Bringing Down Sam Read online

  BRINGING DOWN SAM

  by

  Leslie Kelly

  Copyright 2012 Leslie Kelly

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  A Note from Leslie on Bringing Down Sam

  Prologue

  "A single woman's number one goal is to get a ring on her finger. A single man's number one goal is to steer clear of jewelry stores.”- From 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment

  The voice emerging from the speakers of her car was confident, smooth and masculine. But no matter how attractive the sound, the words still made Eve Barret want to punch something. "Sexist jerk," she snarled as she settled for smacking the "off" button.

  As she stopped at a red light in downtown Philadelphia, Eve realized she was clutching the steering wheel so hard her palms hurt. She eased up, acknowledging she'd mentally pictured having Sam Kenneman's throat in her grip.

  She simply couldn't stand the man. She'd never met him, never even set eyes on him, but she detested him. As did just about every other unmarried woman in America.

  Eve took a few deep, calming breaths wondering why she'd paused on that particular station when she'd first heard he was to be this afternoon’s guest.

  "Morbid curiosity," she muttered, feeling like a highway rubber-necker looking at an accident scene. Only a woman with a sick sense of curiosity would listen to the musings of Sam Kenneman, the author of the latest hit in the book-battle-of-the-sexes, 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment.

  When Eve had first heard of his book, months before, she'd assumed it was a joke. It seemed the hints on avoiding long-term relationships and marriage Kenneman had written about in a series of humorous articles in His World magazine had gained something of a cult following. His ideas had achieved huge popularity on the Internet, and publishers clamored for a book.

  What reviewers called a humor book, many men called a dating manual. Kenneman's words had become their mantra. Soon, women started complaining that men were taking his words seriously. Eve had heard about his Good Morning America appearance, when the author had said it would take a ton of cement stuck to his shoes to make him stand at an altar and say, "I do." Supposedly, the females in the audience hadn't known whether to boo him for his work, or swoon at his feet for his good looks.

  Turning a corner, she noticed a covered bus stop near the edge of the street. On the side of it was a poster-sized ad for Sam Kenneman's book. Groaning, she sped past it. She couldn't escape the man! For the past few weeks, each telephone conversation she'd had with her best friend, Leanne, had included his name.

  "Dumped because of a stupid book," Eve said, shaking her head in disgust. Eve couldn’t believe Leanne had been jilted by a man she loved because of a testosterone-laden humor book.

  When she thought of Sloan, Leanne's ex, she conceded the breakup wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The old adage “Good riddance to bad rubbish” definitely applied. The guy had been a schmuck, no doubt, but he'd been Leanne's schmuck. And Leanne sure hadn't deserved to be ditched by a guy who wasn't nearly good enough for her. Especially not one who cited insulting reasons right out of Kenneman's book, waving it at her as he walked out.

  Leanne was a self-confident, intelligent woman. But she'd been devastated by the experience. Hearing the misery in her voice when they talked on the phone had been agonizing for Eve, and she looked forward to comforting her in person tonight.

  She generally saw Leanne, as well as their other two best friends, once a month. But Eve had been busy with end of the year activities at the private school where she taught and hadn't been able to make it last time. So tonight’s gathering was long overdue.

  Sighting her destination, Eve steered her car into the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant. The lot was nearly empty, as usual, which was one reason they always met here. That and the to-die-for enchiladas. The four of them had discovered this place years ago and were Casa Rosada's most faithful customers.

  As she entered the restaurant, she heard one breathy, high-pitched, unmistakable female voice. "Sam Kenneman is public enemy number one of every single woman in this country."

  Eve walked through the dimly lit bar area and overheard the angry declaration. Her friends hadn't noticed her yet, and Eve studied them with affection as she approached. Ruthie, the petite redhead whose voice could be heard from the door, sat with her back toward the aisle. Across from her sat Diana, tall, lean, her brown hair cut short and no-nonsense, matching her attitude. She rolled her dark eyes in resignation as Ruthie chattered on. Next to Diana was Leanne, who observed them with her customary cool detachment, though an indulgent smile creased her lips.

