the number of women crowding the store.
“The local radio disc jockey is a friend of mine and gave it a plug on his show. I also handed out flyers at the grocery stores, then sent one of my clerks to the mall. I really played up the King of the Kiss angle. And I might have alluded to the fact that Hanover could pass for Mel Gibson.” He looked over at Dexter. “If you squint your eyes just right there is sort of a resemblance.”
In her mind, Dexter certainly had as much appeal as Mel Gibson. Maybe not that shining star quality and rogue charm that practically oozed from the movie star, whom she’d met at a number of Hollywood parties. Dexter’s attraction was definitely more subtle. The kind that made you want to peel off his glasses and rumple his perfect hair, and fluster his rock-steady demeanor.
Of course he wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore. A decision she still wasn’t sure she agreed with.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Kylie said at last. “I suppose the important thing is that it brought buyers into the store.”
The manager rubbed his hands together. “Exactly! Now we’ll proceed with the drawing, then Mr. Hanover can start autographing books while I man the cash register.”
“What’s going on?” Dexter asked, while the manager retrieved a big jar stuffed with ticket stubs from behind the counter.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, giving him a reassuring smile. “Just go with it.”
The manager stood on top of a stepstool, his hand dipped inside the wide-mouth jar. “Now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for.”
Kylie attempted to straighten the crown on Dexter’s head, wishing she had some bobby pins in her purse.
“And the lucky winner is,” the manager shouted, “number 432855!”
A high-pitched scream indicated that the winning ticket holder was located near the back of the line. After a little jostling, a short, rotund woman with bleached blond hair and dark roots elbowed her way to the front. She wore a gold lamé tunic top over black stretch pants that looked as if they’d been stretched well beyond their capacity.
“That’s me,” she trilled, handing her ticket to the bookstore manager. Then she grabbed Dexter by his shoulders and pulled him toward her. “Plant one on me, King!”
“Wait a minute,” Dexter began, “I’m not sure what’s going on here…”
The woman cut him off by slapping her thick lips over his mouth. She grasped the front of his shirt to tug him closer and he came halfway out of his chair. Strangled gurgles emanated from his throat.
Kylie shifted on her feet, itching to rescue him from this ravenous customer. Then again, the man did work as a gigolo. Surely he was used to dealing with women’s appetites.
At last the woman broke the kiss. Dexter fell back in his chair, the crown slipping off the top of his head and banging onto the table in front of him.
“What, no tongue?” the woman complained. “You’d think for a book that costs fifteen bucks I’d at least get a little tongue.”
“You bit me!” Dexter pulled a white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his lower lip.
“It was a love nip,” she huffed. “Straight from page forty-seven in your book.” She turned to face the crowd of women. “Save your money, girls. The King just fell of this throne.”
The manager hurried to her side. “Here is your gift certificate, good for one year at The Book Attic.”
“Well, at least this day isn’t a total waste.” She stuffed the gift certificate into her gold lamé purse.
Kylie’s heart plummeted as she saw the line of women in front of Dexter’s table slowly begin to disperse. Some tried to be subtle about it, turning their attention to the books on the shelves in front of them and surreptitiously laying down their copy of How To Jump-Start Your Love Life before walking away.
Perhaps most of them were only in it for the gift certificate and had never intended to buy the book. But something told her that if the kiss had been a success, the bookstore would have sold out.
To Kylie’s relief, one elderly woman did toddle up to the table and laid a copy of the book down in front of Dexter. He smiled up at the woman, flashing that sexy dimple in his chin. Kylie’s heart warmed. What woman could resist that?
“Your name, please,” he said, picking up a pen off the table.
“Oh, you don’t need to go to the trouble of signing it, young man. I just want to buy it.”
Kylie moved toward the table. “You’ll have to pay for the books at the cash register, ma’am. It’s right over there. But I’m sure Harry would be happy to autograph it for you. There’s no extra charge.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, opening the front cover.
The old lady smiled. “Well, if you insist.”
“What’s your name?” he asked, the pen poised over a crisp, blank page.
“Mrs. Herbert Dalrymple.”
Dexter began writing in a neat, even script. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dalrymple.” He signed the name Harry Hanover with a flourish, then handed it to her. “I hope you enjoy it.”
“Oh, I won’t be reading it,” she explained. “My refrigerator has been sitting crooked for over a year and I believe this little book is just the right size to even it out.”
Dexter’s smile faded. “I see.”
Mrs. Dalrymple reached out to gently pat his hand. “If I ever buy a new refrigerator, perhaps I’ll read it then. I’m sure it’s very good.”
“Thank you,” he mumbled, as she walked away. Then he looked up at Kylie. “Just go with it? Did you know that woman was planning to kiss me?”
“Not until a few minutes ago. Bob just told me about the raffle. Besides, I assumed that you’ve kissed lots of women in your profession, so you wouldn’t need any advance notice.”
“Thanks,” he said, dabbing at his lower lip. “Thanks a lot.”
“It will be better next time. We’ll be more prepared.”
“How?” he asked, shoving his handkerchief back into his pocket. “It should be obvious by now that I don’t know anything about How To Jump-Start Your Love Life.”
“Don’t worry, Harry,” she said, resisting the urge to scrub that woman’s lipstick off his mouth. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”
4
“HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN working for Studs-R-Us?” Kylie asked, handing him a glass of wine.
They hadn’t said a word about the disaster at The Book Attic on the drive back to Pittsburgh. Dexter had wondered if Kylie was rethinking her plan to have him impersonate Harry Hanover, until she invited him up to her apartment to review the next week’s schedule.
“We’re not allowed to reveal any personal information.” He sat sprawled on a blue beanbag chair in her living room, his long legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. Kylie and her roommate had an eclectic array of inflatable furniture and beanbag chairs scattered around the living room. Which only reinforced his belief that Kylie had sunk more money than she wanted to admit into her brother’s floundering business.
She blinked at his terse reply. “Oh.”
“It’s company policy.”
She took a seat on the purple inflatable sofa. “Well, I suppose I can understand that. Although, I have to say that for a gigolo, you’re not quite what I expected.”
He didn’t like