Bona Fide Beauty

by Landra Graf

  “Agreed and I’ll run it by my director for final confirmation. Speaking of, Bona Fide is one of our biggest donors, and our Fall-Christmas fundraiser will be in a few months, right after Halloween. Can we expect another big contribution? Because Gary and the crew have big plans for this winter.”

  Theresa’s advocacy talent came from her lack of shame in asking for money. She’d drawn him into the organization, first with contributions, now with time, thanks to her knowledge of facts and her no-nonsense approach. She genuinely cared about the well-being of the ladies they helped. Her passion had seeped into him, given him a sense of purpose with his newfound success in the business world; except success was fickle, like a good hair day.

  Unlike previous years, he couldn’t commit to a big monetary donation. How many other people and charitable groups would be affected by Bona Fide’s falling sales numbers? Too many.

  “I’m not sure where we sit on financials. Not my department. We’ve got a meeting tomorrow to review numbers. I’ll let you know soon.” He hated playing the non-committal-businessman card, but truthfully, he had no clue how much they could donate, if anything.

  She smiled at him, a friendly gesture he didn’t deserve. “Marvelous, as long as I can get an estimate from you, then I can figure out the number of donors I’ll need to make up the rest. You almost make my job too easy.”

  The guilt found itself a home in the center of his chest, forming a firm lump that grew with each word out of her mouth. They’d be devastated if he couldn’t deliver. “Don’t give me credit where it’s not due. You do a lot of work, and even taking my money doesn’t come without challenges, like finding ways to make it last when so many need help.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Victoria’s voice came from the door.

  Dev glanced in her direction. “Ready for my help?”

  “I can help too.” Theresa wasn’t one to sit on the sidelines.

  The hard work they’d done tonight, the future opportunities that would be missed—all of it hit home, the lump of guilt growing to a boulder. He needed a solution, some way to make sure he didn’t let Theresa, Victoria, those women with hope in their eyes—any of them—down.

  3

  “She’s your cousin?” Dev couldn’t believe he’d allowed Mark to continue this conversation for the last fifteen minutes. He’d barely survived a similar conversation a day ago. Everyone wanted him back on the female client bandwagon, and he’d been trying to alert the masses that he’d jumped off ages ago. The message wasn’t sinking in.

  “Yes, and she’s in desperate need of a makeover. Her finances are in a bad way, and I think the image makeover could help her get a leg up in the professional world so she’d start working a job worthy of her degree and making the money she deserves. You know how some of these ladies get undervalued because of appearance.”

  “I agree, but I don’t take on female clients anymore. How many times do we have to debate this?”

  Mark sighed. “As many times as it takes for you to say yes. We need it, Dev. I’m asking you to take this pro bono as a tryout. See if you’re up for it? Because if you can’t, we may as well close down now. That financial meeting tomorrow afternoon with the other investors is not going to be a pretty one. I’ve got a couple of people asking what we’re planning to do because second quarter receipts are down. Theresa from the women’s shelter called concerned as well.”

  Their conversation the day prior had never involved a mention of the company’s finances, which struck him as odd. The straightforward woman never pulled punches, not when it came to concerns about where she’d be funding next year from.

  “Where the hell did she hear about it?”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  He knew they were down, the report being the reason he’d kicked back three stiff drinks last night and passed out without eating. Dev rubbed his face with his hands. “I know it looks bad.”

  “You’ve seen how worried Victoria is. The other consultants are whispering about looking for future employment at temp agencies, for god’s sakes. I’m not asking you to give up the male clients or take time out of the workday. Work with her on the weekends, but use this as a chance to get back in the game. We can tell the investors you’re going to be ready to assume a full workload soon, but they already know, without me saying anything, that you don’t have female clients on the docket.”

  Mark’s words were another stabbing reminder of how his bad choices had cost him his integrity with the board. Instead of allowing Dev to announce changing the direction of the company, Mark had privately passed on to the investors that Dev was working through some personal issues and reducing his caseload. Investors didn’t want to hear about gender exclusivity, not when Bona Fide had led the charge in co-ed image consulting.

  “How about you help her?”

  Mark laughed. “Dev, you know the only way I help women is by assisting them in getting their clothes off, and I may live in Arkansas, but I’m a firm believer in carnal relations outside the family.”

  “You’re so crude.”

  “And you wouldn’t want me any other way. Now say you’ll do this. For Victoria or for me or for the shelter, I don’t care, but do it.”

  He didn’t want to. Lord, he didn’t want to. He was still trying to recover from the last disaster of a client—his ex—and how his own bad judgment had started a debacle that was still wreaking havoc.

  “I don’t know, Mark.”

  “For Maggie then?” The words were spoken softly, given the proper homage they deserved.

  His best friend knew how to get him. Every. Time. Bring up the woman who got him started in this business. Her very name invoked a heart-clutching squeeze in his chest. The words came out easily. “Let me meet her first.”

  Mark clapped his hands together. “Good deal. She’s coming today for a meeting.”

  “Dulce Madre, you already had this planned didn’t you?”

  “I told her to come and meet you, yes. But I never told her you’d agree to it. In fact, I told her there was a good chance you wouldn’t want anything to do with her.”

