Jarett headed for the door. “When the hairstylist and makeup artist arrive, send them to my room. Make certain they don’t see Taylor.”
“Do you have an idea?” Rosie asked, her face hopeful.
“Yeah,” he said with his hand on the door-knob, “but it’ll take a goddamned miracle to pull it off.”
7
MEG GULPED IN FRESH AIR and waved to the firemen as they drove away. She would not cry. When the governor had presented her with the Teacher of the Year award, hadn’t he said the same word her colleagues usually used when describing her, resourceful? She tried to ignore the panic rising in her stomach. She would think of something. She had to.
“Meg!”
She turned, surprised to hear her name. Quincy Lyle climbed down from his brown delivery van and jogged across the street. “I heard about the fire—are you okay?”
She nodded, relieved to see a familiar face.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “Let’s go in side.” He pushed open the shop door and steered her into the showroom. “What happened?”
Meg gestured toward the forlorn dressing room, where the scorched curtain hung and white powdery foam spilled out onto the floor. “A customer was smoking in the dressing room and left the cigarette. It must have smoldered for hours.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No, thank goodness. I had just closed up when I noticed the smoke. I managed to put out the fire with an extinguisher.”
He shook his head. “Some people are idiots. Imagine leaving a cigarette burning?”
“It was my fault. I should have asked her to put it out.” Meg sighed, feeling the weight of her stupidity.
“Do you know who it was? She should at least be held accountable for the damage she caused.”
“It was…Taylor Gee.”
Quincy’s eyes bugged. “The celebrity?”
Meg nodded miserably and walked behind the counter that was dusty with settled ash. She’d been so awed by the woman and her bodyguard, she’d taken complete leave of her senses. Like a star-struck adolescent. “She bought a truckload of clothing and even paid cash.”
“Wow, I see your predicament. I’m a huge fan of hers.”
“Me too.” She picked up the two signed photos, blew off the dust, and handed them across the counter. “She signed one for my friend and one for me.”
He squinted at the autograph. “Meggie?”
She shrugged.
“So what’s the bitchiest woman on television like in real life?”
“Flamboyant, gorgeous.”
He leaned into the counter, his eyes alight. “Is she a diva?”
Meg smiled—he wanted the dish. Quincy was definitely gay. “She wasn’t exactly friendly,” Meg said while wiping down the counter and the cash register. In truth, the woman had been a little…difficult. Then an image of Jarett Miller’s face came to her. “But her bodyguard was nice.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
Her faced warmed. “That’s all—he was…nice.”
“Did she have an entourage?”
“No, just the bodyguard. And they seemed close.”
“You mean like lovers?”
She nodded.
“Oh.”
“But they also seemed mismatched.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t explain it—he just seemed very down to earth.”
“Well, maybe Taylor Gee used to be down to earth too before she became a megastar. I think I read somewhere that she’s from some little town in Kentucky or West Virginia or some place like that.”
Jarett had said he and Taylor were old friends—was he from a small town, too? It seemed to fit his no-nonsense look and attitude. And hadn’t she detected a slight accent in his speech that had nothing to do with the west coast? She pushed aside her idle musings and finished dusting the bar. Then, glancing around the shop, she became depressed all over again.
“Taylor Gee will probably pay for the repairs,” Quincy offered, “if for no other reason than to keep her name out of the papers. It couldn’t cost more than a couple thousand to rebuild the dressing room.”
“All the costumes will have to be cleaned, too.”
“Ooh.”
Meg pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples. “And it gets worse.” Meg swallowed. “I dropped the day’s deposit in the fire when I put it out.”
“How much?”
Her stomach pitched. “Fifteen thousand in cash, plus a couple of checks.”
He whistled low. “Maybe insurance will cover the loss.”
“The fire chief said that the insurance claim could be refused since the fire was caused by a cigarette.”
“Oh, right—the no-smoking ordinance.” Quincy puffed out his cheeks. “Have you called Rebecca?”
“No.”
“Don’t want to ruin her vacation?”
“Honeymoon.”
“Huh?”
She sighed. “Rebecca left me a note—she and Michael eloped in Vegas.”
Quincy grinned. “That’s great!”
She nodded absently, too distracted at the moment to dwell on her sister’s hasty decision. “I can’t very well ruin her honeymoon…. So that means I’ll just have to get everything back in order before she comes home.”
“Do you know where to find Taylor Gee?”
Meg sank her teeth into her lower lip. “Yes. She’s going to make an appearance at the reception you gave me a ticket for.”
He lifted both hands. “Problem solved. Take along a copy of the fire chief’s report for backup.”
Except her palms were sweating at the mere thought of having the awkward conversation with Taylor. Hi, remember me? You nearly burned down my sister’s costume shop. Do you have your checkbook handy? And she was even more nervous at the prospect of seeing Jarett Miller again.
“What day is Rebecca returning?”
“A week from tomorrow.”
He raised his hand. “So there’s plenty of time to get things back the way they were.” He pulled a small pad and a pen from his shirt pocket.
