Bona Fide Beauty Page 4

  He smiled. “It’s beneficial at times and no good in others. Tell me what you’d want from this experience.”

  More questions. Obviously he asked more than he gave answers. No surprise the girls in the lobby were gossiping about the state of the business and rumors about the company being steps away from closing their doors. If she wanted to secure his help and get the money, she had to indulge him. “I want to have...”

  “Yes?”

  “Give me a minute.” Ideas rattled through her brain about the shows she’d seen, the movies, even a couple musicals. Makeovers meant getting respect, gaining sexual appeal, lighting up the room, and having confidence. Usually the woman in question always got the guy they wanted, too. There were also new clothes and makeup, not her thing. Maybe she just wanted—“People to take me seriously.”

  “If you’re acing work projects, I’d think you already have people doing that.”

  “You’d think so, but not really.”

  Devid moved away and took a seat behind his desk. “Let’s talk more about this. I’m familiar with women, well known for doing a good job, not being taken seriously. But at first glance you appear confident and sure of yourself.”

  Maybe she should have gone for looking more drowntrodden? Truth be told, confidence in her abilities earned her varying results. Time and again her co-workers made jokes, Mark made jabs, and even Royce, her boss, changed the subject when she broached certain topics. “I get your assessment, but when I try to imply I’d like a management position or that I’m serious about pursuing a relationship, people make comments trying to discourage me from the goal. Being sure of myself falls flat.” The reasoning sounded a bit messy, but she had no other way to explain it. Her friends were all supportive and kind.

  “I think you’d benefit from simply being more assertive with the people closest to you.”

  “How do you suggest that? I have a hard time keeping curse words out of my normal speech.”

  “You haven’t used any here.”

  “That’s because I’m trying really hard.” The fucks and the damns were breaths away if she’d wanted to call on them. Everyone got used to the sailor part of her, yet it didn’t make good impressions. Her goals required her to curb those words until he committed to helping her. “Will you help me?”

  The room went quiet except for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the far corner. Seconds drained away, signaled by the constant tick and tock. She crossed fingers on both hands and tried her best not to let the negativity in her brain take over.

  Finally something happened; he started flipping through her papers again. “You didn’t fill out all the paperwork.”

  “I can.” She pushed herself to the edge of the seat. Her toes tapped on the floor. “Right now, in fact.”

  “Don’t bother because I’m really not seeing how I can help you.” He pushed away from the desk, rising to walk over and water a plant. “Your willingness to commit and troubles notwithstanding, I don’t think you’re serious about this.”

  “I think you’re starting to rank up there with my cousin... in other words, you’re an asshole.”

  He turned, one eyebrow raised in that condescending manner. “Really? And that’s how you continue to plead your case.”

  The fucking nerve. “Pleading isn’t my style, and I won’t beg. No, I’ll leave the job to your fan club in the lobby. You’re a cocky sonuvabitch, and it’s no surprise your business is failing. If I had my nose in the air at every potential client, believing they weren’t worthy of my precious time, I’d be out of work too.”

  Grabbing her purse at her feet, she stood, ready to march out that door and straight to her cousin’s office to tell him to fuck off. He could take his money and shove it, but then she’d never save the house. Damn!

  Stalking towards her, his face filled with anger, Dev stopped inches short from her. “And that’s why I wouldn’t help you. Too headstrong and unwilling to see when anything is your fault. You lie and then offer false platitudes instead of just being yourself. I wouldn’t have confidence in you either. Get out.”

  “Really? You’re a piece of work. I wish you the best in the unemployment office.” A little over the top? Maybe, but he’d hurt her feelings, and she stomped out of the office. Men could go to the devil, especially the ones at Bona Fide. She’d take her chances with a payday loan or personal loan service company. There had to be options. It’d be a cold day in hell before she accepted her cousin’s help without an apology from Devid.