  "You three look like a Clairol ad. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead sitting in a bar griping about men," Eve said as she slipped into the empty chair next to Ruthie.

  "You're late," Diana barked.

  Eve took no offense. Diana always sounded grumpy. She had a gravelly, raspy voice that could make her sound ticked off even if singing "It's A Small World" at Disneyland. Then again, remembering her last trip to Disneyland, Eve supposed anyone would.

  "Sorry. Remember, I don't live right here in Philadelphia, like you. Took me over an hour because of traffic."

  Before Eve had a chance to slip her purse strap off her shoulder, their regular young waiter was at her elbow, an eager smile on his face. "Your usual margarita tonight?"

  After Eve nodded, and the waiter hurried away, Ruthie giggled and said, "At least he didn't drop the entire tray of glasses like he did a few months ago when you walked through the door."

  Eve shrugged uncomfortably. "That was just an accident."

  Diana's old wise-cracking south Jersey accent slipped out. "Sure hon. Like it was an accident when the guy following you in the park tripped head first into the fountain last year."

  "Or when the artist said he was going on hunger strike until you posed for him," Ruthie said.

  Eve knew her friends were teasing, but she couldn't hide a frown. Across the table, Leanne caught her eye and gave her a commiserating smile. Of course Leanne understood; after all, she and Eve were the most alike, at least emotionally. They'd both fought to overcome their pasts, though for different reasons. Physically, the only thing they had in common was the blond hair. While Eve's was a long, loose curtain of gold, Leanne's ash colored curls were usually worn up in an elegant twist.

  "So, what were you talking about before I arrived?" Eve asked, though she knew the answer.

  Ruthie was immediately distracted, as usual. "Remember the musician I went out with, who actually bothered to ask me whether I liked blood and guts movies?"

  "Yeah," Diana retorted. "And we know you lied through your teeth, then sat through an hour of guck before you barfed up your popcorn and Sno-Caps right into his lap."

  "Well, that's right out of Kenneman's book. I just thought I'd die," wailed Ruthie, ignoring Diana completely. "To think, the jerk tells men to take women to those shoot-em-up testosterone-oozing movies as a litmus test."

  "And you failed big time," Diana said with a smirk. "Just like you would have in Bio-101 if your lab partner hadn't dragged you through dissection hoping you'd set him up with Eve."

  Ruth wrinkled her nose at Diana and got a look of disgust in return. Eve hid a grin. The two of them acted just like they had as teenagers. It seemed on these Tuesday nights, when they were together, they all fell back into their accustomed roles.

>   They'd met in college. Forming a friendship, they’d become roommates in a townhouse...and lifelong friends. Ruthie, the bubbly dreamer, worked as a chef in her family’s fine old Philadelphia hotel, and looked the part with her pretty, round face and soft figure about which she constantly complained. Diana, the protective, dark-haired ambitious one, who had nudged them relentlessly through their final exams, was now a magazine executive. Leanne, the reserved blonde who seemed to feel things the most deeply, now satisfied her creative streak with interior design.

  Then there was Eve. The former loner, the ex-model, the one who had never had a real, true female friend before that first year of college.

  They were an unlikely quartet, perhaps. But there were no three people on earth she loved more.

  Eve glanced across the table, noting the tension around Leanne's tightly held smile. Ruthie and Diana didn't appear to notice, leading Eve to wonder if Leanne had told them the details of her recent breakup. She doubted it. Though Ruthie was a complete scatterbrain, even she wouldn't have been callous enough to mention Kenneman if she'd known the whole story.

  "Well, it serves you right, Ruthie, for going out with the guy again after your first date when he asked you to pick up the tab!" Diana said with a definite rolling of her eyes.

  "He said he was short on funds because he was between gigs."