“Here’s the name of a contractor who can repair the dressing room. He freelances on the week ends, so he can probably start tomorrow. Tell him I gave you his number and he’ll shoot you straight.”
“Thank you, Quincy.” She took a deep breath.
One step at a time. “I’ll go to the cleaners across the street and get an estimate for cleaning all the costumes.”
“Good idea. Is there anything else I can do before I leave?”
She looked around. “You don’t happen to know if Rebecca uses a cleaning service?”
“Jowers Commercial Cleaning, I’ll bet. Most of the businesses around here use them.”
“I’ll check her Rolodex, thanks.”
“Anything else?”
Meg shook her head. “That’s all for now.
You’re a gem for coming by to check on me.”
He winked. “We’ll have fun tonight and it will take your mind off things. Do you want a ride to the reception?”
“No, I’ll meet you there.” After she fished the ticket he’d given her from the trash and taped it back together.
“Okay. Chin up—at least no one was injured.”
“Right,” she said, managing a smile. But her stomach still ached over the unnecessary incident.
“I’ll see you later.”
Meg nodded, feeling marginally better as Quincy left the store with a wave. The bell on the door rang violently, and she rolled her eyes upward.
“You I can do something about,” she muttered.
Meg grabbed a cloth and dragged a stool over to the door, then climbed up to silence the ringer. It was a petty little thing, she knew, to begrudge the sound of the tinkling bell, but the noise was driving her mad. An indication, she acknowledged wryly, of her tenuous state of mind.
Sticking the tip of her tongue out in concentration, she wrapped the small cloth around the ringer.
But she didn’t expect the door to swing open—too late, she realized she should have locked it. She clawed the air and screamed as the stool was knocked out from under her. In a split second, she pictured herself in a body cast, and tensed to hit the hard wooden floor.
Instead, she stopped, suspended in midair. Someone had caught her. Quincy. She straightened her glasses. No, not Quincy…
“Miss Valentine, I’m so sorry.” Jarett Miller stared down into her face, his eyes wide with concern. “I didn’t see you standing up there.”
Meg couldn’t speak. A hot flash of humiliation—and awareness—burned her skin. Her senses were thrown into overdrive by the musky smell of his leather jacket and the fact that he was holding her as if he were about to carry her over a threshold. She flailed, and he set her on her feet, then steadied her as she acclimated to being vertical again.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded and took a step back, pulling down the hem of her sweater.
He squinted and leaned forward, touching his thumb to her cheek. “What happened to your face?” He brought his thumb away and stared at the black, then turned to look around the shop, his gaze landing on the dressing room.
“There was a fire,” she ventured.
He turned back to her, his jaw set. “In the dressing room Taylor used?”
She nodded.
His mouth flattened. “Was the fire caused by a cigarette?”
She nodded again.
He released a frustrated sigh. “Taylor’s?”
“I believe so.”
Jarett reached for his wallet. “How much damage?”
She stared at the wad of money he withdrew—this was going to be easier than she thought. “I—I’m not sure. I was going to get estimates.”
“Will twenty thousand cover it?”
Meg blinked. Even though twenty thousand would probably cover the repairs and the missing deposit, she couldn’t in good conscience accept more than the repairs cost. After all, she was the one who’d dropped the money in the fire. “I don’t think—”
“Thirty thousand?”
Her jaw loosened, but she managed to lift her hand, stopping him. “You don’t understand, Mr. Miller. The repairs and cleaning probably won’t cost more than five thousand.”
“But you must have something for your trouble.”
He held out the thirty thousand dollars, and Meg’s mouth went dry. The only time she’d ever seen that much money had been on a field trip to the Federal Reserve bank. All she had to do was take it, and her problems would be solved. Her fingers twitched.
Then she shook her head. “No. I simply can’t accept that much money.”
His dark eyes raked over her, and Meg suddenly realized how disheveled she must look—wrinkled clothes, smudged face, mussed hair. She also realized she hadn’t asked an obvious question. “If you didn’t know about the fire, Mr. Miller, why did you come back?”
He pulled his free hand down his face and his fingers rasped over his square jaw, darkened with five-o’clock shadow. It suited him in his all-black attire, and for an instant, Meg got a glimpse of how menacing he might be if he had to protect the person in his charge.
Meg’s heart beat faster. Had he come back to see her? To talk to her? Perhaps she hadn’t imagined the connection they’d shared when he’d spoken to her earlier.
“I came back to ask a favor,” he said, his voice threaded with remorse. “Actually, it’s for Taylor, but under the circumstances, I don’t believe my timing is so good.”
Embarrassment flooded her—had Meg really thought the gorgeous man who protected Taylor Gee had come back just to see her? Even though she wanted to fall through the floor, she snatched a smile from thin air. “No, that’s fine.” She smoothed a strand of loose, smoky hair behind her ear. “What do you need? Another outfit, a different size?”
“No, it’s a little more complicated than that.”
“What, then?”
He seemed to be studying her face.
“I’m a mess,” she murmured, adjusting her glasses.
“No, you’re perfect.”
She looked up, and her pulse spiked. “Hmm?”
“Miss Valentine, has anyone ever remarked how much you resemble Taylor?”