  4

  Dev scowled at the retreating backside of Mark and the last investor as they headed for the exit. He followed them out the doors but made a left toward the north end of the parking lot. The meeting had been brutal and predictable, the blame of Bona Fide’s red balance sheet being laid at his feet. Claims and evidence were presented for his inability to bring in new business. Then there was a survey showing how the majority of female clients didn’t want to work with a female consultant because “they found them untrustworthy.”

  Dev found the board’s proof prejudiced and far from impartial, which is what he’d said. Mark had quieted him down and then told the board Dev would begin taking on new clients— preferably female, once a trial run was executed. Corporate consultations would be reassigned, etc. The words were everything they’d rehearsed, except he’d told his partner’s cousin no. He shook his head, climbed into his BMW, and fired up the engine.

  She came with too much baggage and was clearly hiding something—what that could be bothered him. Sure, he could work around those issues, focus on the glaring problems like how she dressed in poorly fitted trousers and blouses old women wore. She needed help, badly. A closet clean-out and shopping excursion might open her eyes, but who’s to say a guiding hand wouldn’t exchange her sailor’s mouth for passive-aggressive verbal barbs. If anything, their interview proved clothes were the least of her problems. As Victoria would say, the girl embodied a hot mess. He’d always enjoyed messes.

  Except when they use your tools against you and convince you to sell controlling interest in your company to a group of investors.

  Kat wasn’t Pru in a lot of ways. From the moan she’d let out while he’d retrieved the water, a sultry sound etched into his mind, to her refusal to be cowed by his comments, she radiated a subtle beauty and appeal. She stood her ground, and he admired her for it. Paired with her wishy-washy confidence, he’d been drawn to her like a siren sending out a call. He wanted to help, to fix. To guide her on the path by bolstering her confidence, restoring her self-image, and awaking her to her own strengths.

  He pulled into his favorite bar and grill, Jimmy’s, determined to put all the wayward thoughts behind him with a stiff drink, a good meal, and plenty of alone time to brainstorm a better plan.

  Jimmy’s was one part sports aficionado mixed with a hint of dive bar and a splash of man cave. The small hole in the wall, positioned in a strip mall in the city of Rogers near the commonly known “restaurant row,” proved a wonderful place to get away from the corporate crowd and blend in with the blue-collar folks. The hostesses, bartenders, and waitstaff knew him. They gave him the same booth, which magically never had customers in it, and positioned him at the back of the restaurant, far away from the door. He liked eating with a small bit of privacy. Once seated, his drink of choice, scotch on the rocks appeared.

  Jenna, his waitress for the evening, received his nod of appreciation. She wore the standard jean skirt and tight T-shirt top with Jimmy’s emblazoned across the front in black Comic Sans letters. He recalled her mentioning she was in business school and this job, while not ideal, worked with her class schedule. “The usual, Mr. Esposito?”

  “What’s the special tonight?”

  “The Swiss and mushroom burger with steak fries and a side salad.” She grabbed her notepad and waited patiently.

  He stroked his goatee and gave a smile, before shaking his head.

  “The usual then.”

  “Yes, but add some extr
a honey mustard.” The meeting from earlier required extra dipping, and he’d happily “eat his feelings” as Victoria often called it.

  “You got it.”

  He gave her backside a glance, but any appreciation was replaced with a question about Kat’s opinion of miniskirts—more precisely, had she ever worn one. He frowned at the random thought and threw back the drink—no sipping tonight.

  “I knew you’d come here to pout after the meeting.” His ex’s voice cut through the rush of relief from the scotch and dropped a stone in his belly. She’d been one of the loudest voices at the investors meeting, a constant reminder of his failure, smirks and sultry eyes be damned.

  Pru still looked flawless in her pinstripe skirt and white blouse, the matching jacket hanging from the crook of her arm and a daiquiri in her hand. “Won’t you invite me to sit?”

  How had he missed her when he arrived? The decisive moment, yes or no. His mama had raised a gentleman, but this woman instinctively drove away those habits. Her downturned lips and puppy-plea look reminded him of the arguments, her inability to see when her words hurt. Screw it. He’d have Jenna pack up his dinner. “No, I’m just getting ready to leave.”