  "Gigs? I bet the closest that loser's been to being a real musician was playing oboe in his in sixth grade band."

  Leaning back in her chair, Eve sipped her drink, listening to Diana and Ruthie's banter. She'd missed them in the past months. These Tuesday night meetings kept her connected to the adult world after days of talking to nobody but moody, pubescent kids. These dinners were her chance to be herself with the three people who knew her best in the world.

  Eve still wondered what might have happened to her if she hadn't found them. She'd been so lost, so alone, with her father thrown in jail, her money gone, her modeling career over. All before her eighteenth birthday.

  They'd taken her into their lives, their hearts. They were her sisters in every way except biologically. They'd bonded to form their own family, and each holiday, birthday, heartbreak or bitching session in her adult life had been spent in their company.

  There was nothing she wouldn't do for them.

  Ruthie rested her elbows on the table and plopped her chin on her fist. "I don't know how you can stand working with Kenneman, Diana," she said. "Though, he is kind of dishy."

  Diana crossed her arms in front of her chest, giving Ruthie a look of disgust. "It’s been tough enough being hired as a senior editor at His World, the only female on the editorial staff. Looking at his smirking face as he talks about his stupid sexist articles and his stupid sexist book make it ten times worse. So I don't care to hear how 'dishy' the guy is."

  "Oh, I know," Ruthie said, nodding so hard her red curls nearly bounced into the long-stemmed green goblet the obsequious waiter had just placed on the table. "I'm not really interested of course. I just would love to see someone bring Mr. Big-Shot writer down a peg...let him deal with a broken heart for once."

  Eve slid her hand across the white tablecloth and pushed against the cactus shaped base of her glass, sliding her margarita out of harm's—hair’s—way.

  "But what kind of woman could bring down a handsome single man who wrote a book called 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment?" Leanne said softly, so softly Eve almost didn't hear her.

  Glancing at her friend, Eve saw a look of melancholy on Leanne’s face. The other woman stared at the potted palm next to their table, not teased out of her bad mood by Diana and Ruthie's bickering.

  "Yeah, what kind of woman would it take?" Diana said, but her words were speculative. "I mean, who could bring Philadelphia’s most avowed bachelor to his knees?"

  Eve brought her drink to her lips and sipped it, knowing her friends would move off the topic eventually. The man-bashing never lasted too long. But, for some reason, the silence around the table stretched on. Glancing over the rim of her glass, she saw all three of the other women staring at her. Ruthie's green eyes sparkled in anticipation, Diane's brown ones were purely speculative. Even sweet, sad Leanne looked amused.

  "Forget it." Eve shook her head. "Never. Not in a million years. You can't talk me into this, so don't even try."

  Her friends had dragged her into wacky schemes before. She still couldn't bring herself to walk into Rusty's Grille because of the time they'd decided to try to save a poor lobster swimming alone in a tank near the dining area. That was during Ruthie's "I'm a vegetarian" stage. Of course, Eve was the one nominated to execute the rescue. Ruthie would never have been able to bring herself to touch something so...icky. Diana swore if she got her hands on it someone had better have some melted butter nearby. Leanne was simply too worried about getting caught. So Eve stuck her hand in, giving the creature a strained smile through the distorted glass hoping he'd know she was trying to help him. She didn't even notice one of the little sucker's claws was unbound. Ouch.

  There were other instances, so many she couldn't remember them all. But this time she was standing firm. There was no way on earth she was going to try to set some guy up for a romantic fall. Not on a bet, not on a dare. It wasn't gonna happen.

  She told herself that, again and again.

  Yet, somehow, two hours later, Eve found herself nodding wearily as they went over the plan one last time. Even Diana, usually the voice of reason, had been sucked in and was agreeing with the ridiculous idea, and she had a lot more to lose than anyone else. Probably because she was also incredibly protective of Leanne.

  "So, we're clear," Diana said. "You'll stay in the company condo here in Philadelphia for at least two weeks."

