Barbara Dunlop - Beauty And The Billionaire

“She’s right,” came Hunter’s voice from the doorway.

Roger looked from Hunter to Sinclair and back again. “You knew about this?”

“Hadn’t a clue.” Hunter looked to Sinclair. “Taking a vacation?”

“I am.”

“Good for you. A refreshed employee is a productive employee.”

“I plan to be refreshed,” she said.

Hunter smirked. “I’m looking forward to that.”

“I’ve left notes for Amber,” Sinclair said to Roger. “The meetings with the Roosevelt Hotel have been rescheduled. Unless Chantal wants to take them. You could ask her. The florist order is nailed down. The music…Well, there’s a little problem with the band, but I’m sure Chantal or Amber can handle it.”

She dropped the last piece of mail in the waste basket and glanced around the room. “I think that about covers it.”

“This is unexpected,” said Roger through clenched teeth.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” asked Hunter.

“My office?” Roger responded.

“I meant Sinclair,” said Hunter, stepping aside from the open door.

Roger frowned.

Sinclair should have cared about his annoyance, and she should have been bothered by the fact that the CEO had just dismissed the president in order to talk to her. But she truly didn’t care. She had things to do, places to go, beauticians to meet.

Roger stalked out of the office, and Hunter closed the door behind him.

“Career-wise,” said Sinclair. “And by that, I mean my career. I’m not sure that was the best move.”

“You’re taking some time for the makeover?” asked Hunter.

She straightened a stack of reports and lifted them from her desktop. “You’re right that Lush Beauty Products is going through a huge transition. And you’re right I should thwart Roger by getting a makeover. And, honestly, I believe Roger and Chantal need some time alone to get to know one another.”

Hunter grinned, obviously understanding her Machiavellian motives.

“I’m a goal-oriented woman, Hunter. Give me a week, and I can accomplish this.”

“I’m sure you can. Any interest in accomplishing it in Paris?”

She squinted. She didn’t understand the question.

“I had an idea,” he said. He paused, obviously for effect. “The Castlebay Spa chain. It’s a very exclusive, European boutique spa chain, headquartered in Paris.”

She got his point and excitement shimmered through her. “We’re going to try again?”

“Oslands don’t quit.”

Enthusiasm gathered in her chest at the thought of another shot at a spa. She squared her shoulders. “Neither do Mahoneys.”

“Good to hear. Because that platinum card I gave you works in Paris.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You don’t need me to do the spa deal, and I don’t need to go to Paris. I’ve got things to do in New York.”

He took her hand. “I want you in on the spa deal. And Paris is the makeover capital of the world.”

“Paris is definitely overkill.” She didn’t need to cross an ocean to get a haircut and buy dresses. Plus, in Paris, she’d be with Hunter. And there was the ever present danger of sleeping together. Since they’d so logically decided against it last night, it seemed rather cavalier to take off to Paris together.

“Do I need reinforcements? I could call your sister. She’ll back me up.”

“Don’t you dare call Kristy.” Kristy would be over the moon at the thought of a Paris makeover for her sister. And Sinclair would have two people to argue with.

He pulled out his cell phone and waggled it in the air. “She’s on speed dial.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I’ve got nothing against cheating.”

His words from last night came back to her, but she didn’t mention it.

“I need you in Paris,” he said.

She didn’t believe that for a second. “No, you don’t.”

“I need your expertise on the Castlebay deal.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like my track record on spa deals is any good.”

“You know the Lush Beauty company and the products, and you can describe them a lot better than I can.”

“There’s a flaw in this plan,” she told him. But deep down inside, she knew Hunter was winning. If she wanted to beat Chantal at her own game, a Paris makeover would give her the chance she needed.

“Only flaw I can think of,” he said, shifting closer, “is that I desperately want to kiss you right now.”

“That’s a pretty big flaw,” she whispered.

“We’re handling it so far.” But he moved closer still, and his gaze dropped to her lips.

“How long would we be in Paris?”

“A few days.”

Her lips began to tingle in reaction to his look. “Separate rooms?”

“Of course.”

“Lots of time in public places.”

He returned his gaze to her eyes. “Chicken.”

“I’m only trying to save you from yourself.”

“Noble of you.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “If we do this-”

“The jet’s waiting at the airport.”

“Did I miss the part where I said yes?”

He reached for her hand. “I’m generally one step ahead of you, Sinclair.”

She shook her head, but she also grabbed her purse. Because she realized he was right. He had an uncanny knack for anticipating her actions, along with her desires.

They slept on the plane, and arrived in Paris a week before Valentine’s Day. Then a limousine took them to the Ciel D’Or Hotel. And Hunter insisted they get right to the makeover.

So, before Sinclair could even get her bearings, they were gazing up at the arched facade of La Petite Fleur-a famous boutique in downtown Paris. A uniformed doorman opened the gold-gilded glass door.

“Monsieur Osland,” he said and tipped his hat.

Sinclair slid Hunter a smirking gaze. “Just how many makeovers do you do around here?”

“At least a dozen a year,” said Hunter as their footfalls clicked on the polished marble floor.

“And here I thought I was special.” They passed between two ornate pillars and onto plush, burgundy carpeting.

“You are special.”

“Then how come the doorman knew you by sight? And don’t try to tell me you’ve been shopping for Kristy.”

“Like good ol’ cousin Jack wouldn’t kill me if I did that. They don’t know me by sight. They know me because I called ahead and asked them to stay open late.”

Sinclair glanced around, realizing the place was empty. “They stayed open late? Don’t you think you’re getting carried away here?” She’d agreed to a makeover, not to star in some remake of Pygmalion.

He chuckled. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

“Hunter.”

“Shhh.”