  “That’s all right. I only need a few minutes.” Pru gently slid into the seat across from him. Obviously, the phrase “no means no” didn’t do anything for her. It never had. “So… it’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

  Her smile of white teeth flashed in the light from the Mason jar lamps hovering over the table.

  He’d taught her to never relent, to own the conversation, direct it, and experience success. Most men enjoyed women who knew how to make a man feel important and handle tense situations. She’d become a pro. He could get up and walk out, but it would only mean she’d accost him somewhere else. Better to let this play out. Fast.

  Dev signaled Jenna for another drink. “Why are you here? If I recall, this place is too lowbrow for you.”

  “We didn’t get a chance to speak one-on-one, and I wanted to apologize for the lambasting at the meeting.” Another smile, a sip of her drink, and the slide of her fingers along the stem were the subtle invitation signs of a future sexual encounter. He’d taught her that too, but as something fun between them and not as a trick to be deployed on anyone, even himself.

  Before he could disabuse her of the belief they’d be jumping into bed together anytime soon, Jenna appeared with the second drink. “Your dinner will be right out, Dev. Anything for you, Ms. Stone?”

  Damn. Jenna had been working at Jimmy’s too long if she still recalled his ex’s name. Hopefully this little conversation didn’t give the impression they were back together.

  Pru gasped, eyes narrowing on his all-too-innocent waitress.

  Jenna jerked back, eyes darting around the table and floor. “Is something wrong? Something on my clothes, in my teeth?”

  “No, nothing in your teeth.” Pru leaned forward on the table. “It’s just the makeup you’re wearing. Not for you for sure. Wouldn’t you agree, Dev?”

  Dulce Madre. The final ax in their relationship had been Pru’s insistence on playing the image game wherever they went. She’d have Dev make image suggestions for everyone—waitresses, cashiers, department store clerks, even her mother. It had been embarrassing, especially when Pru made suggestions to his sister at the family Christmas party. The embarrassed flush of Juanita’s face, a murmured “puta” comment, and then Pru had accidently tripped, spilling her wine all over his sister’s sweater, a gift from a fellow teacher. He’d caused all of it, and that had been the official beginning of the end.

  Jenna still stood there looking at him imploringly, desperate for him to tell her something. So he did.

  “Honestly, you should wear what you like to wear, regardless of anyone else’s opinion. Can I get my dinner boxed up, to go?”

  Pru’s expression held a glimmer of satisfaction and pride. Her little games cheapened his abilities. “See Jenna, he always has the best advice for everything tasteful, and I don’t need anything.”

  How did she ever convince me to sell out to a group of investors?

  Dev noticed the waitress walked away briskly, her face a mask. He couldn’t tell if what he said had ruined her night, but she’d definitely be winding her way to the bathroom any second.

  Pru cleared her throat. “Now, back to business.”

  “To be clear, my mind hasn’t changed about us.”

  “I know, you need space and time. I’m willing to give you that, but it’s not the reason I came to talk.”

  Dev couldn’t help but chuckle. “Then what did you want to talk about?”

  “I have an idea for how to put Bona Fide on the map and help all the ones who really need help. It’s about image consulting at reduced costs for college graduates, single mothers fighting the system, and waitresses like Jenna.” She looked surprisingly staid, hands in a steeple setting, eyes locked on his.

  Here she went again, using her position on his board of investors to try and wrest control of his vision, his company from him. “So, you want to change Bona Fide?”

  Her smile re-appeared. “Of course not, just add life preparation courses. The idea is minimal fees, low-cost classes, with corporate sponsors for job training, conversational training, fashion, business acumen, computers, and a host of other ideas. We’d start with image consulting and branch out. It wouldn’t be about helping elite people with money. It’d be about bringing services like yours to those who can’t afford the high-dollar treatment Bona Fide offers. My idea is for you to turn over the managing of the paying clients to one of your other consultants and head up this new concept.”

