Out of Order

Allison groaned around a bite of cinnamon bun. “And can you imagine how horrible it would be if he was at meetings all evening long while I waited in his hotel room?”

“Pathetic,” Shelby agreed.

“Seriously. I’d be worse off than when I started.”

Gaze resting on the mochaccino machine as it churned out another foam-topped coffee, Shelby searched her brain. “Phone sex?”

“He has call waiting on his cell.”

Shelby coughed out an outraged laugh. “He wouldn’t.”

“He has.”

“Tell me again why you’re marrying this man?”

Allison laughed darkly, tipping forward as she shook her head. “He’s charming, intelligent, gorgeous and hardworking.” She straightened, flipped her hair back and groaned again. “He really is. I just have to figure out how to get back on top of his priority list.”

“Pictures,” said Shelby.

“Pictures?”

“Sexy pictures.”

“What? Like a magazine?”

Shelby pointed at Allison with her index finger, warming to the idea. “Yeah. Just like a magazine. Only you.”

Allison’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You. In sexy pictures. Hide them in his luggage. He stares at them for four days in New York, comes home, and voilà. Instant sex.”

“I don’t have any sexy pictures.”

“Have some taken.”

“By who?”

“Me, Dallas—”

“Dallas!”

“I’m joking. There are studios that do stuff like that. They even supply the clothes, the makeup, the props, the works.”

“Props?” Allison squeaked. “I don’t think I can do props.”

“I meant a feather boa, a fur rug. Sexy, not smutty.”

Allison looked skeptical.

“It’d work,” said Shelby.

“I don’t think I could—”

“We’ll call around, find some place with a female photographer. They give you the negatives. Nobody but you and Greg will ever know about it.”

Allison grimaced. “I really don’t know if I could do it.”