Mistaking her irritation for concern, Chantel added, “Nothing formal, just a few shots of your guy in Swagger to use in a mock campaign for social media or a sample catalog layout. Something Boulder Holder could use to promote our line. Oh, can you capture that same rugged, everyday-hero feel like in the calendar, so I could show it to the marketing team?”
The correct answer was no.
No, Adam was not her guy. No, she wouldn’t boost his ego by shooting him in his briefs. And no, she definitely did not get a secret thrill at the idea of someone mistaking Adam as her boyfriend.
Unfortunately, there were two things more important than thrills and ego that Harper could never say no to. Ever.
Her grandmother. And a noble cause.
That this was her grandmother’s noble cause was the only reason Harper leaned in and whispered, “As long as it’s informal, I don’t think Adam would have a problem.”
After all, he had offered to help. Right after he’d stolen her spotlight.
“Beat the Heat Festival?” Adam asked, his right eye twitching as he looked down at the list of responsibilities that were outlined in the binder—a three-inch binder filled with color-coded tabs, approved vendors, and a phone tree like it was created before the invention of the Internet and e-mail. “No way. I’m a firefighter, not an event planner.”
“Have you seen the dent?” Captain Roman Brady sat back in his chair, his feet plopped up on the desk, one ankle crossed over the other, looking for all the world as though this wasn’t a big deal. “When Lowen found out it was from a bunch of tampons, he about shit a brick. So when his recommendation was something other than firing you, I agreed. You should be thanking me.”
Adam wanted to punch that smile off Roman’s smug face, but at the station Roman was his superior, and Adam would always honor that. Come Saturday, when they were boxing at the gym, he’d hand him his ass because Beat the Heat wasn’t just a day, it was a destination.
The annual picnic had started out as a laid-back afternoon of fun and games designed to promote fire awareness and prevention. But because it was held in a town that loved its community events, over the years it had morphed into one of the most anticipated weekends of summer. The picnic raised funds for the station’s Back-to-School Pack project, which provided kids with the right shoes, supplies, and books they needed to be successful in school. It was a great pay-it-forward project, allowed firefighters to connect with residents, and was a gigantic headache for the person tasked with its planning.
“I guess all that’s left to say is congratulations, Baudouin. You’re the official go-to guy for all things Beat the Heat.”
“Come on, man.” Adam cupped the bill of his SHFD hat with both hands and pulled it low on his head.
He didn’t want to do this. It was a responsibility usually tasked to someone’s wife or a rookie, not a senior member of the crew. “Give it to Daugherty. His wife loves all that Martha Stewart stuff.”
“Daugherty’s wife is pregnant, which is why we are short a planner. Plus, you’re more connected than Martha and have more game than the entire NBA.” Roman snapped his fingers. “Your family owns half the vines in this county. Hell, just a bottle of your sister’s wine could raffle off for as much as a thousand bucks.”
“I’ll call Frankie about the wine,” he said, knowing that when it came to his baby sister, it could cost him. Big-time. “But I’m not a party planner.”
“You have to have some kind of planner in your phone. Call them.”
A hot blonde with big blue eyes and an even bigger rack popped in his head. “Megan,” Adam said, clapping his hands. “She would be perfect.”
Megan was cute, had a hot little bod, and loved to party—which worked well since she was the senior event planner over at Parties to Go-Go. She and Adam had done a little flirting on New Year’s Eve, and a little more after the ball dropped, but she’d been called away for a party emergency before they could get better acquainted. She had apologized, given him her private number, and told him to call—anytime.
Maybe now was that time. A chance to be in “it’s go time” proximity with Megan for three fun-filled weeks was a tempting prospect—a prospect that should have had him smiling. Only instead he heard himself say, “Give the event to Seth and McGuire. They can share the duty and bond or some shit.”
“No can do.” Roman rested his folded hands behind his head. “The caterer is already on board, the date is cleared through the city, and the booth preregistration forms have already gone out. Now we just need someone to oversee the event. And Lowen wants the someone who dented his engine. So unless you want me to explain to the chief how you couldn’t have been driving the engine since you weren’t even at the station when the accident happened—”
“Nope.”