A smartly dressed woman appeared in the wide aisle and glided toward them.

“Monsieur Osland, Mademoiselle,” she smiled. “Bienvenue.”

“Bienvenue,” Hunter returned. “Thank you so much for staying open for us.”

The woman waved a dismissive hand. “You are most welcome, of course. We are pleased to have you.”

“Je vous présente Sinclair Manhoney,” said Hunter with what sounded like a perfect accent.

Sinclair held out her hand, trying very hard not to feel as if she’d dropped through the looking glass. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“And you,” the woman returned. “I am Jeanette. Would you care to browse? Or shall I bring out a few things?”

“We’re looking for something glamorous, sophisticated but young,” Hunter put in.

Jeanette nodded. “Please, this way.”

She led them along an aisle, skirting a six-story atrium, to a group of peach and gold armchairs. The furniture sat on a large dais, outside a semicircle of mirrored changing rooms.

“Would either of you care for a drink?” asked Jeanette. “Some champagne?”

“Champagne would be very nice,” said Hunter. “Merci.”

Jeanette turned to walk away, and Hunter gestured to one of the chairs.

Sinclair dropped into it. “Overkill. Did I mention this is overkill?”

“Come on, get into the spirit of things.”

“This place is…” She gestured to the furnishings, the paintings, the clothing and the atrium. “Out of my league.”

“It’s exactly in your league.”

“You should have warned me.”

“Warned you about what? That we’re getting clothes? That we’re getting jewelry? What part of makeover didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you go bankrupt.”

“You couldn’t bankrupt me if you tried.”

“I’m not going to try.”

“Oh, please. It would be so much more fun if you did.”

Jeanette reappeared, and Sinclair’s attention shifted to the half a dozen assistants who followed her, carrying a colorful array of clothes.

“Those are pink,” whispered Sinclair, her stomach falling. “And fuzzy. And shiny.” Okay, there was makeover, and then there was comic relief.

“Time for you to go to work,” said Hunter.

“Pink,” she hissed at him.

Hunter just smiled.

Jeanette hung two of the outfits inside a large, well-lit changing room. It had a chair, a small padded bench, a dozen hooks and a three-way mirror.

In the changing room, Sinclair stripped out of the gray skirt suit she’d worn on the plane, and realized her underwear was looking a bit shabby. The lace on her bra had faded to ivory from the bright white it was when she’d bought it. The elastic had stretched in the straps, and one of the underwires had a small bend.

She slipped into the first dress. It was a pale pink sheath of a thing. It clung all the way to her ankles, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Making matters worse, it had an elaborate beading running over the cap sleeves and all the way down the sides. And it came with a ridiculous ivory lace hood thing that made her look like some kind of android bride.

There was a small rap at the door. “Mademoiselle?”

“Yes?”

“Is there anything you need?”

Cyanide? “Would you happen to have a phone?” Or maybe an escape hatch out the back? She could catch a plane to New York and start over again.

“Oui. Of course. Un moment.”

Sinclair stared at the dress, having some very serious second thoughts. Maybe other women could pull this off, taller, thinner, crazier women. But it sure wasn’t working for her.

Another knock.

“Yes?” If that was Hunter, she wasn’t going out there. Not like this. Not with a gun to her head.

“Your phone,” said Jeanette.

Sinclair pulled off the hood, cracked the door and accepted the wireless telephone.

She dialed her sister Kristy, the fashion expert.

Kristy answered after three rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, you,” came Kristy’s voice above some background noise of music and voices. “What’s going on? Everything all right?”

“It’s fine. Well, not fine exactly. I’m having a few problems at work.”

“Really? That’s not like you. What kind of problems?”

“It’s a long story. But, I’m in Paris right now, and we’re trying to fix it.”

“Hang on,” said Kristy. “I’m at the Manchester Hospital Foundation lunch. I need to get out of the ballroom.” The background noise disappeared. “Okay. There. Did you say you were in Paris?”

Sinclair’s glance went to the three-way mirror. “Yes. I’m doing a makeover, but I think I many have taken a wrong turn here, and I need some advice.”

“Happy to help. What kind of advice?”

“What do I ask for? Is there something that’s stylish but not weird?”

“Define weird.”

“At the moment, these crazy people are trying to dress me like an android bride, porn queen.”

There was laughter in Kristy’s tone. “Crazy people? What did you do to upset the French?”

“It’s not the French. It’s Hunter.”

“Hunter’s in Paris?”

“Yes.”

Kristy was silent for a moment. “Are you sleeping with him again?” “No.”

More silence. “You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. What? You think I wouldn’t notice? We’re shopping for clothes.”

“I know things about Hunter that you don’t.”

“We’re not having sex, we’re shopping for clothes. And I’m all for that. Just not these clothes.” Sinclair glanced in the mirror again and shuddered.

“Where are you shopping?”

“La Petite Fleur.”

“Well, they’re good. Is somebody assisting you?”

“Yes. A nice lady named Jeanette, who appears to have horrible taste in dresses.”

“Put her on.”

“Just a minute.”

Sinclair cracked the door again. “Jeanette?”

“Oui?” The woman instantly appeared.

Sinclair held out the phone. “My sister wants to talk to you.”

If Jeanette was surprised by the request, she didn’t show it. She was gracious and classy as she took the phone, and Sinclair was grateful.

“Allô?” said Jeanette.

Sinclair closed the door. She didn’t want to risk Hunter calling her to come out there.

She stripped out of the dress and tried the other. It was made of black netting, with shoulder-length matching gloves. A puffy neckline of feathers nearly made Sinclair sneeze, while rows of horizontal feather stripes camouflaged strategic parts of her body. The netting base was see-through, so underwear would be out of the question beneath it.