by Landra Graf
Bona Fide Beauty
Bona Fide, Book One
Landra Graf
After Glows Publishing
Bona Fide Beauty
© Copyright 2018 Landra Graf
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Published by Davis Raynes Publishing Group, LLC
dba After Glows Publishing
PO Box 224
Middleburg, FL 32050
AfterGlowsPublishing.com
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Cover by AG Designs & Formatting
Formatting by AG Designs & Formatting
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Introduction
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Noted from the Publisher
Bona Fide Beauty
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She's going to lose her house.
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Kathleen Baum has four months to complete the city's required code changes to her grandma's home. Otherwise, she loses it. Strapped for cash, Kat's only way to get the funds is to bargain with her devil cousin. She agrees to an unwanted makeover, but she's not good at taking direction, pretend or not.
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He's going to lose his business.
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Devid Esposito has worked all his life to build a successful image consulting company, but if he doesn't start bringing in new clients the business will be bankrupt in three months. The board is ready to oust him when his partner, Kat's cousin, enters with the opportunity to get his mojo back; all he needs to do is help Kat, with a makeover. Unfortunately, Dev doesn't take on female clients anymore since the last one broke his heart and used his tips against him.
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When they find out they have a common enemy, his heart-breaking client is her code-breaking-whistleblower, and the easiest way to bring the foe down is to accept the other's help. Losing their hearts to each other was the one thing they didn't plan for.
1
When the doorbell rang, Kathleen Baum thought of her grandma’s wise words. Only religious cults or bad news rang a bell before nine in the morning. It was a little past eight, and Kat had her purse in hand ready to leave for work. She opened the door and regretted the choice instantly.
“Good morning, Miss Baum,” said the unwanted intruder, Pru Stone. The woman had been nothing but a menace over the last four months, and like grubs in a yard, just when Kat thought she was gone, she’d reappear.
“I’m in a hurry, late to work. Afraid I can’t talk about the Bentonville Beautification Project, but just to reiterate, I’m not selling.”
Pru tsked, swiping a tuft of blond hair over her shoulder while shuffling on her feet, the bright purple pumps she wore clacking against the stone walkway. “That’s not why I stopped by this morning. You see, my friend Tom here”—she pointed to the blue-suit-jacketed gentleman behind her, the one analyzing the side wall of Kat’s grandmother’s house—“he’s with the city code enforcement department. Some of the board members are concerned your house isn’t to code, and well, the project is bringing more scrutiny to the houses around downtown.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Miss Baum.” Blue-jacket Tom came forward and extended a hand. A hand she refused to shake. He held her gaze for a prolonged minute and then gave up. “The inspection will take no more than twenty minutes. I can walk through quickly.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
Tom scoffed, and that’s when she noticed his shirt buttons were unevenly buttoned, causing an overlap of material at the bottom of his untucked shirt. “This isn’t a television show, and I am here on the authority of the mayor.”
“Prove it. For all I know, you’re planting drugs for that evil bitch.”
“Such language isn’t becoming of a lady.” Pru brought one of her manicured hands to her mouth as if to express outrage. Nails the same color as her heels, the woman was a genuine purple people eater.
“I never said I was one.” Kat held her own manicure-less hand up, mocking the hoity-toity salute, and then swiped her ponytail back behind her shoulder.
Tom whipped out his credentials and an inspection form, signed by the mayor, giving him authority to request entry to her home. She had to be gracious, even if he held a gun to her head in the form of a signed piece of paper; Southern hospitality bullshit rules and such.
“Twenty minutes is all I have.” Kat stepped to the left to let Tom into her house.
“I may need more time.”
Damn it all to hell. “Do what you have to.”
Pru stepped in behind him, but Kat shoved a booted foot and slack-encased leg in her way. “I don’t think so, lady. He can go in, but you have to stay outside.”
“Dogs in heat are friendlier than you.” The thorn in Kat’s side took two steps backward off her porch and onto the paved walk. “I gave you a chance to make a lot of money and put yourself in a good position to own a nice house locally, with plenty of time to move and get situated.”
Kat’s patience had left the moment Pru had shown up. Being held up from going to work was now the second layer of her shit cake, followed by inspector icing, and rude-ass comment sprinkles. “You mean selling my family’s history for money? History is priceless; money can’t buy that. This is my last tie to my grandmother, who, God rest her soul, gave me this house with the express interest of keeping it in the family. No silly project is going to make me give it up.”
“Well, you may not have a choice.” Her foreboding words coupled with a sickeningly sweet grin, almost worthy of a Cheshire cat, made Kat’s stomach turn.
