Dorothea was thrilled to book her first television gig, really. A thirty-second TV ad was nothing prestigious, but she knew from her time in the theater that every role counted, no matter how small. Her agent had assured her that this director was well-known in the business, too, responsible for several viral marketing campaigns she recognized from the past few years—and she was starring in his very first Superbowl ad, which meant millions of people across the country would see her smiling face when they tuned in.

Still, she had some… reservations. The script was corny, but that was to be expected—no, it was the outfit she’d been asked to wear that bothered her.

“You look cute!” her makeup artist, Peggy, assured her.

“Is ‘cute’ really the word?” Dorothea asked, examining herself in the mirror. To say the costume was revealing would be an understatement: she was wearing little more than a string bikini top and low-rise booty shorts, both sporting a classic cow-print pattern. A suede leather belt resting on her hips helped secure a tail to match the horns and ears decorating cowboy hat sitting on her dressing room table. She reluctantly put it on, followed by the final accessory: a choker adorned with a comically large bell.

“Sex sells,” Peggy murmured, far less confidently. “Or so they say.”

“Cars or perfume, maybe,” Dorothea said, adjusting the thigh-high stockings peeking out of her cowboy boots. “But cheese? Cheese sells itself.”

Speaking of: her gaze flicked across the room to find a heaping plate of cheese cubes, courtesy of her employer. She popped one into her mouth, letting out a pleased hum. “Ugh, see what I mean? It melts instantly on the tongue. And the tangy sharpness… it can be a bit much for some people, but to me it’s perfect.”

Peggy smiled. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I have a dairy allergy.”

“Tragic!” Dorothea chirped, her cheery mood unaffected. “But that was the pick-up I needed, I think. Shall we get going?” She was fired up and ready to kick this commercial’s ass.

Or so she thought. Unfortunately, her enthusiasm took another hit as soon as she stepped onto the set.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, fixated on the man who, she was soon informed, was their director. He was young for someone in his position, but he exuded the pretentious energy of someone with decades of experience. Between his flashy clothes, eye-catching red hair, and infuriatingly good bone structure, he could’ve made it as an actor himself. More importantly, Dorothea had met him before. Most importantly, he was headed straight for her.

“This our girl?” he asked with an amused smile, looking her up and down and letting out an impressed whistle. “Someone give the costuming department a raise.” He took off his sunglasses—of course he was the type to wear them inside—and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, miss. I’m—wait. Hang on. Have we…?”

“I believe we’re already acquainted, Sylvain,” Dorothea said, folding her arms across her chest—then dropping them when she realized that only brought more attention to her woefully exposed cleavage. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that this is your doing.”

He laughed. “Perhaps not.” There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he added: “But does that mean I left more of an impression on you than I thought? And here I was worried you’d completely forgotten me…”

Oh, how she’d tried. They’d only met a few months ago, when Sylvain began frequenting the jazz bar Dorothea had been singing at for years now. He was, admittedly, a good conversationalist, and he knew more about music than the average person. But it hadn’t taken long for her to notice he always left with a woman on his arm—and never the same one twice. Not much longer after that, he’d approached Dorothea with the intent to add her to his collection. Naturally, she’d refused.

And now he was her boss for the day. Great.

“I can’t believe you would resort to this,” she said. “Are you so incapable of taking ‘no’ for an—”

“Woah, slow down, Dorothea,” he cut in, raising his hands up. “This has nothing to do with me asking you out. I happen to take professionalism very seriously.” His eyes flicked down to her chest as he said it; at least he had the decency to look embarrassed. “Though I can understand if you find that difficult to believe, considering the circumstances.”

“It’s certainly one hell of a coincidence,” she said, still skeptical. “You really had no idea who you were hiring?”

“I don’t handle the casting,” Sylvain said. “I just asked my team to find a beautiful girl who could sing the jingle lyrics. Brunette, ideally, for a more down-to-earth vibe.” He pinched his chin between his fingers, looking amused. “Well, maybe I was thinking about you without realizing. And here you are—that means it’s fate, right?”

Dorothea rolled her eyes. The only fate he needed to worry about was her palm destined for his face. “So much for taking professionalism seriously.”

“Look,” he said, his tone stern—a stark contrast to his usual carelessness, compelling Dorothea to listen more carefully. “If you don’t want the money and the exposure—no pun intended—then I’m sure we can get someone else. But that would waste the crew’s time, and I’d rather not keep them here late. It’s not my style.”

She blinked, stunned by how quickly his demeanor had shifted. Maybe working with him wouldn’t be the worst thing. “No need,” she said. “I booked the job. I owe you professionalism, too.”

Sylvain smiled. “Glad to hear it. We’ll get started in five.”