A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,49

Master of all trades and jack of none.”

“Oh, Raoul, you’re a savior,” Gia breathed.

Lizzie shrank back into the chair, dreading more meditations on True Love.

“What have you done to my Lizzie?” Con’s voice startled her.

“Made her a knockout.” Raoul admired his handiwork.

“She was already a knockout. She doesn’t need a lot of paint and stuff.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, she’ll take it off in the bedroom. It’s for the cameras. The lights can really flatten you out. Why don’t you sit down here, homeboy, and I’ll punch you up too.”

“I’ll sit down, but keep your hands off me.” Con settled into a chair with an easy grin. There probably wasn’t a person on earth who made him uncomfortable. “Raoul tell you him and me were gym buddies?”

What? She managed to keep a straight face.

Raoul made a sucking sound with his tongue. “I can’t believe you’re still going to that trashy place.”

“Hey, the equipment works.”

“The clientele is strictly low-rent. But then maybe that’s why you fit right in.” He winked at Lizzie.

“You’re probably right,” Con said cheerily. “But don’t knock it. They got a StairMaster.”

“That must be why your buns look so tight. Or are you still a weights-only man?”

“Weights and running.”

“Ah, running. Now if I’d taken that up, maybe I could have caught you before Miss Hathaway here.” He raised an eyebrow. “But I bet she appreciates you keeping yourself in such fine condition.”

Lizzie wished she had more hair to hide behind. This must be the gym Con had always left for in the morning before heading to work. Anyone working out next to him probably knew more about him than she did back then. Probably still did.

“Don’t get nervous now,” said Raoul, holding up a hank of her hair. “Conroy is not one to kiss and tell. You won’t catch him bragging about his conquests over the Nautilus machines. Not that that dump has any.” He shot a glance at Con. “Keeps his thoughts to himself, this boy,” he murmured. “More’s the pity. I’d love to know what’s going on under those still waters.”

You’re not the only one.

Con didn’t bat an eye. “Nothing more to me than meets the eye, right, Lizzie?”

“Yes, sweetie,” she said stiffly.

Con leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Gave her a shot of warm tongue that made her toes tingle, then pulled back leaving her glossy lipstick smudged and her dander sky-high.

“Sorry, Raoul, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Get your bad-boy ass out of here.”

With her hair ironed into a gleaming mahogany sheet, Lizzie wilted under the glare of the cameras as they sat at the dinner table.

Huge lights on metal stands blasted the large dining room with an intense blue-white glare. Fat cables trailed over the floor, ready to trip the unwary and the fine antiques and ornate plaster moldings shrank into the shadows.

The table glittered with crystal, with the fleur-de-lis plates she’d chosen. A Lalique bowl bulged with lush tropical fruit, glasses sparkled with wine already poured and heating under the lights. Soup shimmered in the bowls, souring and congealing in the heat. The illusion of a delicious meal to be shared by lovers.

When the reality was anything but.

Dino adjusted something on a monitor. “Can you put another scrim on the backlight? I’m getting some glare.”

Lizzie rested her aching cheek muscles while the camera was off. Con tugged at his too-tight collar. Winked at her. She glared at him.

Neither of them had managed to eat the congealed soup. Starving, she’d grabbed a red delicious apple from the Lalique bowl. Wax.

“Let’s see if we can make it more real this time,” chirped Gia. “More natural. Maybe you could hold hands over the table or something?”

Lizzie managed not to grimace. She picked up her hand and flung it down on the table like a rubber chicken she’d been hiding under the tablecloth.

Con took hold of her fingers. His hand looked rather brown and rough against the sheen of the white damask tablecloth. His fingers closed around hers and Lizzie took a deep breath. Sweat trickled down her back underneath her blue dress.

“You okay?” he mouthed.

“Or course,” she mouthed back. Why did he have to look so freakin’ sensitive and caring? Shame she couldn’t snark at him here in front of everyone. She shot him a warm smile. “Your hand is sweaty.”

“So’s yours.”

“I’m surprised my dress isn’t soaked through,” she murmured. “It must be a hundred and fifty degrees right here. I think my wine is about to boil.”

“I know, I know. I’m terribly sorry.” Gia picked her