  Dev took a sip of his scotch to let Pru sweat for a minute. The hypocrisy present in her statements about his previous and current efforts was apparent. Whether blunt or not, she wanted him to give up his position as head consultant and CEO, allowing him to still be a part of the company, but at her direction. And leaving the company under her thumb for longer. “How would we pay for this?”

  “An additional loan. One that myself and the other investors would supply of course.”

  At that rate, Bona Fide would never be able to pay off their investors and eventually own the business themselves. The original idea had always been to only use the investors as a temporary crutch, not a permanent one.

  “First, you were part of those elite people with money whom I helped. Second, I’m not giving up the main reason I started this company. Third, I planned to offer all those things, for free to the shelter and other nonprofits in the area. I regret listening to you about selling interest in the company for a chance at money to expand. I certainly won’t listen to you spout my own ideas back to me as if they were your own. I want this to be the last time we sit across from each other, outside of investors meetings.”

  “You can’t possibly mean that.” Pru’s voice cracked with each word, and moisture pooled around her eyes. He felt like an ass, but she brought out the worst in him, especially when she wanted to pervert his dream even further.

  “Yes, I do.”

  Her face turned into a menacing scowl. There was the vengeful woman he’d become acquainted with in the last days before they’d separated. “You asshole, I gave you all of me. I’m still willing to give you everything. I’m supportive and much better than most of the trash in this area. Maybe the rumors are right. You like to fix them, bang ’em, and leave ’em.”

  Dev tossed his glass back and let the last vestiges of alcohol slide down his throat. Time to go. “There you have it. That’s me in a nutshell, even though you’re the only client I ever broke my rules for. A mistake I can’t fix.”

  The attack dog expression of hers mellowed, barely. “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. My temper. You know I didn’t mean anything I said, right? I want to fix us so badly, and this life preparation idea would be perfect for you. The shelter has your monetary support; they don’t need more of your time. If you’d give me—”

  “Feel free to eat my dinner.” H
e placed a twenty on the table and tucked his wallet into his back pocket as he stood. “One other thing, don’t stop seeing your therapist. No man, even a rebound one, wants someone who rages at the drop of a dime. Anger doesn’t suit a pretty face.”

  And he left before she could respond. Most men would’ve been happy to get the last word in, even a cruel one, but he didn’t find satisfaction in acting like a jerk. Not now, not ever. Fuck. He’d let the senseless thoughts slip out, revenge words for the way she’d made him feel—helpless.

  No sense in denying it any longer. He needed to get back to doing what he always wanted to do… and it started by taking on Mark’s cousin as a client. This was his dream job, and he needed to stop treating it like an enemy. He’d show Pru, Mark, and all the other investors why he was born to run Bona Fide. To make it through the trial run with Kat, he’d need to be more detached, as distanced as he’d been with Pru.

  I’m learning from past mistakes.

  Give the facts, hard and cold without the nice and sweet he usually peppered in, the glimmer of attraction kept locked up tight.

  “Goodbye”—Kat shut the front door and then, for added measure—“and good riddance.” The paper clenched in her hand, she walked back into the living room, stamping her feet the entire way. Now she wished she had convinced Devid to help her.

  She’d been so sure she’d make it without his commitment, without Mark’s money. The ten thousand dollar estimate in her hand proved otherwise, and this one was the electrical only. She’d need a couple of bottles of wine before it was all over. The doorbell chimed, echoing through the house. Immediate dread clenched in her chest, reminding her of what Betty said heart attacks felt like—tightness in the lungs, difficulty breathing. She was losing it.

  Opening the door, she half expected to see the contractor back to tell her the price had doubled. Instead, the very friend she’d been thinking of stood there looking out at her poor excuse for a front yard. When she turned, she smiled, so damnably cute. Blond hair and blue eyes, the woman could’ve been a model, especially with her pencil skirt and blouse. The woman dressed to the nines with a late 50s or early 60s style. Few could pull it off.