“Benito will have a coronary if you light that in here. You have to go outside. And, no, I’m not thinking about marrying Kate for her money. You know the old saying—people who marry for money end up earning it.”
Luis gnawed on the end of the cigar, looking very much like a camel with his long, blunt-tipped nose. “Muy profundo, Alejo. Well, don’t get so involved with this girl that you don’t make it to practice. We need you scoring goals in the Weston game.”
Alejandro just shot him a look, as a female voice behind him said, “Oh, yeah, this looks like quite the emergency.”
Heather Carlton had come into Benito’s for take-out. He stared at her stupidly for a moment. Then he said, “Heather! It’s not what it looks like. My friend Luis, here, just had tragic news.”
Luis’s eyebrows shot up and he took the cigar out of his mouth, but Alejo kicked him in the shin before he could say anything. “His father died suddenly of a heart attack. He is heartbroken. I had to comfort him.”
Luis obliged him by doing his best to make his face look properly lugubrious. He even pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. Luis could lie to women with the best of them. And he didn’t even work in the beauty industry.
Heather put her hand to her mouth and gasped. “Oh, you poor thing! I’m so, so sorry.” She put her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek.
Luis stared straight into her cleavage as she did so, his interest sparking. Shirlie went by the wayside. Alejandro didn’t want him and Heather to get any better acquainted, though. So he said, “Luis doesn’t speak any English, but he knows what you mean. He thanks you for your sympathy.”
Luis opened his mouth to deny his ignorance of English and perhaps ask for her phone number, but Alejandro kicked him again, hard.
“Aaaggh.”
“That’s Bolivian for beautiful,” Alejo told the client.
She put a hand to her heart. “Oh, how sweet. Too bad he doesn’t speak any English. He’s so cute…”
Luis sat there doing his best not to look gratified at her words since he wasn’t supposed to be able to understand them. Luis was a good friend, taking one for his wingman.
Thanks be to God, Benito called Heather’s order number and she told Alejandro to tell Luis how nice it had been to meet him, even under the terrible circumstances. Then she turned and walked away to the takeout window.
Luis watched her ass covetously, like a cat watches a goldfish. “A hell of a time for me not to speak any English, Alejo! What was that about?”
“She’s a psychopath,” Alejandro whispered. “You can’t believe anything that woman says. And trust me, you do not want to date her. Besides, what about your girlfriend?”
“Who?” Luis sucked on his cigar. “Oh. Her. Right.”
By the time Luis was ready to leave, they’d each had three pisco sours and Alejandro was in danger of missing a fifth appointment. As it was, he was going to need to drink a quart of mouthwash. But hell, most of his clients would be tipsy, too, so he hoped no one would notice.
Unfortunately, Peggy did notice. It took her about two seconds to assess his general sobriety, and she hauled him into the kitchenette to talk. “Alejo!”
“Sí?” He tried to focus on her red hair, which she’d piled on top of her head. It was better than meeting her eyes. “Don’t you look pretty tonight.”
“Save the blandishing for the customers, honey. Did you just blow off an appointment to go drink with your friend?”
“Shoccer team,” he said solemnly. “Had to get him out of here. Can’t know truth.”
“Alejandro. If I had done that, you’d never let me hear the end of it. That’s terrible business practice. Heather Carlton screamed blue murder at Shirlie and accused us of trying to ruin her evening since she had two broken nails and couldn’t go out like that. Shirlie said she even threatened to sue.”
“Sue? For what?”
“Breach of contract or something crazy. I finally had to do her manicure myself. Oh, and she thinks you’re avoiding her.”
Alejandro sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“You’re going to have to call her and apologize.”
“I, er, bumped into her at Benito’s. Everything’s fine.”
“Look, Alejandro. We all think you’re being ridiculous about keeping your work here a secret. Why don’t you just tell people?”
“Are you insane?”
“No. Are you so insecure with your manhood that you can’t handle people knowing the truth? That yes, you’re a partner but you’re also doing your best to make the place a success—so you take appointments. Where’s the shame in that?”
