Bona Fide Beauty

by Landra Graf

  This week she’d secured a house for her project, last week the renovations on her house had been completed, and the week prior she’d secured the president’s chair of her neighborhood’s homeowners association. Every new accomplishment became another excuse to call him and invite him to dinner or for drinks. He had to play nice—she held a sizeable interest in his company, ex-girlfriend or no. Maybe it was time to get a little tougher, though. His more-than-friendly requests to keep things professional and declines to her invites had gone unheeded time and again.

  “I’m happy for you and the latest accomplishment. Another notch on the belt is exciting, but I don’t think we qualify for celebration dinners anymore.”

  He couldn’t go backward, and Pru sat firmly in the “backward” column. He’d mixed business with pleasure one time and regretted it every day.

  “True, but you were the one who wanted space and needed to label everything, which is common for men who are afraid to commit. I also know I come on a little strong sometimes, but that’s nerves. We should at least talk about the investors’ meeting.”

  The fact that she still held delusional ideas about them never ceased to amaze him, but to pin their relationship failures completely on his side of the fence was laughable. He’d been in love, deeply, until she’d shown him a few sides of herself he’d never seen before.

  “We’re not together for reasons I refuse to re-hash. As for talking, we can do that at the meeting.” A headache was already brewing.

  She sighed. “Dev, it doesn’t have to be like this. Let me back in. I can help.”

  “Your help always comes at a price. One I’m not willing to pay.” He hung up the phone before she could get another word out. Then he leveled his gaze on Victoria, who stood patiently waiting. “I refused another dinner, if that’s what you’re wondering. As for her advice, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “If she’s saying the same thing I am, maybe it’s time to listen.”

  Dev shook his head at the idea. “Nope and nope. Now, get out of here. If we’re so short on money, we can’t afford to pay you overtime.”

  She gave him a stink eye and left without another word. Funny how she had been the one begging him to end things with Pru, pointing out how she’d step in to offer her own advice after clients left their consultants’ care.

  His own creation, a Frankenstein in the lobby of his company, thanks to his determination to help her. She always meant well, but her intimidating, take-no-bullshit attitude undermined his approach every time.

  Minutes later he’d packed up his laptop and walked out his office door. Most of the lights in the other consultants’ offices were dark as well as he headed down the main hall. Rounding the corner, he passed Victoria’s desk. She was already gone, desktop computer in sleep mode, her favorite red jacket no longer hanging from the coat rack. If I don’t do something, there won’t be a need for a coat rack or her desk.

  Turning his full focus on the glass-paned doors, he wasn’t prepared for the head-down, focused-on-her-phone brunette who walked right into him. He put his hands up to keep her from causing a full on collision. His gentlemanly efforts earned him a rebuff.

  “Watch where you’re going, Metro Man.”

  “Excuse me?”

  A pair of furious blue eyes lighted on him, and he finally got the entire story. Here stood a walking disaster with a divine figure, hideous, too-bulky clothing, and boots suited for the battlefield, not an office. A project sure to be a success. If he offered his services to women still.

  “You almost plowed into me, and you’ve got that GQ look going for you, but I guess anybody who works here is expected to look a certain way.”

  Her mouth moved, and verbal vomit came forth. She would be perfect, except he couldn’t go there… even if every instinct in his body told him to go for it.

  “I think you walked into me, head glued to your phone. Do you work for the janitorial staff with the building owner?”

  “I—what?” Her eyebrows hunched, and she growled. “Yep, just go ahead and assume what I do for a living. Have a nice night, asshole.”

  Dev massaged his temples as he watched the angry, short woman with the brunette ponytail and combat boots stomp off to god knew where. He’d send Victoria a text when he got to the car. The woman was a menace. And I didn’t even catch her name.

  2

  Kat had officially hit rock bottom, standing in her cousin’s office at Bona Fide Image Consulting after a day of no-luck dead ends. With her less-than-reputable credit, no bank would help her, and it’d take more than a personal loan of twelve hundred, the paltry amount offered by a local loan company, to complete the work. “Did you get my message?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Her cousin Mark stood from behind his desk and motioned at her to shut the door. “Pretty ballsy move if you ask me. Why are you so desperate to save that old pile?”

  She moved further into the room as he went to a cherrywood side cabinet. The office was done up in similar coloring and opulent to a ridiculous degree, similar to the bag o’douche she nearly ran into in the hallway. The autographed celebrity photos and college diplomas plastered on the wall, along with the multiple business recognition awards, and any unsuspecting person would think her cousin ran a financial firm. Instead he had partnered with his best friend and become chief financial officer for the personal branding and image consulting company they’d created. Yet he had the means to help.

  “The old pile was our grandmother’s home, your dad’s home. It’s the last family heirloom, and I promised her I’d keep it in the family.” She’d died over four years prior, and Kat knew Mark and his family had stayed apart from Gran after his dad went to jail—at least until her funeral. Kat had been invited to her aunt’s family dinners ever since.

  “Family heirloom not worth much.” He poured a glass of brown liquor. “Whiskey?”

