LITMIR.BIZ

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Harry believes there will be negative repercussions on the sale of his book. And frankly, that’s a real possibility. Booksellers can make or break a book. And many of them have already started advertising the upcoming book signings. Broken promises don’t make the best public relations. Not only could Harry’s book suffer if he fails to make his scheduled appearances, but Handy Press could suffer as well.”

      “In what way?”

      “The company stays afloat by publishing how-to manuals and technical guidebooks. If booksellers retaliate by pulling all the Handy Press books off the shelves, the company could go bankrupt.”

      He looked thoughtful. “There has to be some other solution.”

      She shook her head. “Believe me, I’ve lain awake nights trying to think of a way out of this mess. I know it seems a little extreme, but this is the only answer.”

      “How will Mr. Hanover feel about another man taking on his identity?”

      “It was his idea.” She pulled a folded newspaper clipping out of her jeans pocket, smoothing out the wrinkles. It was an advertisement for Studs-R-Us. She handed it to him, their fingers touching. Her skin prickled at the jolt of electricity that shot up her arm. And judging by the way Dexter was staring at her, he’d had the same reaction.

      Then he cleared his throat and looked down at the advertisement. “A man for all occasions,” he said, reading the company motto. “I’m not sure this covers impersonating an author.”

      “I know it sounds a little unusual,” she replied, glancing at her watch. “But it’s really not all that uncommon in the entertainment world. There are ghost writers who write all those celebrity books. Musicians who do voice-overs on albums. Some authors even send in a phony glamour picture for the back of their book. It’s all about presentation.”

      He still looked skeptical. “What happens when people find out I’m not the real Harry Hanover?”

      “That won’t happen,” she assured him. “When the book tour is over, Harry is going to disappear. Handy Press will decline any further interviews on his behalf, earning him a reputation as an eccentric recluse. Which is the truth. The press loves that kind of stuff.”

      Dexter hated to put a damper on her enthusiasm, but the obstacles to her plan seemed almost insurmountable. “What if someone who knows Harry attends a book signing?”

      She smiled. “Not a possibility. Harry’s been shut up in his cabin for the last six years. And before that he lived in the Yukon.”

      Dexter couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. Kylie Timberlake was the most vibrant woman he’d ever met. Even if her plan was crazy. “Well, what if someone recognizes me?”

      Her smile faded. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Especially when you’ve probably got legions of women in your past.”

      His pride prevented him from disabusing her of that ridiculous notion. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

      Her face suddenly brightened. “Yes, you can. I think I know a way to make it work. A way to make everyone just wild about Harry.”

      “I LOOK RIDICULOUS.” Dexter stood in the living room of Kylie’s apartment, wearing a short fuschia cape protecting his clothes and silver foil wraps in his hair.

      “I know, but we’re trying to fix that.” Amy Kwan, Kylie’s roommate, sorted through the clothes hanging on a portable rack.

      He never should have let Kylie talk him into this. But something about her made it impossible to say no. Maybe it was her big brown eyes. Or the smile that sparked a warmth deep inside of him. Or the overwhelming urge he had to touch her again.

      “You’re a tough case, Dexter,” Amy said, “but I’m always up for a challenge.”

      “Amy used to do hair and makeup for the stars of ‘The Young and the Restless,”’ Kylie informed him, studying the day planner on her lap.

      “But I needed a break.” Amy selected five outfits and tossed them onto the sofa. “So now I’m doing freelance work. Mostly working on models for fashion shows and photo shoots. But my favorite jobs are makeovers. Enhancing the beauty of soap stars and models is easy. But transforming a loser into a knockout takes real skill.”

      “Not that you’re a loser, Dexter,” Kylie hastily assured him.

      “Thanks,” he said dryly as the timer on the kitchen stove dinged.

      “Time to rinse,” Amy announced. She led Dexter over to the sink, then began removing the foil wraps.

      “Exactly what color will my hair be?” he asked as Amy pushed his head under the faucet.

      Amy carefully rinsed his hair. “The same color, but we’re hoping to add some fabulous golden highlights.”

      “What do you mean, hoping?” Dexter asked.

      “I’m sure it will be fine,” Kylie called from the living room.

      “Well, there was that time we ended up with lime green on Carlo.” Amy laughed. “Remember that, Kylie?”

      “Green?” Dexter repeated, starting to feel a little panicky. He’d only done this to make Kylie happy, to see her smile again. Now the absurdity of it hit him full in the gut.

      “It was a temporary color,” Kylie assured him. “It only took a month to wash out.”

      “That makes me feel so much better.”

      Amy shut off the tap, then towel-dried Dexter’s hair. By the time he returned to the living room, his hair was standing straight up in golden brown spikes.

      “That’s already an improvement,” Amy said, admiring her handiwork. “Now for the clothes.”

      He frowned. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

      “Nothing if you’re starring in a black-and-white fifties flick. The three-piece suits have got to go.” Amy stepped back and surveyed him from head to toe. “Fuschia isn’t really your color.”

      “Well, that’s a relief.”

      Amy tapped her chin. “And I’ve got to admit, it looks like you’ve got a great body under all those clothes. Of course, you’re a gigolo, so I suppose it’s one of the job requirements.”

      “I think he prefers the term male escort,” Kylie said, scribbling something in her planner.

      “I prefer to wear my own clothes,” he said, as Amy pulled another outfit off the rack.

      “You’ve got to trust me,” Amy informed him, holding a pair of skimpy black leather pants up to his waist. “Once we get rid of your old hairstyle, your old clothes and those horrendous glasses, you’re going to be every woman’s fantasy.”

      “The glasses?” Kylie looked up. “Don’t you think we should keep them? I think they’re sexy.” Her cheeks grew rosy. “I mean, in a subtle, intellectual sort of way.”

      Dexter’s heart warmed at her words, along with another part of his body. He liked the way her hair hung in a profusion of wild, thick curls around her shoulders. His fingers itched to touch it, to feel the slide of that silk against his skin.

      “Look, Ky,” Amy replied, as she pushed Dexter into an inflatable chair, then ran a comb through his wet hair. “I know what I’m doing. Women don’t like subtle. They like raw sex appeal.”

      Dexter cleared his throat. “I take it my ability to see doesn’t matter when it comes to fashion.”

      Amy snorted. “Haven’t you ever heard of contact lenses?” Then she stepped back and looked into his eyes. “Ooh, we could go with colored lenses. Wouldn’t violet be awesome with his coloring?”

      “No.” Kylie’s voice was firm. “Dexter’s

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