The woman had put on a good act, one with all the right words, the friendly phrases, and an excellent sales pitch— until she’d wanted Kat’s house. There were things a person could accept and things they could not, and selling a family heirloom wasn’t on the acceptable list. Not since her gran had made her promise to raise a family in the house and to ensure the home stayed standing for many more years to come. Three generations had been raised here. Kat would rather be hog-tied naked in the front yard than betray a promise to the woman who’d given her so much.
Shutting the front door in Pru’s face, Kat trailed off to locate her unwanted house guest. She caught up with Tom in her bedroom investigating an exposed wall plug that needed a new cover.
“Pretty old place you have here. Bought it cheap, I take it?” Tom scribbled notes on his clipboard before scratching the side of his temple with the tip of his pen.
“No, it’s been passed down through the family. My
great-grandfather built it in the 1890s. My gran was born here. My mother was born here, too.”
A surprised “hmm” was the only response her history lesson received as the inspector moved into the laundry room, then the kitchen. He didn’t pay attention to the tile backsplash behind the sink or the rooster motif she’d helped her gran with to rid the future generations of the nasty daisy and patterned-orange wallpaper.
“We remodeled the kitchen nearly eight years ago. You should have seen it then.”
“So you put in insulation?”
“Excuse me?”
“The walls,” Tom replied, tapping on the wall above the stove, “they were insulated during the remodel?”
“You mean that pink foam stuff? We never cracked open the walls.” Now she regretted speaking, especially when her response equated to more scribbles of pen on paper. She stayed silent the remainder of the short trek until they got outside. Tom wandered to look at the sides of the house.
Pru stood on the sidewalk, her thumbs wreaking havoc on her phone. “Whenever you’re ready to put an end to this nonsense and sign the paperwork, let me know.”
“The word ‘no’ isn’t something you’re familiar with I take it?” She inwardly winced.
Pru’s eyes narrowed on her, assessing and giving Kat a once-over that made her skin tingle like she’d been found unworthy. Sure, Kat’s no-nonsense slacks and blouse were standard and the color gray not exactly her best look, but her wardrobe, purchased economically from the nearest Goodwill, served her well.
“‘No’ is a phrase I’m used to hearing, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that every ‘no’ is really just a ‘not right now.’ I have an important call to make. I’d appreciate it if you could occupy yourself with something other than verbal barbs for a few minutes.”
Oh, the choice words rattling in Kat’s head were about to fly, but Pru turned away, clacking back down the walkway to stand next to her black BMW. The woman’s fingers keyed away once more, probably calling another hapless person whose home she wanted to steal. A beauty version of Miss Gulch, except Kat wasn’t in Kansas anymore, not since she’d moved to Arkansas in her elementary school years.
Pru put the phone to her ear and smiled big with a loud and happy, “Hello.”
Tom cleared his throat beside her.”Miss Baum, when is the last time an electrician has been out to the house?”
“I haven’t needed one in the last four years since I’ve been the owner.”
“How about a plumber?”
She shrugged. “I had one out to work on one of the toilets last winter, but otherwise nothing.”
“The roof, water heater, furnace, or air conditioner been replaced anytime in the last ten years?”
“Not that I know of, but everything is working wonderfully.”
“Glad to hear of your good fortune, but all of those items need to be updated according to Arkansas code, along with electrical wiring and foundation repair. You’ve got cracks all along the outside.” He said all this while marking boxes and writing notes on his evil clipboard of death. “I’m also concerned you may have termites.”
She shook her head. “Not possible. This bad boy is sprayed every six months. If there’s one thing I won’t abide, it’s bugs.”
“Regardless.” The loud rip from Tom tearing the top sheet of paper from his board gave Kat an uneasy stomach knot. “You have four months to get it up to code.”
“Four months?”
“Adequate time to get everything up to code, and my office can supply you with a list of contractors and businesses familiar with our county and city regulations if needed.”
She took the paper and barely glanced at it. “If things aren’t to code in four months?”
“The city will take the next steps in the process.”
“What about the value of the home? My rights as an owner?”
“If the property is unfit to live in, your rights are forfeit and any expense to the city will be applied.”
Another glance at the paper showed there were at least half a dozen red check marks, signs of things in need of repairs, or worse, replacement.
“Are you all finished?” Pru’s voice intruded once more. Kat’s eyes blurred for a moment, the tears threatening to burst forth. She’d keep controlled, or so help her...
