport didn’t figure it was a significant detriment to having Woody as the campaign figurehead. Still, we don’t want anything like that blowing up now.”

Woody slitted his eyes. “You’re not seriously going to tell me who I can sleep with.”

Was there a threat in those words? A threat that, if she pushed too hard, he might reveal what the two of them had done? Warily, she said, “We’re asking that you use good judgment.” Heat rose to her cheeks, and deepened when he raised his eyebrows. No, what they’d done was most definitely not good judgment.

Georgia squeezed her eyes shut briefly. “Let’s move on.”

“Okay,” Terry said. “What’s up with the underwear line?”

Ignoring another groan from Woody, Georgia turned to Terry. “One of the VitalSport designers is female. She remembered a movie called—what was it now?—
The Cowboy Way
.”

“Oh, yes!” Viv said, but Terry shrugged, clearly not recognizing the reference.

Viv filled him in, then Georgia said, “The designer thought an underwear line could be a special feature of the Canadian launch.”

“I’m guessing our Woody will look even better than Woody Harrelson did in a pair of tighty-whities,” Viv teased.

Woody gave a third groan.

It was interesting, but despite Viv’s attractiveness, Woody wasn’t flirting with her the way Georgia’d expected. He treated Viv and Terry equally, nodding in agreement or groaning or making a face when he hated an idea. As for Georgia herself, she’d catch him watching her; then he’d look away. He probably wondered what crazy impulse had made him come on to her, just as she was wondering why she’d been insane enough to go along.

Well, there had been those two orgasms. …

No, this was a business meeting, and they’d been discussing … Right. Underwear.

Ignoring Woody, Georgia addressed Viv and Terry. “The question is”—she held out both hands, palms up—“would underwear ads be effective, or tasteless?” She jiggled her hands up and down, weighing alternatives on an imaginary set of scales.

Viv ran the tip of her tongue around lips painted hot pink. “Hardly tasteless, I’d say. And just what are you juggling there? Could it possibly be balls?”

Terry snorted, and the double entendre hit Georgia. She dropped her hands immediately. “It was scales! I was weighing … Oh, never mind.” She took a breath, then said, knowing she sounded stiff and self-conscious, “Obviously, Viv thinks underwear ads would be effective, at least with female buyers.” It was hard to argue with that.

“And gay men,” the other woman added. “Terry, how about straight guys?”

“So long as the ad’s masculine and not too arty. Arty works for metrosexuals and gays, but not guys who think of themselves as ‘real men.’ Maybe have him in his gonch doing stuff like sharpening his skate blades.”

Georgia typed the idea, trying very hard not to imagine that picture. “Would that work for metrosexuals and gays? And women?” It sure worked for her, if the throb of need between her thighs was any indication.

“Yes,” Terry and Viv said simultaneously.

“Shit,” Woody said.

She ignored him, drumming her fingertips reflectively along the bottom of her keyboard. “Good. That’s an idea to develop.”

“No thongs.” Woody’s voice grated and his gaze met Georgia’s, pleading. “Please, Coach, no thongs. They’re not, you know, dignified.”

Dignified?
This, coming from a man in a ratty jersey with a cartoon beaver on it? Still, she could sympathize. “It might turn straight men off,” she mused.

“Kids watch the games,” Terry said. “Thongs don’t project a family image.”

“You can say that again,” Viv agreed.

“Fine. No thongs.” Georgia typed it as Woody said a heartfelt, “Thank God.”

She turned to Viv. “Moving on. Viv, you can handle physical appearance. We’ll want to play on his, uh …”

“Sex appeal?” Viv provided.

“Yes.” Georgia eyed Woody dubiously. He was handsome, physical, and masculine, but his lack of polish and questionable clothing choices diminished his appeal.

He caught her gaze, raised an eyebrow, then ran a hand over the conference table in slow, caressing circles. Reminding her that her bare butt had been plunked down on the matching table in the room next door, as she let him spread her wide—in fact virtually begged him to enter her.

Ooh, he wasn’t playing fair. He’d agreed they would put the sex behind them.

But yes, he had effectively made the point that, despite his flaws, he did have sex appeal.

Deliberately, she typed “sex appeal” so the words sat up there on the screen, and said in an all-business voice, “We can’t alienate the male half of the market. Woody has to be a man they identify with.”

“He’s all man,” Terry said, “and he has a talent for telling sports stories and making them come to life.”

As Georgia typed that, Viv leaned forward. “All man is good. A masculine edge is great. But crudeness isn’t. Nor swearing.”

Georgia nodded firmly.

“I don’t swear in interviews. They teach us not to.”

“I saw an interview where you did,” Georgia said. “Repeatedly. You had blood dripping down your face and the censor’s bleeper could barely keep up with you.”

He winced. “Yeah, I know the one. Got reamed out for it.”

“The game with the Flames?” Terry asked.

Woody nodded. “It was the last few seconds and I could’ve tied the score. Asshole defenseman slashes me across the face and hipchecks me into the boards. Buzzer goes off; we lose. Skating off the ice, someone sticks a mike in my face. Yeah, I was steamed; didn’t watch what I said.”

“Beaver fans were steamed too,” Terry said. “They were swearing too.”

“Which doesn’t excuse it,” Georgia said.

Woody shook his head. “Nah.”

“We can help you with communication,” Viv said. “So you can talk articulately and not offend anyone.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all the stuff we’re supposed to say. Mostly, I do it.”

“True,” Viv said. “Terry can help you make it sound more fresh and genuine.”

“Really don’t like talking to the media,” Woody grumbled.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Georgia said. “And we’ll set up public appearances with sports and recreation groups.” She glanced at Terry. “I guess they’ll want him to talk about hockey, his career, sportsmanship, things like that?”

“And the Olympics and Stanley Cup,” he added. “We’ll figure out the kinds of questions people are likely to ask, then work out good answers and rehearse them.”

“Rehearse?” Woody asked grimly.

They certainly didn’t want to rely on him to say the right thing.
While Georgia struggled for a polite way to phrase that, Terry spoke up. “Think of it as training camp.”

She shot him a grateful look.

“He should be able to talk about more than sports,” Viv said. “Politics, world affairs, culture.”

“Oh, is that all?” Woody asked sarcastically.

“You’re a jock,” Terry said. “No one’s going to expect you to talk like a rocket scientist or a foreign diplomat or a Pulitzer Prize– winning author.”

Georgia muttered, “Thank God,” under her breath. She did a quick mental review of what they’d covered so far, and reached a conclusion that appealed to her about as much as putting on one of those huge, ugly hockey uniforms and skating onto the ice. Still, this was her campaign, her responsibility. Billy had given it to her over Harry, her competition, and she was determined to prove herself. “Viv’s handling appearance and Terry’s handling the sports end, so I’ll take the other communication aspects.”

“Can’t think of anything I’d rather do than communicate with you,” Woody said in a tone that was half taunt, half protest.

“And deportment,” she added.

“Deportment? Jesus, it sounds like a girls’ finishing school.”

She ignored him. “Moving on. We’ve talked about scheduling sports interviews and appearances. Let’s think more broadly.”

For a few minutes, she and Terry and Viv batted around ideas like TV interviews, talk radio, podcasts, YouTube, Twitter, and so on.

Woody listened, looking unhappy. “If I gotta do this kind of stuff, how ’bout
The Ellen Show
?”

“Ellen?” Georgia asked.

“You know, DeGeneres.”

What was the man thinking? “That won’t work. It’s American,
and we’d never get you on.” He really did have an inflated idea of his own importance.