Bona Fide Beauty: Bona Fide, Book One

by Landra Graf

  “Fancy seeing you here on a Saturday.” Pru’s voice cut through his musing and made him regret his false sense of security. “I remember times when I’d never catch you in here on the weekend.”

  “You’re right. Normally I wouldn’t be.” He wanted to call out he was working with a female client, wanted to verbalize he’d done what he promised he’d do. Fear slithered its coiling body around his stomach. She’d tear him apart, pry into his work, and it wasn’t ready, wasn’t complete. To have her know, left room for her to taint his process. “But I was out and about and thought I’d see if they had the fall collection of socks in.”

  He picked up a black pair with jack-o’-lanterns wearing lacy underwear. “And I was right.”

  “Yes.” Pru grinned. “I forgot about your stash of non-business-like socks. That’s why we fell apart, wasn’t it? I didn’t pay attention to those little things as much as I should have.”

  As usual, it always came back to her bringing up their past and making up new reasons for why things fell apart. “If you want to call it that, fine. I’m just here to do some personal shopping, not get into this again.”

  She held her hands up in surrender. “All right. I won’t bring it up. But I will ask, have you given any more thought to my idea of a second branch at Bona Fide?”

  “No, I haven’t, and I’m not going to. Maybe in another year or two when we’ve secured our consulting piece.”

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder then, snuck up when he didn’t expect it, and he turned around abruptly, fearful Kat stood there. Instead, it was Riona. “I’m done. Do you want to buy those?” She pointed at the socks in his hand.

  “Yes, along with my other selections.”

  “Sure thing. Anything I can do for you, ma’am?” She turned her attention to Pru, who eyed the both of them skeptically for a moment.

  Pru stood straight and haughty, as only years of practice could have done. “I had an order that came in under the name Pru Stone.”

  “Aye, I have that behind the counter for you. One moment.” Riona rushed over, grabbing a hanging plaid garment bag and brought it back. “You’re welcome to try it on here if you’d like.”

  “No, I’ll save it for later.” The words were inflected with plenty of innuendoes. If Dev was interested, he’d only need to express said interest to be invited to her unveiling of the outfit in the bag. “Have a nice day.”

  Dev nodded in agreement and didn’t bother watching her walk off. No, he needed to keep his focus on the end game and to secure his place at his company.

  8

  Kat sat on her couch sipping a Dr. Pepper in defiance. Dev was scheduled to arrive in the next thirty minutes, and she’d been warring with herself all week about what to do. She’d seen him talking with her enemy. In fact, the pair appeared to know each other well. Maybe they were in cahoots, and he was helping Pru in her nefarious plot to take her childhood home. Regardless of their connection, it had made her throw a fit and act a little childish about her homework assignment from Dev. In fact, she’d basically given him a middle finger sandwich with an extra side of fuck-you sauce by not responding to his texts. If he showed up at all, she’d be surprised. But it was better to light the Trojan Horse on fire before he got past her defensive perimeter. And just when I started to trust him too.

  Outside of contemplating her next steps with the image consultant, an electrician had come by today to begin redoing her breaker box and fix the power distribution between the master bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen, including the separate circuit for the refrigerator. This, according to the electrician, must have been wired by a crack addict on LSD. Since he’d started working, the repeated flickering of lights gave the impression her house was rented to a family of ghosts.

  Somewhere between thinking about the electrician and wondering if she should check on him, someone pounded on her front door. It appeared the electric work had done something to the doorbell. Gran, make sure Mr. Sparky hooks everything back up right.

  She dragged herself off the couch, ready to tell the unwanted door-to-door seller-of-goods that she’d found God and enjoyed all her television on the Netflix subscription she got through her internet. Instead, she opened the door to a stern looking Dev. Somehow his frustrated face made her want to cuddle up next to him with attempts to placate, possibly arouse. Traitorous, deprived body.

  “Hello?”