  "I still don't see why I have to stay there," Eve said, still wondering how on earth they’d gotten her to agree. It was insane. It was risky. It was just plain stupid and juvenile.

  But somehow, they’d gotten her to say yes. Maybe because she just couldn’t stand seeing the sadness in Leanne’s face any more and her agreement had made her best friend smile. Maybe because she’d had a couple of margaritas.

  "Well, he's sure not going to buy you as a big world-traveling model if you stay at the Budget Inn, is he?”

  “Probably not. And that’s about all I could afford.”

  “And if you bunk with one of us, he might suspect something!"

  "You're sure you're not going to get in hot water for letting me stay at the condo?"

  "Absolutely not. The penthouse sits vacant forty weeks out of the year. It's for execs and high-profile visitors the magazine brings in. No problem whatsoever with you using it."

  "Goody," Eve mumbled, reaching for the pitcher.

  "I'll do my part. I can make sure Sam first sees you at just the right moment, and under the perfect circumstances." A secretive look crossed Diana's face, and Eve could only imagine what she had in mind. "Ruthie will supply all the aphrodisiacs needed. You get him to take you to her hotel for dinner and she’ll be sure to load him up on oysters and chocolate."

  “And me on garlic and onions,” Eve muttered.

  Diana shot her a dirty look. “Eve...”

  “Well,” Eve insisted, “I said I’d make him want me, not that I’d let him have me!”

  "What’s my job?" Leanne asked.

  "You're on call to be my cheerleader," Eve said quickly, taking Leanne’s hand. "And to listen to me whine when Diana works me like a slave at the magazine office."

  Diana smirked. "Sure, hon. We all know you just hate the thought of getting in front of a camera again."

  Eve didn't know how she felt about that part of their plan. She understood the necessity. If she was going to get Sam Kenneman to fall for her, she had to be the ideal woman—the one he described in his book—no matter how personally unappealing. Playing ditzy model would help with that goal.

  "So, Eve, do you think you can do it? Get this guy to go nuts for you, then drop him like a hot potato, in as public a way possib
le? Preferably with paparazzi witnesses?" Ruthie asked, grinning with wicked anticipation.

  "She can do it," Leanne said, her eyes sparkling with humor.

  It was the sparkle that made Eve nod her head in agreement. Leanne deserved vindication. So did every other American woman whose man had read 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment and decided his successful, career-oriented girlfriend was too smart, too witty, too much a real woman to stick with.

  Sam Kenneman had better look out. He was about to take a one-way drive straight down to dumpsville. And Eve Barret was going to be the one behind the wheel.

  Chapter 1

  "Never date women who are too smart. It’s too easy for them to figure out you’re lying when you say you have to go on a secret mission overseas and won’t be calling for a while." -- from 101 Ways To Avoid Commitment

  Eve groaned as she finished reading more of Sam Kenneman's book. Pitching the thing across the dressing room, she nodded with satisfaction as it careened off the edge of a makeup tray and hit the floor. "I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  The stylist spraying a ton of hairspray on her long curls shook her head. "Oh, no, honey, you're going to be fabulous."

  The woman smiled, obviously thinking Eve was nervous about the impending photo shoot. If only that were true. Eve wished the bouncing in her stomach was merely a case of butterflies at the thought of being in front of a camera again. But it wasn't the photo shoot making her nervous. It was the live audience.

  "I can't believe you've never done any modeling before," the stylist said. "With your looks, you could be huge."

  Eve nearly laughed. Not done any modeling? Good grief, she'd been stuck in front of a camera when she was a year old! She'd done ads for baby food, diapers, dolls, clothes, anything a pretty child could be forced to pitch.

  She'd never, ever expected to model again. Not even for a prank. It wasn't because she hadn't liked it. She'd found in the years since she'd walked away from her career that she missed the excitement and the fun of pretending to be someone else. But the bitter feelings of being used had tainted the memories.