She gave a little laugh. “My girlfriends think so, but they’re not the most stable group of women I know.”
“Taylor is ill,” he said. “And I was hoping…that is, I was going to ask…what I mean is…”
“Yes, Mr. Miller?”
“Please, call me Jarett.” He inhaled deeply, his broad chest expanding. “Taylor is expected to make a very important appearance tonight, and she can’t. My question is, would you consider standing in for Taylor?”
Meg frowned. “Standing in? You mean, as her spokesperson or something?”
“No,” he said, running a finger around his collar. “I mean…as Taylor.”
Her brain chugged away, trying to make sense of his words.
“You two could be sisters,” Jarett said. “I thought so the minute I walked in and saw you without your glasses. With the right hair and makeup, I think you could pull it off.”
A few seconds passed before his words sunk in, then Meg swallowed hard. “You want me to…to dress up like Taylor Gee and…and pretend to be her?”
He nodded. “It goes without saying that Taylor would be in your debt.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “You’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head, his dark eyes serious. “And I would never suggest such a thing if the situation weren’t dire.”
Meg simply stared.
“You’d only have to make an appearance, and wave to the crowd,” he continued. “Everyone will think you’re Taylor—they won’t have a reason to believe otherwise.”
She plucked at the collar of her T-shirt again. “Oh, my God, you are serious.”
He nodded slowly. “We’ll make it worth your time, Miss Valentine.” He held out the thirty thousand dollars.
Meg’s mind raced. Thirty thousand dollars to dress up like Taylor Gee for one evening. She wouldn’t even consider such a preposterous arrangement, except it wasn’t every day that she turned a pile of cash into a pile of ash. Taylor Gee could make good on the damage she’d wrought, and Meg would feel as if she were meeting the star in the middle. But…dress up like Taylor Gee for one evening? Absurd.
“Mr. Miller, Jarett, I’m sorry, but there’s no way anyone is going to believe that I am Taylor Gee.”
“We could at least try it,” he coaxed. “And if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll call the whole thing off. Either way, you can keep the money.”
The proposition was tempting, but…
“Jarett, you and I both know that it’s more than just hair and makeup,” Meg said, her cheeks flaming. “Everyone expects Taylor Gee to be…well…” She gestured in vague circles.
“Sexy?” he asked with a little smile.
She suddenly didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“I’ll help you,” Jarett said.
A charge bolted through Meg, reminiscent of the adrenaline surge she’d experienced while putting out the fire.
He blanched, as if he just realized what he’d said. “I mean, I’ll get people to help you…feel more comfortable.”
“Who else would know about this?” Meg asked. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it. But for some reason, she wanted to please this man.
“Besides me, only Taylor’s assistant,” he said. “The hairstylist and makeup artist are local, and they’ve never met Taylor. We’ll simply give them a photo to work from. If we can fool them, then we know we’re okay.” He cleared his throat mildly. “And of course, you couldn’t tell anyone.”
Meg frowned. “If I agreed to this outlandish scheme, Mr. Miller, I assure you that my lips would be sealed.”
His face lit up. “So you’ll do it?”
Meg conceded that she’d consider doing almost anything to make the
man smile like that again. His eyes sparkled, and dimples appeared high on his cheeks. Quite unexpected in such a masculine face. And quite riveting.
“Meg?” he asked softly.
Her mother had once told her and Rebecca that she’d fallen in love with their father because of the way he said her name, as if he were the first person to see her as the woman she really was. Meg suddenly knew what her mother meant. Jarett Miller was the first man who’d ever looked past her glasses and boring clothes to see the woman underneath. Okay, she acknowledged wryly, the woman he saw looked like Taylor Gee, but still…
“Meg, will you do it? I would be indebted to you, too.”
For helping his lover, she realized with a start.
A sobering reminder to keep her fantasies in check. “B-but I can’t get around without my glasses,” she protested.
“We’ll get you blue contact lenses.”
“On such short notice?”
“Yes.”
“But my hair…”
“Would you consider a temporary color change? Something that would wash out?”
When she toyed with the idea of a makeover earlier, this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
But if she could look normal again by the time she left Chicago…Kathie’s words came back to her. Wouldn’t it be grand to live in a celebrity’s shoes for a few days…
Jarett Miller’s handsome face was tinged with desperation. She still had serious doubts about whether they could make her look like the larger-than-life starlet, but she had to admit that the lure of working with him, even for a few hours, was irresistible.
A low hum of excitement began to build in her midsection. How many women were given the chance to be a gorgeous sex kitten for an evening? And hadn’t she been yearning for a change? And best of all—no one would know. It would be her delicious little lifelong secret, that Megan Leigh Valentine wasn’t just the mousy Teacher of the Year.
“Meg?” he prodded, his voice hopeful.
Heady feminine power surged in her chest. “Okay, Jarett. I’ll do it.”
8
WHEN MEG APPROACHED the door bearing the room number Jarett had given her, she suddenly realized why she’d never been accused of being impetuous, spontaneous or impulsive. Because she was no good at it.
Two Sexy! Page 6