“I am not the least bit insecure in my manhood,” Alejandro declared.
“Yeah? Then why do you care what anyone says?”
“You don’t understand Latin—and especially Peruvian—culture. It’s simply not acceptable for a straight man to be a manicurist.”
“That’s so silly!”
“It’s not. They will think I’m gay, like Nicky. The soccer team—they wouldn’t allow me in the locker room or the showers.”
“But why not, if you explained?”
“I am telling you, there is no explaining!” Alejandro searched for a way to make her understand. “It would be like…like…a church finding out that its head Sunday-school teacher was also a dominatrix and wore black rubber panties with a slit crotch.”
“Oh, puh-lease, Alejandro. It couldn’t possibly be that bad.”
“It is. I don’t know how to make you believe me. But it is.”
“Whatever.” Peggy put her hands on her hips. “But you can’t go canceling appointments every time someone who knows you comes into the spa. You wouldn’t let me do it, and I’m not going to let you do it. Understand?”
He stared at her, trying to remember why he was angry with her to begin with. Because he was, and it didn’t have anything to do with tonight, but the pisco had fogged his brain. “Fine.”
Then he remembered, and glared at her. “But by the way, we need to have a little talk, Miss Underwood. I can’t believe that you and Marly actually suggested to Kate that we use After Hours as the business for our marketing class project! Are you deliberately trying to embarrass me in front of her?”
“If you hadn’t lied to her in the first place, you’d have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Peggy said, with maddening logic.
“That is not the point!”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. The point is that you two maliciously plotted to make me crazy, and I don’t appreesh—appreeski—mierda! It wasn’t very nice.”
Peggy neatly sidestepped that issue. “If Kate truly cares about you, then the fact that you give manicures and pedicures shouldn’t bother her.”
“Well, what if it does?” he asked belligerently.
“Then you’re better off without her and we’ve only done you a favor.”
Alejo frowned. He didn’t think he agreed. But he decided he needed more rum in order to make sense of it all. He looked at his watch. Only ten, damn it. He still had two appointments to go before they closed for the night. “Peggy, sweet Peggy?”
“No,” she said, without turning around. She was, disturbingly, pouring water into the coffeemaker.
“Have I mentioned that you look partickly lovely this evening?”
“I am not doing your last two pedicures. You know I’d do them if you were sick, or if you had exams tomorrow. But you don’t—you’re just drunk. So have some coffee and sober the hell up.”
What had happened to his woman-manipulating abilities? He’d better sharpen them before he saw Kate again. Gloomily, he wondered why he cared. After all, as her cousin had said, he was nothing but a cheap hunk, a fling to her, and he knew it. Sighing, Alejandro lurched forward and got a big mug.
Chapter 12
“So, what is your competition like?” Kate asked Marly and Peggy. After Hours had been way too chaotic the other day to take up their time, so they’d all agreed
on an appointment when the spa was closed.
Kate looked around the now quiet, empty spa, noting the eclectic Italian glass lighting, the beautifully hand-painted floors and the walls done in different Miami pastels. The whole place was hip and creative, the music international and energetic, cutting edge.
She balanced a yellow pad on her knee and spun a ballpoint pen in her right hand as she waited for Marly and Peggy to answer. “And where’s Alejandro?”
“I don’t know,” Peggy answered, looking at her watch. “But he wasn’t feeling so hot yesterday.”
“Our competition,” said Marly, “is pretty fierce around here. A lot of rich and famous people have homes in Miami, so to meet their demands there are dozens of high-end salons. We don’t try to compete with the ones that cater to people like Madonna or Celine Dion. Our target customer is well-off, but not necessarily a millionaire. She’s looking to be pampered, but she’s also intrigued by a hip, party atmosphere. She’s not into whale sounds and total relaxation—she wants stimulation and excitement.”
“Got it,” Kate said, busily taking notes. “Now, do your customers drive long distances to get to you, or are they mostly in Coral Gables and the surrounding areas?”