  This would be a damn mess. He rubbed his temples and silently prayed for strength. “You’re an asshole, Mark.” Before he opened his eyes, a knock sounded on the office door. “Yes?”

  Victoria poked her head in the door. “I have a Kathleen Baum in the waiting room to see you?”

  He looked at Mark and raised an eyebrow.

  “She’s not quite in line with the whole image makeover idea.”

  His friend could be a real idiot sometimes. “Then let’s not try to lead an unwilling horse to water. Why didn’t you just give her some money or refer her to one of our competitors?”

  “You’ll understand when you see her, and I don’t think we need to give those competitors any more business, do you?” His partner stood up and buttoned his suit jacket, then smoothed his hands across the polyester blend; the gray was always a good color for him. “Whatever you do, don’t let her back out. She’s going to try and avoid change at all costs, but I’m telling you, she needs this.”

  Mark’s instincts were pretty dead-on when it came to reading potential client’s needs, male or female. Sometimes Dev wondered what stopped him from becoming a consultant. The man possessed as much natural talent for this type of business as he did, when he chose to deploy it.

  “Fine. We’ll see what happens.” Dev looked over at Victoria and nodded.

  Mark jumped out of his seat with a clap of his hands and a victorious smile as he headed to the door. Dev caught Victoria’s narrowed, suspicious look leveled at Mark and her mouthing the words “I’m on to you” as he walked past her.

  Dev wouldn’t begin to analyze the dynamic between those two. Though they set aside their mutual dislike for his sake, there were several times he’d expected to walk out in the hall and find them verbally duking it out to see who’d draw first blood.

  “I’ll bring her right in.” Victoria came forward and
set Kathleen’s folder on his desk. She left, thankfully, without further comment.

  No picture or physical assessment had been completed, but she’d signed all the appropriate release forms. The folder, her name, and the woman were all a mystery—a covered canvas that would be revealed as a potential Picasso, Rembrandt, Monet, or O’Keefe after a little restoration. Or she could simply be a work of art by an unknown artist. He didn’t want to be excited about the prospect, but instinct and the love for his job naturally took over.

  When he looked up from his desk next, the mystery had arrived... and he’d seen her before. Before him stood the angry brunette from last night in another poor-fitting ensemble, but her face captured him. He took a more detailed look this time. Full lips, high cheek bones, a defined nose—not petite, but not elongated—and a diamond-shaped facial structure he’d only seen a handful of times. For a moment he couldn’t speak. A woman rarely left him speechless.

  “Devid Esposito?” Her question revealed a smoky, alto voice capable of both an attack like their first meeting and a seduction. She stopped a step or two in front of the desk.

  He nodded his head in agreement, stood, and extended his hand. “That’s me, but you called me Metro Man last night. Do you prefer Kathleen or...?”

  “Kat. I’m only called Kathleen when I’m in trouble.”

  “Now I know what I should have called you last night when you almost ran into me. Would you care to sit down?”

  She eyed him with skepticism. “Is this all you plan on talking about? A mistake I made?”

  A tough crowd.

  Kat took a seat in the walnut-colored chair.

  Victoria chuckled from the doorway. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Dev had honestly forgotten she’d been there; he’d forgotten nearly everything since his potential weekend project had walked into the room. As his secretary shut the office door behind her, the room became small; Kat’s presence became larger than life compared to his. “Not at all, but an apology wouldn’t be too much of an ask would it?”

  “Fine, I apologize. Can we move on?” The words were spouted like venom from a cobra ready to strike. He’d been ready to offer her a drink. Not now.

  “Apology accepted. Let’s move on. Why the brash, rude attitude?”

  She laughed, and the melodic sound broke something loose in Dev. Something yearning. And the fact that she laughed at him added to his growing frustration. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit... hesitant with new people.”

  “Then let’s work on breaking the ice. Mark already told me why you’re here.”

  She nodded in agreement, draping her arms over the top of the chair. The oversized armrests gave her body a waif-like appearance, especially in the bulky slacks and her disaster of a blouse. “Okay.”

  “How tall are you?”

  “Five foot four, why?” Her face screwed up in annoyance. From happy to angry to pacified and then, in a split second, gone again. Hesitant wouldn’t be the word he’d use to describe her with anyone. Instead, he’d go with rough or unapproachable.

  “I tend to ask a lot of questions. As a consultant, it’s in my nature. And, the answers you give are never right or wrong nor do I judge you for them. For me to assist someone, I have to know facts, thoughts, preferences, and any number of things, so when I think of a question, I tend to blurt it out right away.”

  The indents on her forehead smoothed, and she relaxed into the cushioned chair a bit. “Okay. I’m just here to talk about the possibility of a makeover. I’m not even sure I want one.”

  Dev shook his head. “Then why bother coming?”

  “Really?” Her sapphire blue eyes went wide, and she glanced around the room. “You just said Mark told you why I’m here, so it’s not a question worth answering.”

  “Yes. You need some financial help, but he feels an image makeover would help you more in the future with securing a better job and ensuring you get paid what you’re worth. We’d all like to believe appearance discrimination doesn’t exist in the world, but unfortunately, it does.”