“Yes, Mrs. Stone. All done, and Miss Baum has been provided her copy. I’ll work with my secretary to set a date for the next inspection.” Kat raised her head to meet Tom’s serious expression. “Expect a letter from my office with the contractor information.”
Pru didn’t spare her another glance, just roped an arm through the housing inspector’s and gave a smile. “You’ve been so helpful today. Can I offer you a quick breakfast down at Mesa Blue? They serve an excellent brunch.”
Kat didn’t hear Tom’s reply. No, she swiveled away and marched back inside straight for her purse and keys. She needed to get to work, needed time to think, time to plan, because her bank account wouldn’t solve this problem and no conventional method would either.
Devid Esposito had two problems: a clear work calendar and a severe lack of business dinners. For a business owner, those two things signaled a tempest of trouble on the horizon. All he needed was one happy client. One success story would keep Bona Fide Personal Image drowning in referrals for six months if the client had a lot of friends.
Too bad for Dev he’d yet to find the success story, the magic client. The extent of his schedule equated to a couple of private company professional image parties and one ex-college professor seeking a modern image. His buddy and Bona Fide co-founder, Mark, would tell him those numbers didn’t bring in the cheddar. Yet Dev refused to help the type of clients who guaranteed the books would be in the black.
“Here’s the completed questionnaire from Marshall Ashby,” Victoria, their secretary and front desk receptionist, said. Her smooth voice brought him out of his musings. She placed a folder on his desk, and he took a moment to review her outfit. Black knee-length skirt, pleated belt, red blouse, white and black heels—one of his first female clients and she had accessed talents she’d always possessed with a little encouragement. If only they’d all turned out the same way.
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing, but it’d be nice if I actually had some work to do.” Her eyebrows lifted, dark brown eyes, similar to his, glowered at him.
Dev wanted to laugh at the serious look on her pale face. “For a woman who hates confrontation, you sure don’t shy away from it with me.”
She smiled wide. “Yes, just because I hate it doesn’t mean I hide my unhappiness from people.”
“Thank you for your continued vocal objections. You’re welcome to report the issue to HR.”
“You keep refusing female clients, and you won’t need to worry about having an HR.”
“Hearing rumors? Is Sheila or one of the others voicing concerns?” He wanted to tell her to mind her own business, worry about her own personal problems. Yet he’d learned long ago to bite his tongue and hold in the horrible things he thought. Those kinds of comments were intended to bully and intimidate, which broke spirits and self-esteem. He wouldn’t be the type of person who cut others down when faced with his own deficiencies. Deflect rather than regret.
“We’ve all seen the latest financials, Dev. The ten people we have working for us saw them. Have you?”
He’d seen them. The company was struggling. In fact, without a significant enrollment push, they’d have to possibly lay off a few consultants. “Yes, but can we save the depressing talk for this week’s investor meeting?”
“Whatever floats your boat, boss.” Victoria put a little extra sarcasm in the word and headed for the door as his office phone began to ring. The number listed made his gut clench. Answering it meant opening the door to a conversation and potentially a confrontation he didn’t want to have.
Victoria turned and frowned. “Don’t keep the clients waiting. Isn’t that what you always say?”
>
“It’s not a client.” Three more rings, and it’d go to voice mail.
“Who then? Her.” In the past four years, there’d only been one woman with the ability to invoke such a guttural tone from his secretary, reminding him of what the greeter to hell might sound like.
He let it go to voicemail, and then his phone beeped with a message.
“You know she’ll call back right away like she always does. It’s not like you’re super busy.”
“Didn’t you have something to file before leaving?”
“Who’s the one afraid of confrontation?”
He didn’t like confrontation, especially with the caller, and like clockwork, the mere thought sent his desk phone jingling again.
“Answer it or I will,” Victoria’s tone was a far cry from her naturally sarcastic nature.
“Fine.” He picked up the handset, and the plastic scratched against his facial hair. “Hello, Pru.”
“Hello.” Where once her voice had brightened his day whenever they talked, now she sounded fake to his ears.
Victoria posed in the doorway, lips pursed, stance locked, eyes glowering. He waved her away, but she ignored him. Typical.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” He tried to accent his voice to be as friendly as possible to one of Bona Fide’s investors.
“I wanted to let you know your biggest success is two inches away from securing the last house for my Bentonville Beautification Project. With a few pieces of paperwork and some small formalities, it will be conquered in no time. So I thought we could go out for a celebration dinner and discuss the upcoming investor’s meeting. Tonight or tomorrow, whichever works.”
