by Amy Harmon
When the email came through, Breezy told Lucienne, “It arrived,” and clicked on the picture.
“Tell me you absolutely love what it does for your eyes.”
Love it? She hated it. She looked like a fresher faced Pamela.
Noah had given her Pamela’s haircut!
It was all Breezy could do to speak civilly with the anger flooding her. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to speak with Mr. Drake and I’ll call you back.”
“He will insist on the haircut. It is very flattering.”
For a weather bimbo, a man-eating sex goddess, a force of nature, perhaps.
But not for Breezy Jones, professional meteorologist.
“I’ll call you back,” she repeated, and hung up. She sat, stunned and fuming.
How dare he indeed. The jerk.
She lifted her phone and called Lindsey. When her friend answered, she said, “How would you like to earn one hundred dollars for trimming the ends off my hair tomorrow?”
“Wow. My Saturday morning is full, but at that price I’ll work you in. Who’s paying that ridiculous amount?”
“My boss.”
“Andrew?”
“No. Noah Drake just hired me back to do the weather. He wants me to get a haircut and he’s paying one hundred dollars.”
“Is he insane?”
“Certifiable if he thinks he can tell me to cut my hair short.” And she’d been certifiable for even considering letting him kiss her earlier.
“Wow,” Lindsey repeated. “He’s an idiot.”
“I’ll need an official receipt.”
“I’ll scrounge one up.”
“Good. Add a fifty-dollar tip. He’s feeling generous.”
Chapter Twelve
Criticism, like rain, should be gentle enough to nourish a man's growth without destroying his roots. —Frank Howard Clark
Monday, May 27
Breezy had wondered how long it would be before Noah wanted to talk about her one-inch haircut versus the drastic mutilation he’d wanted. Apparently, not long at all.
She had made a point of not going to his office when she first arrived on Monday, and a hostage situation in a Sacramento bank had created increased activity in the news hive so he had been busy doing other things.
She’d made it onto the news and done the weather segment, reveling in every minute of her beloved job. As she chatted with the anchors, she caught sight of Noah as he walked into the studio and talked for a moment with Stacy as she ran the teleprompter. Then he turned toward Breezy with a disapproving glare.
She smiled more brightly as she chatted and tossed the ball back to the anchors.
Maybe she could just stay here on the set. Forever.
He raised a hand and motioned her over, then walked out of the room.
With the camera no longer on her, she gave a silent sigh and stepped away from the anchor desk, making her way around the back of the cameras and following him out of the room.
He met her in the lobby outside of the short hallway. “Ms. Jones, would you be so kind as to step into my office, please.”
So it had come to formal last names. That meant he was really ticked off. Well, so was she. “Certainly, Mr. Drake.”
She followed him across the lobby, silent in the elevator ride up with several other occupants glancing back and forth between them, and down the hall to his office.
As soon as they entered and he closed the door, he faced her. “I thought you said you would call Lucienne.”
“I did call her.”
“But you didn’t visit her. Your hair is exactly the same. Your makeup, too.”
She put one hand on her hip. “You know, you have some kind of gall sending me to this so-called consultant, mentioning getting my hair styled, when what you asked her to do is cut it all off.”
“Not all of it. You would look sexy with a short cut.”
“Sexy, huh? Perhaps I don’t want to look sexy. Perhaps I just want to look like me.”
“I cannot believe you didn’t even get it cut.”
“I most certainly did.” She opened her purse. “And here is the receipt. And your slightly used VISA card.”
She handed over Lindsey’s receipt for a one-hundred-dollar haircut and fifty-dollar tip.
He studied it and glared at her. “Very generous with my money.”
“Your money? I assumed it was the station’s money.”
“It was up until this moment.”
“Mr. Drake,” she began.
“Noah,” he said.
She studied him. “I like my hair the way it is.”
“Let me clarify. You have a dream job. You want your dream job. If you want it bad enough, you’ll go to Lucienne and have her cut it up at least to your shoulders. I’m trying to give you your job here. You need to help me.” He put a hand on his desk. “So, do you want your dream job or not?”
There was a long pause while they stared angrily at each other.
Glared.
Finally, she looked away. “I want my dream job.”
“This time I will call and make the appointment and I will go with you to make sure you actually get the haircut.”
Breezy blinked twice to keep a tear from escaping. Her beautiful long hair was going to be gone. And Noah was the man who was going to force her to cut it.
She could take the job in Utah and keep her hair exactly as it was. But she wanted to stay in Aspen Grove. And apparently a drastic haircut was the only thing standing between her and what she wanted. Finally, she conceded. “All right.”
He nodded and pulled out his cell phone. After a moment, he said, “Lucienne, it’s Noah Drake. I would like to make another appointment for Ms. Jones.”
A pause, then, “Two weeks? You’re kidding.”
Another pause. “I’ll pay you double your going rate.”
Relieved, Breezy hoped something good happened in between to change his mind. But she didn’t think it would. If she wanted this job as meteorologist in the hometown she loved, the price was cutting her hair.
“All right. I’ll take it.” He hung up and turned to Breezy. “Your appointment is on Friday, June 7. I will drive you to Sacramento and back.”