Peggy pursed her mouth. “I’d say our clientele is mostly local. We do have a few women who drive from suburbs like Weston or Coral Springs or Parkland, but they represent only about twenty percent of our client base.”
“So your customers are mostly women?”
“Yes,” Marly said. “We’re starting to see more men coming for haircuts and massages. But roughly ninety percent are women.”
“Very key point,” Kate murmured. “Are they married?”
Peg thought about it. “About fifty-fifty.”
“Age?”
“Average age is from twenty-two to mid-fifties.”
“Kids?”
“Also about fifty-fifty. If our customer has children, though, she’s usually got help. She’s still very body-conscious and fashionable. Our Coral Gables mom is not your average soccer mom. She’s very likely to wear her spike-heeled mules and her Vuitton bag—with snug jeans—to the athletic fields.”
“So there’s no letting yourself go after kids. Poor things,” Kate said. “They still have to be sex symbols?”
Marly shrugged. “Well, it’s hot down here. Which means no hiding fat under sweaters and coats and layers of wool. Skin is in, and cellulite’s not popular.”
“And there’s a lot of South American influence,” Peg added. “Those women are gorgeous and they take care of themselves. They’re sexy, even after four kids.”
Kate wrote it all down. She chewed on her pen and swung her foot over her knee, bouncing it. She noticed Peg grinning at the state of her loafers. “These are Alejandro’s favorite,” she told her. “Nice and battered, no sex appeal.”
“Hey,” said Peg, “I lived in Connecticut. I know about loafers. But since I moved down here, I’ve become quite attached to the fabulous array of slut shoes.”
Kate eyed her dark brown stilettos. “If I took two steps in those, I’d fall and kill myself.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Peg said cheerfully. “You get used to them pretty fast. And they give you a built-in butt wiggle. Men love them.”
Kate shuddered. “Where I come from, we don’t approve of butt wiggle.”
“And that’s a crying shame,” Alejandro’s voice said behind her. He flashed his hypnotic white smile.
It shot into her bloodstream like a drug, making her heart speed. Her brain was inundated with images of a naked Alejandro under her, on top of her, behind her, next to her…murmuring hot, sexy words into her ear until she whimpered for release. Spinneys didn’t whimper. Not ever. That was, by unwritten law, frowned upon even more than butt wiggle or tight spandex pants or thong bikinis. After all, Boston had been founded on tea, not sex.
Kate had a theory that the weather probably did have a lot to do with it. As Marly said, it was hot down here. When settlers arrived in Florida, they’d probably almost died of heatstroke. When settlers had arrived on Plymouth Rock, they’d likely been frozen to the bone.
So the Mayflower crowd drank a lot of hot tea and bundled up by the fire. And the Miami crew, she figured, had gone skinny-dipping. There you had it: the evolution of culture.
“My neighbor would like Gracious back,” Alejandro said, interrupting her train of thought.
“Oh. I was really enjoying her. But I guess she has to go home. Do you want me to bring her over to you later?”
“Yes, after we finish up here and we buy you some new shoes,” he said, looking pointedly at her toes in the flapping loafer.
“How about a roll of clear packing tape instead? That’ll fix the problem and they’ll be good as new.” She grinned up at him.
“No. Those were never good, and I’m not sure they were ever new, either. I think they’ve been passed down through your family for generations.”
“Did I ask for your opinion on my footwear?”
“You did not. But I have clearly won the Flirt-Off, and the price you pay is new shoes of my choice, remember?”
“You have not won!”
“Flirt-Off?” Peggy and Marly said at the same time.
“I have definitely won. Come on, Kate, how can you even argue the point? Should I lay out all the details so that Peg and Marly can judge?”
“Details?” they asked, hopeful gleams in their eyes.
“No!” Kate glared at him.
“He is a Master Flirt,” Marly told her. “He has to be. Look at what he does for a liv—” She jumped as Alejandro put his arm around her and squeezed, smiling broadly.
“I’m really at a loss as to why an accountant would need to flirt,” Kate said, puzzled.