  “You say the word like you’re surprised to see me. When a person makes a business appointment based in good faith, they keep it unless an act of God, vehicle accident, or death prevents it.” He sounded a little ticked, and with good reason, but he didn’t get room to judge.

  “Agreed, but...” But she couldn’t reveal her ace in the hole yet. Giving away the one piece of intel—that she knew he had a relationship with Pru Stone, Queen of the Purple People Eaters—could ruin her chance at the money from Mark. No, she’d play this out. “I told you I was difficult, and I don’t like being bossed around.”

  “Dulce Madre. Get me off this doorstep and let me once again implore that my advice and my assignments are for your benefit alone. Not mine. I could have spent my Saturday doing a million things besides wasting my time with you.”

  “Yes, all valid points, and I’m sorry. Come on in.” God, it was hard to drag out a sorry when she wanted to scream at him. The memory of how he’d purchased her a dozen outfits and a dress, one she’d tried on once she got home but stubbornly refused to take a photo of, served as a good reminder to play nice. So far Mark hadn’t mentioned a single word about paying him back for those clothes, and she did relish the idea of the look on his face when he’d seen the receipt.

  Once they were both in the living room, she resumed her seat on the couch. This time, the love seat was clothing free, so he took a spot on it. With him across the room from her, providing distance, she took in his suit. All black with a gray button down. He’d gone dark for a bright, sunny-with-a-hint-of-chill, fall day. She liked it. The same way she found too many other things to like about him.

  “Your assignment for the week was to wear at least two new outfits to work and send photos of them to me. Also, you were supposed to try on the dress, but I never saw a single picture.”

  “I’m self-conscious.” A true point. She didn’t get excited about sharing photos of herself.

  “And full of shit.”

  Wow. Her mouth even mimicked the word, in shock that he’d cursed. She didn’t think he’d cursed since they’d met. Nope, pretty sure his vocabulary rarely reflected negativity, let alone profanity.

  “Why do you look like you’re in shock?”

  “You said ‘shit.’”

  He shook his head, out of exasperation rather than disgust, at least she hoped. “I can be as profane as the next person when the situation calls for it. This particular situation may require a few more vulgar words if it helps you let go of your excuses and whatever ridiculous notions you have in your head. Help is here for you to take, free help with no strings, and you freeze up when asked to do something outside the comfort zone.”

  “I took the pictures,” she said, before draining the rest of her Dr. Pepper can.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The photos, the homework? I have them on my phone. I just couldn’t hit send.” She wanted to make him sweat. To make him think she’d discovered his dirty little secret. Instead, he appeared the exact opposite—pissed, riled, and frustrated after spending a Saturday with her, spending money on her, only to have her slip him the old bite-me-sign. Maybe he wasn’t planning anything nefarious.

  “Let’s see them, then.”

  Kat unlocked her phone, stood, and handed it over once she got to the photo album.

  He perused each photo, taking a minute or so to review the selection, even zoom in. “The outfits flatter your figure well, and the dress is perfect for your body shape. Were you wearing the undercare from Knickers?”

  “Of course, otherwise there would be bra straps all over two of th
ose photos.”

  “Then that’s all I need to see.” He handed the phone back and looked up at her. “Did you feel comfortable in those clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else did you feel?”

  He asked the hard questions. His dark brown hair was down today, not swept back in a low ponytail like usual, and his goatee was a bit unkempt and longer than usual. She wanted to touch his hair and see how it felt, not examine her innermost dwellings on the clothing selections. “To be honest, I felt like me. There didn’t seem to be a difference between those clothes and the ones I wore, except I received several compliments from co-workers.”

  Natalie, Betty, and even Ana had told her she looked fabulous. Not that she’d never looked good before, but they really noticed her this week. The styles she’d chosen had even gotten her boss’s attention, with a side helping of concern when he’d asked if she had interviews for other jobs. His relief was clearly visible when she’d told him she was only updating her wardrobe.