  “Sure.” She wouldn’t turn down a stiff drink, not when she needed to find common ground and get a little courage to restate her request. Letting her purse first slide off her shoulder into one of his dark cherry-colored seats, she claimed her glass.

  “Make sure to sip on it. It’s not the swilling Jack Daniel’s crap you’re used to.”

  “I’ll be sure not to swaller the whole fucking glass.” Damn. She couldn’t stop her smart ass even if she wanted to, but he needed to stop treating her, and anyone else for that matter, like they were all backwoods hillbillies. She took a sip, and sure as shooting, the whiskey slid down smooth, leaving a small trail of fire. Letting out her breath on an exhale, like her daddy’d taught her, she enjoyed the smoky taste left behind.

  “Now, let me be sure I got this right. You want me to give you a thirty thousand dollar loan and work this out into car-payment-size payments?” He took another swallow of the caramel-colored liquid and then strode back to his seat behind the desk. The suit, the short haircut of his reddish-blonde hair, and the lack of facial hair gave him a professional, reputable look, but she drifted to the idea of mob boss as he steepled his fingers underneath his chin, the whiskey sloshing in its glass on the desk in front of him.

  “Correct. Money for hefty size payments every month, and I’m even willing to accept some negotiated interest.”

  “Interesting offer. Let me counter. Agree to a personal image makeover with my company, and I’ll give you the money.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I need money, not a new look.” She’d be damned if she played dress-up Barbie for one of his consultants. Singing karaoke from a bar table sounded more exciting. “I’m looking for money without strings.”

  “Don’t think of it as a string, think of it as an addendum to a contract. You’re asking me for a favor, and I need one from you.”

  “Your consultants, based on dinner conversations, rack up some hefty bills for their clients—new clothes, salons, and all sorts of things.” Mark had even mentioned how they provided consultations to a plastic surgeon in Little Rock. No knife trips for her and no needl
es either. She wanted to remain somewhat sane.

  “I’ll cover whatever money you’ll need for the wardrobe renovation process, including shoes, hair, makeup, and any food expenses you may have from the scheduled meetings. You can bill it all back to me.”

  She swirled her own glass, watching the whiskey slide back toward the bottom before she swallowed the rest of it. A tingling in her feet set up residence. The feeling made her want to be brave, daring. Plus, there was no one else. If she didn’t agree to Mark’s solution, it would be time to admit defeat and start packing her bags. An image of Pru standing on her front step with a smug smile made her angry, fucking frustrated. No way would she accept defeat, not when she possessed a chance to stomp the bitch’s face in the dirt.

  “You have a deal.” She stood, reached over the desk, and stuck out her hand.

  Gran had always said the family would be there to help, especially when someone was stuck in a pile of shit up to the neck.

  Mark’s grip was firm and tight. “No backing out on me. I’ll help, but I don’t like liars or cheats.” A sermon she’d heard from him more than once, all due to the sins of her uncle and some such jazz. She’d never met Mark’s dad, but from how screwed up he’d become, the guy must have been a major asshole.

  She grimaced and pulled her hand free. “I’m not a fan of asking for help. If there were any other road, I’d have taken it.”

  “If you stick to the deal, this will work out for both of us. Now, you’ll need to be here tomorrow for your first appointment with your consultant. Second, it’s your job to convince Dev to help you.”

  Kat stepped back. “What the fu—”

  “You can’t talk like that either.”

  “What a bunch of bullshit and you know it. How the hell am I supposed to convince your business partner to help me?”

  Mark smirked. “Hopefully your clothes, language, and colorful personality will appeal to his tender sensibilities. And I’m not giving you any money or finalizing any contract until you’ve convinced him to help you.”

  She’d been told her blunt talk could be too rough for the white-collar world, her dress style not exactly what some would call “business professional,” and her lack of fancy footwear intimidated co-workers. Yet her boss loved her presentations and attention to detail. Her yearly reviews were flowing with praise, and her personal relationships would be perfect if she’d start picking the right guys. For someone who didn’t fit the mold, she’d proved pretty useful. If anyone could help, it would be this company, even if she didn’t need help. But, “Having to convince my consultant to accept me as a client wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Another addendum.”

  “If you weren’t my cousin, I’d kick you in the nuts. Wouldn’t your mother be ashamed to find out you’re conning me?”

  “I learned from the best. The only difference is, I operate my cons legally, which allows me to call them business deals. And, threats on my nuts are nothing new.” He ran a hand through his hair and unbuttoned his suit jacket before taking a seat in the chair behind the mahogany desk.

  “Sometimes I wonder how someone related to me can be so evil. Anything else before I get the hell out of here?”

  “I think that sums it up. I’ll have our secretary introduce you tomorrow.”

  She put her empty glass on the desk, the tension in her stomach refusing to abate. More hoops to jump through. She should’ve never agreed to this bullshit, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Got it. I was in theater in college, and I pulled off a convincing Abigail Williams.”

  “Who?”

  “The Crucible. Salem Witch Trials, pretty well-known stuff if you paid attention in history class.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it. Be here first thing in the morning. We open at nine.”