“So, what are all these notes about?” Alejo tweaked the yellow pad off her knee and examined it. He squinted. He turned it sideways. “What, were you a doctor in a past life? Or is this in a language I don’t know?”
“Give me that,” Kate said, annoyed. “So I flunked handwriting in first grade. I still got into Harvard.”
“One word looked like demigod. Are you referring to me? Because there’s nothing demi about Alejandro the Great, mi amorcito. You should know this by now.”
“Demographics,” Kate said, through gritted teeth.
Peggy and Marly exchanged a glance. “You slept with him,” they said. Peg added, “So he’s definitely won the Flirt-Off.”
“Wh—? I—That is not true.”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Alejandro murmured. “But I do see new shoes in your future today. Oh, yes, I do. I’m thinking snakeskin, five-inch heels, studded with rhinestones.”
“Value,” said Kate, staring fixedly at the yellow pad, her face burning so hot that she was afraid her ears might blow off. “What does the After Hours customer value most? The service? The atmosphere? The price?”
“Yes,” Alejandro mused. “Definitely rhinestones.”
“Price isn’t really a big consideration,” Marly said.
“No rhinestones, sport.”
Peggy nodded. “It’s a toss-up between service and atmosphere.”
“Sport,” Alejo spat. “No. You will not call me that.”
“Then you will not threaten me with rhinestones,” Kate said sweetly. “Now, if you had to rank service or atmosphere higher, which would you pick?”
Marly tugged on her long dark braid. “Service,” she finally said. “Especially Señor Maños.” She winked at Peg.
Alejandro fell into a violent coughing fit.
“Señor what? What does that mean?” Kate tapped her pen on the legal pad.
“Mr. Hands.”
“It’s a product that we use in the course of a manicure or pedicure,” Alejandro said smoothly. “Imported.”
“Yes, from Peru,” Peg added. “Fabulous. The clients can’t get enough.”
Service, Kate wrote down. Superior products. “And nobody else uses this?”
&nbs
p; “No. We’re unique when it comes to Señor Manos.” Marly smiled.
“Great. Now, how do you set yourself apart from other salons?” Kate asked.
“Well, the fact that we’re open until midnight, of course. And we serve wine and beer.”
Open till midnight, Kate wrote. “Actually, I know of other salons and spas that serve wine, so you’re not unique on that.”
Peggy and Marly nodded. Alejandro was uncharacteristically quiet. He seemed annoyed with the two women; she didn’t know why.
“You still with us, sport? Or are you taking a mental coffee break?”
He turned a malevolent gaze upon her. “Purple snakeskin,” he said. “With a matching belt.”
“Okay,” Kate said briskly, ignoring him. “So then our conclusion is that in order to compete better in the salon and spa market, the one thing you guys can improve is your atmosphere. Correct?”
They all blinked at her. “We think our atmosphere is pretty cool,” Marly said, gesturing around the place.
“Yeah,” Peg backed her up. “Marly designed it all and did the floors and everything.”
“The interior design is great,” Kate told them. “Perfect for Miami. I’m not talking about any changes there. But you’re pushing for a fun, sexy, almost nightclub feel, right?”
They nodded.
“Then let’s brainstorm how to push the envelope on that.”
“Okaaaay…” They exchanged another glance and Kate had no problem reading their thoughts. What did Boston’s Kate Spinney, in her baggy khakis, man’s blue button-down and shredded loafers know about fun, or sex or hip nightclubs?
For the first time, she looked down at her clothes and found them lacking. Peg and Marly looked hip and sexy, each in her own different way. Peg wore stilettos, a short skirt and a form-fitting top. Marly wore two of those double cotton tank tops over a long peasant skirt. She didn’t wear heels, but she did show a lot of glowing skin and some cleavage.
Kate felt like a small man next to them. She didn’t like it at all. But purple snakeskin? She thought not. She steered her thoughts away from her appearance with a little leadership. “All right. When I say nightclub, what’s the first thing that pops into each of your minds? Alejandro?”
Midnight Touch Page 10
