Page 67 of The Fixer

“Nice. How many books?”

“Look, don’t you have work to do?”

He spread his hands wide. “Like I said, I’m going on break.” He jerked his chin toward the journals. “Up for a reading?”

“No!” she barked. Then she stomped to the closet and rummaged around. He peered, trying to see what object she would come up with, convinced it was something big she planned to hurl at his head. He wanted to be prepared. But before he could figure out what, she wheeled, a paperback in her hand. He ducked, but she held it firmly in her grasp.

“Ah. One of Lacey’s books, I assume?”

A triumphant smirk curled her lips. “No, but one I thought you’d find interesting. I know I did.” She shoved the book at him.

Opening it, he flipped through the pages. Some kind of romance fantasy thing where people had weird names. One guy—the hero, he assumed—flew through a brick wall. “I don’t get it.”

She tapped her finger on a page. “Not the contents. The cover.”

He snapped it shut and stared at the front of the book. It displayed a shirtless man with long blond hair and a ridiculously cheesy smirk. His body was so shiny Charlie would need sunglasses if he had to examine the image much longer. Blondie was posed against a brick wall—probably the one he flew through; the guy apparently didn’t move around much—and a misty moon hung in an upper corner. The dude’s pants were half open, and he appeared ready for action. He must have been—

“Shit!” He jumped backward, and the book slid from his grasp and thudded to the floor.

Joy cackled. “Look familiar?”

He gawped at her. “Where did you find that?”

She bent to pick up the book, her shirt gaping a bit at the neckline, displaying a little cleavage as she did so—not that he was looking.

He admonished himself for missing his cue to be the gentleman and retrieve the book himself. After all, he’d been the one to launch it like it had been on fire.

When she straightened, she held it up for him to see. “Believe it or not, it was in a pile of books in my mother’s shop. I wasn’t sure if it was you, but the face was familiar—since that’s the only part of you I’ve ever seen.” She seemed to recognize what her comment implied—that maybe she wanted to see more, though that was probably his overblown ego talking. An attractive blush painted her cheekbones. “What I meant was, I, um, well …” she stammered. “I looked inside, but there’s no credit for the model. The photographer is mentioned, though. Benito Lander. Ever heard of him?”

Eyes pinned to the book, Charlie dragged his hand over his jaw. “Well, I’ll be damned. Yeah, I know that name. I spent time in his studio because I was … doing a friend a favor.” That sounded way better than, “I wanted todoa friend, and she wanted me to pose so she could say she was dating a male model. I figured it was the quickest way to get her done.”

Joy’s tongue poked at the inside of her cheek. “I won’t ask what kind of friend or favor.” Yeah, she wasn’t buying what he was selling.

“I didn’t know any of those pictures saw the light of day. God, I wonder how many copies are out there?”

She tapped her chin. “Of the book? Never mind those. I wonder how many copies of different poses are on women’s—and men’s walls.”

“Why would they be—”

“Oh, please! Don’t tell me you don’t have pictures like these in your own spank bank. Playboy centerfolds, anyone?”

His brain froze while he tried to wrap it around the words “spank bank” falling from this woman’s lips. Then again, if she wrote the kind of heat he had read for himself … and that kiss.

Yowser!

“I never considered people buying images to keep for themselves,” he groaned. “That’s kinda … sleazy.”

“Oh, you mean like nudie magazines and strip clubs?” Her eyebrows bounded up and down her smooth forehead. She was enjoying the hell out of this.

“Fair point. Wait. If Ihadactual pictures in an actual spank bank, they would be of women. Just so we’re clear.”

Her reply came in the form of a patronizing head bob. “Understood.”

She tossed the book on the bed beside the journals. “If it makes you feel any better, the book is out of publication. It looks like it came out about five years ago and only got a smattering of reviews. None of them good, so I doubt it’s going to go viral and hit a bestsellers list.”

“Ha! No surprise there. From the little I read, it doesn’t deserve the paper it’s printed on.”

“How long ago were the pictures taken?”

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