“Yes, sir,” Breezy said, picked up her purse, and sailed out the door.
* * *
Friday, June 7
“Full-on French braids are pretty, though they are, unfortunately, not in the height of fashion right now, Lucienne said. “Much more glamorous and trendy to do side braids pulled back into a bun.”
Noah watched the woman begin to unpin Breezy’s shiny brunette hair.
Sitting in the chair, Breezy frowned, but didn’t say anything.
Uncomfortable in the midst of all the black and white geometric chrome and glass in this room, Noah shifted in his chair.
“I will give you a look that is all your own,” Lucienne assured her.
“I already had that,” Breezy finally said, shooting a glare his direction.
“A look,” Lucienne went on, “that will allow you to work on any television station anywhere in the country and stun people.”
Leaning against the wall, Noah glanced down at the printout Lucienne had done of Breezy’s face with the new proposed hairstyle. He liked it. Sleek. Professional. Sexy. Exactly the look he envisioned for the station. With her natural people-pleasing charm and her new sexier look, he suspected Breezy would be a huge hit.
Breezy had avoided him for nearly two weeks since he’d made the appointment. She’d done her work and he’d started receiving happy emails for a change. But she caught his gaze now, and he’d never seen that particular look of hurt in her eyes. He glanced away. Wishing Bentley hadn’t insisted.
This was for the best. For her best, too. She wanted success as a meteorologist? He was going to assure it for her. Pleasing Bentley was the way to succeed at the station. But maybe it would work out okay. Instead of looking like a young Pollyanna, she would look like the powerhouse atmospheric scientist she was.
<
br /> But Breezy looked miserable as she watched Lucienne in the mirror as the stylist took down what was a surprisingly long braid and began to unwind it.
Breezy sighed. “Are you sure I have to do this?” she asked him, her eyes pleading.
Why did she have this strange ability to make him wish he could change his mind? “Your career is going to take off.”
She sighed. “I don’t want a Pamela haircut.”
“It’s not,” he said, looking at the picture again. Well, actually, it was.
Lucienne tsked. “You have beautiful thick hair, and naturally curly. It is almost a shame to cut it.”
Now both of them? Noah picked up the printed picture. It looked awesome. She looked awesome. Put some high heels on her, and a sexy skirt, and, well, she’d look great. Though he wouldn’t require any of that for the job.
Lucienne said, “There. All down. Now to begin the transformation.”
Noah looked up.
Stunned, he stared, his mouth hanging open.
Breezy’s long brunette hair flowed around her face and down around her like a waterfall of curls. It swirled and coiled and caressed her face and figure.
Lucienne picked up the scissors.
“Wait!” Noah said.
Lucienne paused and shot a glance at him. “Yes?”
“Breezy, stand up.”
She tipped her head in surprise. He motioned for her to stand, and she did.
“Stand over here.” He pointed to a spot closer to him.
When she walked away from the chair, he walked in a slow circle around her.
She looked fabulous. He was totally blown away.
He’d wanted sexy? Definitely.
He’d wanted fabulous? Wow.
He’d wanted stunning? Oh, yeah.
He reached out and touched a silky curl. Coming to stand in front of her, he looked deep into her beautiful warm brown eyes.
She looked up at him and asked, “What’s wrong with me now?”
He shook his head. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. I love the hair.” He didn’t care what Bentley said. He was not going to force Breezy to cut her hair. He couldn’t do it. He’d take the heat for it later, but he would, as his father used to say, cross that bridge when he got to it.
He looked at Lucienne. “Don’t cut it.”
Breezy said, “Don’t cut it?” The hope in her voice cut into his heart.
“Well, you can choose. Either cut it in this style,” he pointed to the printout of the style Bentley had chosen, “or wear your hair down, exactly like it is right now.”
“I wear it up because it’s so hard to control the curls.”
“I have excellent products for that,” Lucienne said.
“Down and straight would be fine, as well.” Noah smiled and nodded. “I guess we’ll move on to the makeup session now.”
Breezy’s face lit up. “I don’t have to cut my hair? And I can still do the weather?”
His heart squeezed. “You don’t have to cut your hair and you can still do the weather.”
He was pretty sure Lucienne tried to hide a roll of her eyes as she said, “Follow me. We will do the makeup in my other room, and I will prepare the products and show you how to use them correctly.”
Stunned, he watched Breezy. Her brown eyes now filled with joy, spilling over into his heart. Why hadn’t he seen this one coming? He felt suckerpunched.
He was an idiot.
He enjoyed being around Breezy. He liked the way she made him feel when he was around her. But he hadn’t seen her as a sexy woman before. Obviously he thought he liked a woman with a certain look. But as he watched her talking with Lucienne in an excited voice, her face glowing with that special Breezy glow, he realized he loved her look.
His gaze went to the printout again. It would be wrong to make her look anything like Pamela. Breezy’s girl-next-door glow was so much better.
He crumpled up the picture and tossed it in a nearby black-and-white waste basket.