  “I do have a job, ya know. How long will this meeting take?” She grabbed her purse, sensing their conversation was at an end. If not, then she’d wrap things up for him.

  “It will take however long it takes. If you want the money, you’ll be here convincing my partner to help you. If your job is more important than grandma’s crappy house, you’ll be at work.”

  Asshole. “You know you’re a dick.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that one either.” He focused on his computer screen then, dismissing her without so much as a thanks or goodbye.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  Less than two minutes later, she’d buckled herself into the front seat of her beat-up, not-so-dependable, silver Chevy Impala and turned the key in the ignition. For once karma was on her side. The engine roared to life, and she mentally prepared herself for the six thirty rat race traffic jams waiting for her on the too-small streets of Bentonville, Arkansas. Her reason for coming to Bona Fide, the lies she’d have to tell to reach the finish line, and the ridiculous idea that she’d actually be able to follow through with an image makeover would have to be dealt with tomorrow. Before then, she needed advice and a drink.

  “Great job, ladies, your progress on your resumes has been fantastic. Our next session, if you want to come, will be on interviews. A lot of companies are doing virtual interviews via computers, and we’d like to do a demonstration so you know what to expect. We will also conduct mock ones for anyone interested.”

  Victoria cleared her throat. “Now if you still have time, ladies, I can take you into the donation room where you can pick out a brand-new outfit for interviews, shoes included.”

  Dev watched the women of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities stand up from their chairs and follow his office manager out of the church Sunday school classroom toward the gym. The clothes and shoes were donations from local businesses, ones he’d forged good relationships with by bringing them business from clients.

  “Thank you again for filling in and putting this pop up session on.” Theresa, the shelter’s Activities and Donations Coordinator, put a hand on his shoulder. “We really appreciate the donations too, but they weren’t necessary.”

  “When I told a couple of businesses about the monetary contributions we give to the shelter, they asked what they could do. I had nothing to do with it, nor do I want any credit.”

  She scoffed, removing her hand and tossing her blond ponytail behind her shoulder. “I’m sure you said more than casually mentioning donations. Business aren’t always forthcoming or eager to have it known they support shelters for woman. Plus, spending your evening working with women who’ve suffered violence, sexual exploitation, and drug abuse is not always easy. So, thank you.”

  He’d become interested in helping the shelter because of Pru. It had been their project, one supposedly close to her heart, but she’d stopped getting involved. Seeing women in this environment was “too much” for his ex. “I’m honored you thought of me to fill in, and I was a little bit nervous.”

  “When the college career center fell through, you were the first person I thought of, and Victoria is a familiar face. I think it reassured some of the ladies to see her here.”

  Speaking of the devil, she walked back into the room. “Hey boss, everyone is all finished and heading out. I’m going to pack the rest of the clothes and accessories up in Theresa’s van.”

  Adjusting his suit jacket, he stood up a little straighter. “Sounds good.”

  “Really? You could just give those back to the businesses; we don’t want to take more than what we need.” Theresa sounded surprised. Her left eyebrow, metal ring piercing and all, arched.

  “I believe the intent is for you to have nice things on hand for any incoming ladies, whether they are staying at the shelter or need something to get back on their feet.” He looked over at Victoria. “Let me know when you’re ready to load those boxes, and I’ll help.”

  “We’ll write some thank you notes,” Theresa replied as Victoria left the room.

  Another reason he loved working with Theresa and her team, they were always so grateful, never selfish, and humble
. “Not necessary, unless they want to write them. Those women are going through enough as it is, and there are no expectations.”

  “You know, most people would expect it though. You’re always surprising me.”

  To be honest, he’d never said out loud how much he had in common with the women here. He couldn’t begin to understand the level of trauma they experienced, but he knew a bit about trusting the wrong person.

  “I know what it’s like to trust someone, love them, and have them use those feelings against you. For most of these ladies things are ten times worse, so thank you notes aren’t nearly as important.”

  Theresa’s lips went all sad and droopy, eyebrows falling in correlation too. “I’m sorry. We don’t talk about personal things. Someone broke your heart?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Why do you help then, if it might make you relive some of your own struggles?” She’d posed similar questions for him multiple times. He always had a different answer because the truth stuck a bit deep.

  This time, he let it slip out. “Because teaching someone what I know is the most rewarding when I know those abilities will be used for good. These women have everything all locked up inside them, the tools waiting to be accessed. I only hope I can help them unlock a drawer on the toolbox.”

  “They appreciate it. I could tell by how the room felt. They started out nervous, quiet and by the end several were asking questions.”

  “Yes, things seemed to go really well. When do you want to hold the next session?”

  “Probably within a month. I know you have a busy schedule. How about you email over a few dates that work for you? Maybe we can do something over the weekend, run two sessions so ladies who have other obligations won’t have to miss it?”

  He ran a hand through his hair before tucking chunks behind his ears. “We’ll have to confirm the dates with the church. My mother says they are usually pretty open, but I want to make sure we have the facility to ourselves for the safety of those attending.”