Aside from their award competition, she’d worked with him on several projects for Lasting Productions. Her work involved insignificant details like scriptwriting, casting, editing, and scheduling. His duties included the more challenging tasks of sitting in a booth and recording the voiceover, flirting with female assistants, distracting male interns with assorted hijinks, generally creating chaos, getting paid the big bucks, and receiving most of the recognition.
Everything about his flamboyant image and overbearing self-confidence rubbed her the wrong way. It annoyed her to admit that the broad shoulders and rugged good looks the television camera loved were even more compelling in person than they were on the small screen. But the less-than savory details she’d witnessed and heard about from others prevented her from lusting after the exterior packaging that rivaled Clooney’s.
Smoothing down her skirt, she waited for Max’s leisurely perusal to move from her new pointy-toed high-heeled shoes and past her uncustomary form-fitting outfit to her face. As expected, the interested gleam dimmed from his eyes and switched to disbelief as recognition kicked in.
“Nice legs, Morgan. First time I’ve seen you in anything but your Iron Maiden costume. You should show that figure off more often.” He lounged against the hood of her car and let his gaze travel her body a second time. “This new look is almost enough to excuse you from rear-ending me. But not quite. What had you so distracted?”
“What do you mean?” Like she’d be willing to share her hopes and dreams with him.
“You sure weren’t thinking about your driving, and you couldn’t have been preoccupied with your love life since everyone knows you don’t have one.”
“Whereas you,” she countered, poking a finger into his rock-solid chest, “were probably thinking about the bevy of mud wrestlers, rodeo queens, and strippers you’re currently dating.”
“Hey!” He straightened up with mild indignation. “Candy LaBar’s not a stripper. She’s an exotic dancer. Her act’s very artistic.”
Already running late, Annabel didn’t have time to trade childish insults with Max. She dismissed the response with a flick of the wrist. “I’ll bet.”
He whipped his phone out, then took pictures of the damage to both bumpers. As she stepped toward the television station’s main entrance, his fingers clamped around her elbow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He jerked a thumb toward his car. “Damage? Repair? Insurance?”
“It’s just a scratch.”
He shook his head at her dismissive attitude. “It’s just a scratch on the bumper of a vintage Porsche I’ve spent two years restoring. Whether they fix it or replace the bumper, it’s not going to come cheap.”
That figured. “I’ll have my insurance company contact you.”
“They better, or I’ll send the repair bill straight to you.”
“Fine, fine.” Annabel marched forward, eager to leave Mad Max behind. But he fell into step alongside her with his customary swagger.
“By the way,” he said, “congratulations on the Community First nomination.”
She slid a peek at him from the corner of her eye and examined his comment for sarcasm. His expression remained suspiciously sincere. “You, too.”
“Who’d have thought we’d be nominated in the same category?”
“Not me. The mind still boggles over my documentary about inner-city high school students competing with your four-part exposé on botched boob jobs.”
“That’s one way of describing them,” he said before urging, “Just remember what they say.”
“What do they say, Max? Sex sells?” Why does he always manage to bring out my inner bitch?
“No-oo. It’s an honor just to be nominated.”
She coated the smile she turned on him with pure sugar. “You remember that when they call out my name from the podium.” She prayed they’d call out her name. Her professional and financial future hinged on winning the award.
“Yeah, right. I’ve got the award all but in my hands.” He raised her show of bravado with an ante of overconfidence.
“And how many judges did you sleep with to make that happen?” The accusation almost shamed her as she made it.
“Talent earns its own reward.” A glint of real pride moved behind his dark brown eyes as he veered away from her, toward the news team’s entrance. “See ya later, Morgan.”
“Not if I see you first,” Annabel muttered to his retreating back.
Against her better judgment, she watched him stride masterfully toward the building. Then, he looked over his shoulder and caught her watching him. Lifting her chin, she turned to glide into the main entrance. Her face flushed when she twisted her ankle on the new heels. Damn, he probably saw that.
Putting the incident behind her, she hurried into the lobby where Carly waited. Her stepdaughter bounced in anticipation of their joint television appearance. A quick hug went a long way toward banishing Max from Annabel’s thoughts and quelling her preshow anxiety. “Been waiting long?”
“Long enough to find out everything we need to know.” Excitement widened Carly’s bright blue eyes to saucer-size. “First, sign in here, then follow me.”
Annabel had visited the station many times and knew her way around, but she allowed the bouncing teen to lead her the makeup room anyway. After they’d settled into chairs, an energetic elf with purple-streaked hair introduced herself as “Voila!” then set to work. She dabbed foundation on their faces, swiped blush on their cheeks, and applied goop to their eyes.
“Not so much, please.” Annabel pushed Voila’s hand away. She didn’t want to look like a clown, and Carly’s fresh appeal didn’t need much enhancement.
Voila frowned. “You’ll look sickly without it.”
“You know she’s right, and I want you to look awesome. Please?” Her stepdaughter’s coaxing did the trick after the makeup artist’s opinion had failed to win Annabel over.
Voila hurried to apply a few finishing touches. Annabel assessed her reflection in the mirror then blotted off a coat of shiny magenta lipstick. She tugged the lapels of her snug teal jacket together. As soon as she released them, they separated into a wide V that exposed the barely-there cleavage created by her new push-up bra.
“I don’t know how you talked me into buying this suit. I’m touched by the attempt to update my image, but I have plenty of other, more suitable clothes.”
“More boring, you mean.” Carly brushed Annabel’s hands away from the lapels. “You’ll be in front of a camera instead of hiding behind one for a change. You should wear something that makes you look young and hot, instead of old and frigid.”
“Let’s take your hair down to really boost your image.” Voila pulled pins out of the bun at the base of Annabel’s neck.
“No.” Annabel covered her hair with her hands to keep Voila’s busy fingers out of it. “It’s too curly and flies around when it’s not pulled back.”
“Hmmm.” Voila cocked her head and considered for a moment before sweeping Annabel’s locks into a French twist with just a few loose tendrils. The style softened the angles of her face and enhanced the shape of her light-gray eyes.
If her stepdaughter weren’t sitting right there beside her with Carly’s own brand of youthful, natural beauty, Annabel wouldn’t have recognized herself.
“You look gorgeous,” Carly enthused as they made their way to the green room next door. “Super hot!”
“You look fabulous, too.” Annabel pulled the girl’s long French-braid in front of her shoulder as they stepped into the waiting room. “But we’re going on a program to discuss successful stepparent/stepchild relationships. We’re not trolling for guys on the internet.”
“Close enough,” murmured a pencil-thin woman nibbling a carrot stick by the snack table.
As they took seats on a lumpy sofa, Carly refused to meet Annabel’s eyes. Never a good sign. Annabel studied the seven other sets of parent/teen duos.
While a couple of parents glanced at her curiously, the others flicked pitying looks her way. None of the teenagers managed to look her in the eye.