  She didn’t respond, her expression unchanged with lips pursed.

  “I tend to agree with him, and if you’re willing, I may be willing to help. All you have to do is answer one question: What do you hate about yourself?”

  Knowing previous clients, she’d never answer honestly. Most barely contained themselves before becoming outraged at him. Pru had suckered him because she’d provided a completely unbiased, blunt assessment of her dislikes, and he’d believed that made her different—someone willing to be brutally honest about herself. He’d been wrong. Judging from Kat’s hunched eyebrows and the pout of her lips, the next words out of her mouth would end Mark’s experiment before it began.

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Kat sat up straight and stared him down, trying not to waver or give in to the whispers in her mind. Her gran had always told her to love herself no matter what. She’d keep to herself the deep, secret longings about fixing the gap between her two front teeth and wanting to do something with her hair besides pulling it back every day. A little voice inside cried out there’s more, but he wasn’t a priest to hear her confession.

  “Then I can’t help you.” Devlin got up from his chair and walked over to a small refrigerator against the wall. “Feel free to show yourself out.”

  Wait a minute. He’d made it that easy to secure him as her consultant, and she’d blown it. When she’d walked into Bona Fide that morning, she’d been trying to figure out how she’d convince him to help. Dev had appeared ready and willing at the start of this whole awkward meeting. Kat hadn’t expected her cousin to do her any favors, but he’d talked to Dev beforehand, smoothed a path. That’s what I get for thinking. When he’d wanted to know what she didn’t like about her body, she’d been unprepared. Then there was his appearance.

  Devid made Hollywood heartthrobs look like chopped liver; she’d thought the same last night when she almost knocked into him. Shoulder-length, dark brown hair, matching goatee, and piercing, amber eyes paired with a gray suit. Add in his accent, the rolling Rs, and she nearly melted into a puddle. He defined sex appeal. The suit he wore today gave away no hints to the physique underneath at first glance, but as he bent over to reach into the mini fridge, she couldn’t help the little whimper accidentally escaping her lips thanks to the fine outline of his ass.

  He turned with a bottle of water in his hand. “You can leave.”

  Idiot! He’d kicked her out, and she still sat there ogling him. “Can I have a drink?” Anything to prevent the moment ending. She needed a few seconds to gather her courage. He’d probably tell her to get lost. “My throat’s dry.”

  He reached back into the refrigerator and grabbed another water bottle. Something squeezed her chest tightly, like being at a higher elevation. Maybe telling him a few things wouldn’t hurt, especially since she’d hit level desperate.

  She grasped the bottle of cold water he’d handed her, opened it, and took a big gulp. “I don’t like my hair or my teeth.”

  “Hair and teeth, okay. Anything else?” His sexy, tan-skinned face remained impassive and unimpressed, like a well-trained poker player.

  Putting the cap back on the water bottle, she stared down at Devid’s tie, a black-colored fabric with a nearly invisible embroidered pattern. She needed the courage to let go of her thoughts. She allowed her vision to blur, similar to shifting a picture within a picture. The words spilled forth like they used to when she’d found herself confessing to her gran about all her troubles over a cup of tea.

  “I feel awkward in my clothes sometimes. I’m not good at conversations. Around my friends things are fine, but with other people or crowds I’ve no clue what to say or how to act. It makes company parties or social gatherings strange, and in ways, I don’t think I’m connecting with other people. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “Like I mentioned before, there are no wrong or right answers. I’m not looking for anything specific beyond yo
ur thoughts and feelings.”

  “It’s that easy?”

  He smiled, and she realized he needed a sign reading “Caution: a Predator Lives Here.” “Not a lot of people would call what you did easy.”

  “Well, will you help?” Another drink of water and she mentally cursed at how easily he kept all his emotions under control. A gift she wouldn’t mind possessing.

  “I don’t think I will.”

  What the hell? “Excuse me? You said if I told you what I didn’t like about myself, you’d help.”

  Propping himself against his desk, his body stretched out a mere foot from hers, her mouth went dry again. “I said I may help. So far you’ve given me no real reason. Awkward at social gatherings, hair, and teeth? These are—trivial thoughts, not deep and not from someone who’s looking to make a life change.” No man should have that much charisma while being rude.

  “But you said there were no right or wrong answers.”

  “There aren’t. You gave me all the shallow ones, which means no commitment. I don’t take on clients unwilling to give this process everything.” The way he said “everything” made her want to shiver. He sounded sinful, and she needed to maintain some perspective.

  “My boss can tell you how committed I am to any project I take on. I’m pretty sure I can handle this.” Her tone may have come across too strong. Dev stared her down. That gaze from his chocolate eyes sent her own darting around the room. His office didn’t have all the fancy shine or the bar set up. No, he’d settled for his degrees framed on the walls, pictures of family, and a few paintings that she didn’t recognize.

  A shadow crossed the room. Refocusing meant acknowledging the fact he’d moved in front of her. Still staring. “You’re stubborn aren’t you?”

  “Like a mule, at least my family has always said so, and I like the trait.”