She’d kissed him. He’d kissed her back. And he’d blown her socks off.
Margot got to the kitchen, and when she knew Daniel couldn’t see her, she slumped against the counter.
What shocked her almost as much was the way she was with him. Good Lord, she was a femme fatale, a siren, a vamp. And sexy? She’d go to bed with herself, she was so damned seductive.
Her heart still raced, her legs wobbled and she could hardly see straight. All this from a guy she barely knew, who had all the style of a stalk of broccoli and who blushed at the drop of a double entendre.
But the truth of it was, despite this moment of reflection, she felt like a goddess. Oz, the great and powerful. It was unbelievable, unprecedented.
And so, so excellent.
Dear Reader,
Oh, was this book a blast to write! I haven’t had such a good time in…well, a long time. Daniel was such a sweetie pie, but I’ll tell you the truth—he took me completely by surprise when he and Margot did the wild thing. I expected him to be a nice guy, maybe a little shy. Boy, was I wrong. Not that he wasn’t nice. But shy? Not even close. As for Margot, I think she might be closer to me than any heroine I’ve ever written. So full of contradictions! Wanting so badly to make the right choice, but how can she when she doesn’t know what the right choice is?
Yep, just like real life. Just like me.
I hope you find a little of you in Margot, and that you, too, fall in love with Daniel. I sure did.
Be good…but not too good!
Jo Leigh
A Lick and a Promise
Jo Leigh
To my beautiful, incredible niece Rachel, with all my love.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
1
THE LETTUCE SUCKED. Great. Marvelous. Just the way she wanted her first day as the food stylist for Whompies to start off. Yeah, that’s Whompies. Of the double double Angus beef Whompie burger with the special curly fries. Of course, she didn’t really work for Whompies, she worked for Galloway and Donnelly, one of the top advertising agencies in Manhattan. Who, if they liked the work she did on this shoot, could very well put her on staff, which would be, in the words of her aunt Sadie, such a blessing! Galloway and Donnelly’s food division paid top dollar, and got the best gigs.
On her own, she’d landed some pretty good jobs. That one for Bon Appétit had been stellar. But working for G and D would put her on the map. After five, six years working with some of the best foodies on the planet, she, Margot Janowitz, would have the name recognition and contacts to go back out on her own. Then she could ask for the moon…and get it.
But first, she had to get some lettuce that didn’t look like roadkill, pronto. She got her work phone book out of her kit and headed back to the prep kitchen, almost tripping over the thick cables connected to the mega-huge lights in Stage Four, one of the MidTown Production’s sound stages used for making commercials and rock videos.
She was going to be here a lot in the next five months. Not continuously, of course. In between the Whompies shoots she’d have print gigs, but it was the TV commercials that she was most excited about. Making burgers, fries, milk shakes, sodas, pizza, onion rings look so deliciously scrumptious that people watching the commercials would leap off their couches and race over to Whompies to chow down on everything on the menu.
Inside the huge prep kitchen, two of the camera guys were eating take-out Chinese broccoli beef. They both had their feet up on the big white table, having shoved her notebook to the very edge. She snatched it up, trying not to freak. Very calmly, she looked at the two men, both in their early twenties, and said, “Do you know what this table is?”
One of them, the light-haired guy who had clearly forgotten that hair needed washing from time to time, looked up with a full mouth, and replied, “Huh?”
“I said, do you know what this table is?”
He shook his head while he swallowed.
“It’s a food preparation table. Where actual food is prepared. And mostly, we don’t like it smelling of feet.”
The blond guy grunted. But they both slid their feet to the ground. They didn’t stop eating.
Margot sighed. “Shoo. Scram. Leave.” She waved four fingers. “Bu-bye.”
The darker guy stood. He wore cargo pants a couple of sizes too big, a Third Eye Blind T-shirt and a Mets cap. He raised his right eyebrow in her direction, then shuffled out, heading toward the employee lounge, where they should have been in the first place. Blondie followed. Slowly. But finally, she was alone.
It was just past 5:30 a.m. and she wanted all the food prep to be done before eight. The rest of the staff, whom she hadn’t met, would be here soon. From her past experience assisting on other food commercials, there would be at least one more stylist and three or four assistants. Which would be great, All she had to do was get fresh, crisp lettuce. Simple. Easy. She had a mile-long list of suppliers. No reason at all for her heart to beat like a Led Zeppelin drum solo.
She stopped. Took a deep breath. This was just like the dozens and dozens of jobs she’d assisted on. The only difference was, on this one, she was in charge. Which was a good thing. A marvelous thing. Something she’d worked hard for.
From this moment forward, this job was going to be one triumph after another. On time, on budget, exactly to the Whompies specifications. Period. She knew what to do, knew how to do it. Piece of cake.
She went back into the main studio, where more folks had arrived. She didn’t know anyone. Not yet. But soon, they’d all be joking around together, bitching about the work, pulling out all the stops to make the product shine.
She loved this part. A lot. The whole team thing. That was the bonus of doing television. It was good on print shoots, but this was more. Bigger. Better.
Her phone vibrated in her apron pocket. She flipped it on, her earphone snugly in place, as it always was. “Margot.”
“Babycakes.”
Margot smiled at her neighbor’s voice as she went to the craft service table to get her coffee. “Hi, Devon. ’Sup?”
“Just checking in on your first day at the new gig.”
“Well, except for phone calls at dawn, things are going really well.”