  “Excellent. That’s what I like to hear.”

  “That I don’t feel different?”

  “You shouldn’t.” He stood, putting himself mere inches from her. She meant to step back, but her body locked in place. His scent, the bergamot and citrus smell, toyed with her senses, made her want things off limits and out of reach. “The goal is to find clothes that make you still feel like you. Otherwise, you won’t want to wear them.”

  “Then you succeeded.”

  Why did he have to smell so good?

  “Meaning you’re ready for the next step.”

  She leaned in closer, and his head came down. Was she horrible for licking her lips? Probably. Heat flared in his eyes; maybe she wasn’t the only one affected by their proximity. “What’s next?”

  “Ms. Baum?” Mr. Sparky’s voice called out to her from the living room entry.

  Closing her eyes, she counted to three and silently prayed he would go away, except he didn’t.

  “Ms. Baum, I need to speak with you for a moment.”

  Dev chuckled. “I don’t think praying he’ll disappear will make it so. You may as well face the music.”

  “How do you do that? How do you know what I’m thinking when I haven’t said anything?” When she opened her eyes, his brown gaze twinkled.

  “I’m magic, or it could be you have a horrible poker face,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

  His analysis scared the crap out of her because if he could read her displeasure, then did he pick up on her attraction? She walked over to Mr. Sparky, eager to get away from Dev for a quick second—if anything to practice schooling her thoughts and expressions. “What’s up?”

  “This whole hallway and the front entry will need to be re-wired. Our crack addict installer connected them to your bedroom, and I missed it before.”

  Another setback, another expense. “How long and how much?”

  “I can still get this all done today, but you’re looking at at least another three hundred dollars for the cabling and supplies. Probably another two hours on labor. That is, assuming everything is easy to rip out, but I’ll have to put holes in the walls everywhere I need to go.”

  More money down the drain, and patching walls wouldn’t be cheap, either. “Do what you have to.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But...”

  “What else?” She couldn’t stop the sigh and heave of her shoulders in response to the word “but.” A word she generally disliked because it meant she was about to receive news she’d rather not hear. Bad news seemed to be all she heard lately.

  “If you want your furniture and items to stay relatively clean, you’ll need to cover everything with the plastic sheeting I have with me. There’s a roll on your kitchen table.”

  “Where are we talking?”

  “The master, the bathroom, this hallway. Maybe put some down over the floors as well. I’d hate to muck up the wood. It won’t stay perfect, but the clean-up won’t be as bad.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Give me five, and I’ll get started.”

  “I need to finish marking everything. I’ll start with the box first.”

  She didn’t respond to his statement and decided no more talking was required. She’d gotten exhausted by his mere mention of covering everything to protect it. If she didn’t hate cleaning house so much and didn’t fear for the quality of those fine wood floors, then she would’ve left everything be.

  Dev still stood in front of the love seat, taking in the room, not on his phone. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, now what’s next?” Whatever momentary attraction they’d shared minutes before had dissipated, replaced with her business mind. She needed to stay focused, lock in this makeover. The initial money Mark provided would dwindle quickly, especially with the latest electric snafu. No more wayward thoughts about the scent, sight, or touch of her meal ticket.

  “Heels.”

  Oh, hell no.

  Kat’s facial features struck him as animated and ever-changing. The word “heels” produced such a vehement and sour expression of down-turned lips and hunched eyebrows he had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh, which came out more like a burst of sound. His addition to the moment failed to help endear her to his idea of a shoe-shopping trip.

  “I don’t wear heels.” The sentence came out through gritted teeth.

  “Ever?” Surely not, every princess and rock-goth beauty possessed them.

  “Never. They’re uncomfortable restraining and I’ve been told they can ruin your posture.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll have to disagree. They can ruin your posture if you’re wearing above a two-inch heel for over four hours a day. That’s based on a podiatrist’s research. Proper stretching techniques can help prevent damage, and I always recommend that my clients have a pair of neutral flats with them everywhere, in case the heels need to come off.”