Surprised at himself, he realized he wanted to date her. He wanted Breezy’s happy look to be just for him. But how on earth was he going to get her to date him at this point? He’d stolen her dream away. Then he’d given it back only to try to steal away her gorgeous hair.
He was so relieved he’d come today.
It would have been a tragedy if her hair had been cut. Their relationship would have been over in that moment. And in this moment when he had seen her for the sexy woman she really was for the very first time, he wanted a relationship.
After all that had happened between them, she probably wouldn’t agree to date him, so he was going to have to be creative. What would she agree to do?
Maybe if he presented her with what she thought was a more acceptable request.
What if he asked for her help in presenting a united front for the station she loved?
He would invite her to the Mayor’s Gala.
And he hoped with all his heart that she would accept.
* * *
After leaving Lucienne’s Salon, Noah had taken Breezy to brunch at a posh, elegant Sacramento Italian restaurant with great atmosphere. They’d both ordered lasagna and hadn’t been disappointed.
She was so happy about not having to cut her hair, which was still down but now tamed by the products Lucienne had used, that she had a warm feeling about Noah. She’d left it down because she’d be on the news shortly after they returned to Aspen Grove.
For a few minutes, when Noah had first seen her hair down, he’d seemed stunned, almost like a man who had finally realized she was a woman. Weird thought, but that’s what it had felt like.
She liked him looking at her like she was a woman. A sexy woman. Because she didn’t feel sexy most of the time. That had never been her priority.
He was looking at her that way again. She felt a flush begin and knew her face had probably just reddened. Tingles swept along her spine. Wow.
“I know we have to leave soon in order to get back in time for your broadcast, but I have a favor to ask of you.” He seemed almost nervous.
Feeling generous, she said, “Ask away.”
He drew in a deep breath. “The Mayor’s Gala is coming up, and I’m hoping you’ll be my guest.”
“You’re asking me out?” Breezy wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She liked the idea, though. Maybe he really did see her as a woman now, not just someone who needed to be made into a Pamela clone. But what would she do about her father’s rule?
“I think it would be good for the station if you and I present a united front right now. Plus it would be a good first step in you and I repairing our relationship.”
“Relationship?” she choked out.
“Working relationship,” he clarified.
O-kay, he had made that clear enough. He didn’t want to date her. He only wanted to up the ratings for the good of the station. Create goodwill for the station. Put up with her presence for the station.
The warm feelings from him saying she didn’t need to cut her hair were beginning to cool. She’d misread all the signals. She’d thought he was attracted to her back at Lucienne’s Salon.
Boy, had she forecasted that one wrong.
But she loved KWAC and she would do anything for the station that had been her second home for so many years. So, for a good working relationship with her boss, and for the station she loved, Breezy would go with Noah to the Mayor’s Gala. She nodded. “Yes. For the station.”
He looked relieved and something more. But surely she’d misread it again. She needed to stay away from him, because he threw her relationship forecasting skills out of whack. She would go to work, she would attend the Mayor’s Gala, but she would not fraternize with her boss except where unavoidable.
“Good,” he said. “Thanks.”
* * *
Monday, June 10
The next Monday, seated in the station’s break room across from Gabe, Noah worked on the Chinese food Gabe had brought back for the
m. “Believe it or not, I’m getting tired of Chinese food. I’m not going to marry that chef, after all.”
“About time. I’m starting to dream in Cantonese.” Gabe took another bite.
“What does the chef at the Mexican place look like?”
“Miguel?”
Noah laughed. “Yeah. Probably not.”
People milled about, entering, buying, eating, leaving, and voices rose and fell. But soon men’s voices drifted in from the hallway.
He didn’t pay much attention until a voice spoke that he recognized. It was that sales guy, Chad Ivans. The one who sold so many advertising slots that he was invaluable to the station.
From the hall, Chad’s voice carried to their table, just inside the lunch room. “I keep hoping she’ll let me take her out. She is gorgeous.”
Gabe looked over and said, in a low voice, “Pamela?”
Noah didn’t get the allure, personally. “Probably.”
A different man said, “I know. And now that her hair is down, she is drop-dead gorgeous. I never realized how sexy she is.”
“Hmmm.” Gabe rubbed his soul patch. “Not Pamela.”
Noah’s eyes widened in surprise and dismay. “Breezy?” It had to be.
Gabe nodded. “She is looking pretty hot now. Who knew that, under all that prim and proper hair, a sexy woman was hidden?”
In the hall, Chad said, “I’m going to ask her out to dinner.”
Another guy said, “She’s not going to go with you, loser. I’m taking her to the new Disney movie.”
“Ohhh, a Disney movie,” one of the other guys mocked.
“Make fun, moron. She happens to like Disney movies. I’m no dummy.”
The men’s voices moved away from the doorway and faded out.
Jealousy flooded Noah. Irrational, hurtful, and strong.
Determined not to show it, he turned to Gabe. “That was certainly a surprise.” His voice came out higher than he’d planned. He coughed and tried again. “I mean, she does look good, but...” He trailed off.
Gabe nodded knowingly. “She looks fabulous and our ratings are going up dramatically. Everybody loves Breezy. She makes people feel good. And she looks good while doing it.”