  Arms crossed, she’d closed herself off to the conversation. He needed to break the barrier, anyway and anyhow. “Let’s talk about it. I get you have a pretty set opinion on the subject, but like the clothing, I wouldn’t steer you wrong. What can I do to convince you to hear me out?”

  The disturbing part about putting himself out in the open like this meant opening up to an infinite number of possible reactions. Though judging by the emerging smile on her face, he wouldn’t like it. “I’ll go with you and I’ll try on one pair of heels if you help me cover up my furniture.”

  “This furniture?” He pointed to the couch.

  “No, my bedroom and hallway. I’ve got to move things away from the walls and cover everything with plastic so the electrician can get access to all the outlets and switches. Also so drywall doesn’t get all over everything or ruin the antique floor in the hallway.”

  The idea of entering her private space appealed to him, both as her consultant and because he wanted to know her. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d experience a few daydreams about her during his working hours. He’d thought about her wearing the black dress and wondered if it would hit her curves in all the right ways. These were thoughts he couldn’t act on, but helping her move stuff and viewing her personal belongings without invading her privacy might quell those thoughts. Maybe she was a mess, a genuine, straight up mess, like her love seat the previous Saturday. If so...

  “Well?” Her question brought him out of his tunnel vision.

  “Sorry, just wondering how much damage this work could do to my suit.”

  She scoffed. “Really? If it means so much to you, don’t bother. I won’t bother with any heels.”

  “I’m joking, and of course I’m going to help. If this gets us out the door quicker and to the shoe store where I need you to be, then lead the way.”

  The journey to her bedroom started with a detour to the kitchen, a quaint, cozy space, all bright red with rooster-patterned curtains for the window over the sink and matching tiles for the splashboard. The counter tops were a faded tan surrounding oakwood cabinets that had s
een better days. An old sixties refrigerator stood in the corner, and an even older oven in the wall with a stove top sat beside it. A small eating nook was off to the side with a kitchen table and four chairs. He liked the room even though it could use as much updating as the electrical Kat had mentioned.

  Grabbing the rolls of plastic covering and masking tape from the kitchen table, Kat motioned for him to follow her. “This way. We can cut through here.”

  The dining area had a nice archway, similar to the living room, which went into a laundry room. The electrician stood at the far end, neck deep in wiring the breaker box. The white-overalls-dressed fellow already had a huge chunk of drywall torn out above the box.

  Kat didn’t say a word, merely moved forward and propelled them through another door to their left, which opened up into the main hallway. A few more steps and a quick right turn and they were in her room. The walls were green, a dark hunter’s green with gold brocade curtains hanging from the only window. He naturally went toward the window, the one source of light in an otherwise dark space. A sheer cover separated the room from the glass, but he could make out the fenced backyard of her vista. The grass had started to brown and die in preparation for winter.

  “We have to start by covering the furniture in plastic and taping it sealed so drywall dust and pieces don’t invade.”

  Dev turned at the sound of her voice to get a full view of her backside as she bent over to grab a pair of scissors on the floor. He swallowed but couldn’t erase the image being implanted in his brain of her bottom in yoga pants. ¡Ay Dios mio! “Where do you want me to start?”

  She stood up and faced him with a pair scissors, pointy ends faced in his direction. “You can start by unrolling the plastic over the bed. Then we can each secure either side of the bed with the tape.”

  He tore the tape holding the sheeting in place and walked to the far side of the bed. He’d hoped for messy. A ramble in shambles room with clothes piled everywhere, stockings hanging from drawers, maybe a bra strewn over a blade on the ceiling fan. Instead, the drawers were neatly closed, nightstands orderly. The dresser top possessed one pile of papers, and the only thing that looked out of place was her carpet, which needed a good vacuuming.