The Accidental Human

by Dakota Cassidy

  Problem? Oh, no. No problems on her end. Not even one. If she got lucky, she’d snare the first ever male Bobbie-Sue color consultant. A rare bird indeed. But there might be a problem for him once he found out he’d be hawking things like Berry-Berry Blush and Wild Watermelon Lipstick. “The ad I placed is to sell Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics. Um, you know, makeup. The stuff women wear, but men, not so much?”

  His answer wasn’t fazed—not even a little. “And?”

  “And I don’t want to state the obvious, but you’re a man.” There. She’d said it again. A man. He was a man. He had dangly bits—that made him a man—not a woman.

  “Does Bobbie-Sue have some rule against men selling their cosmetics?”

  “Well, no—”

  “So just by virtue of my gender, you’ve decided I can’t sell cosmetics.” His words were clipped and kinda huffy.

  A flush of heat shot to her cheeks. “No! No, I would never say that. I just mean—”

  “You just mean, that because I’m a man, I wouldn’t be any good at selling cosmetics, right, Ms. Schwartz?”

  Ohhhhhhh, the way he said her name, all stern and reprimanding, made her stomach flutter with an odd jolt. Like a flock of freshly released butterflies had just been let loose in her intestines. “Well, let’s be honest. What do you, a man, know about makeup?” Wanda shoved a fist into her mouth. Where had her Bobbie-Sue spirit gone? What if he was a drag queen and she’d just insulted the snot out of all drag queens across the land?

  “Who says I can’t learn?”

  Again. Point for the man. The. Man. “No one said you couldn’t learn. I’m just saying—”

  “That I’m a man, and men don’t know anything about the goop women put on their faces.”

  She’d been this close to swearing at Nina earlier. This wannabe cosmetics selling man was bringing her that much closer. Keeping in mind her emotions were seesawing wildly after a god-awful day, she bit her tongue before speaking. “Um, look, Mr.—”

  “Jefferson. Heath Jefferson.”

  Heath . . . . Dreamy . . . Niiiice name—sexy—very Wuthering Heights. “Okay, Heath. First of all, goop is hardly a very flattering word, now is it? And secondly, all I’m saying is, it might be harder to sell you selling cosmetics than it would be for you to actually sell the cosmetics, you see what I mean?”

  His husky voice bristled. “No. I haven’t the foggiest what you mean. I think I got lost somewhere between my name and goop. But I believe I detect gender discrimination from this place called Bobbie-Sue.”

  Oh, no. He did not. That was just what she needed. Some man screaming discrimination in relation to Bobbie-Sue. “No. Not at all. Anyone can sell Bobbie-Sue . . . I guess you just caught me off guard. Usually only women answer my ad.”

  She heard a rustle and then a weary response. “Well, I’m a man who needs a job. Look, can I sell cosmetics in the world according to you, or not? My time at the pay phone is running out.”

  Wanda was incredulous, and it showed in her response. “You don’t have a phone?”

  “Um, no. So could we make this quick? I’m running low on quarters.”

  “O-okay. Um, I’m having an in-home party tonight to introduce potential recruits to the Bobbie-Sue way of life.”

  His sharp bark of laughter cut her off. “Way of life? Are there drugs involved?”

  Wanda was aghast. Wasn’t he the one who needed a freakin’ job? How crude and insulting. “Drugs? Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t even like to take aspirin unless I have to. It’s just that when you commit to Bobbie-Sue as a sales recruit, you commit to making the world a better place by sharing your knowledge of color auras with everyone around you.”

  “Color auras . . .” Heath trailed off.

  Glancing at her microwave clock, she realized time was of the essence. “Yes, color auras. Just one of the many things you’ll learn as a part of tonight’s in-home party. Now, if you’d like to join us, man or not, I’d be delighted to have you. Here’s my address.” She rattled off her home address and followed up with a cheerful, “The party begins at eight sharp. Bring your party shoes.” Clicking off the phone, she plunked it down on the table and set about finishing up her weenies in a blanket.

  A man . . .

  She shook her head. This Heath would probably never show up. No man on Earth would have the courage to come to a party where a gaggle of women were going to gather and slap goop on each other’s faces. But what a coup that’d be. The first ever male color consultant at Bobbie-Sue, and Wanda would be the one who nabbed him.

  Weee doggie.

  She scrambled to find her list—the one she’d made to prepare for the party—and ticked off the words cheese log and weenies in a blanket, to signify they were complete. Lists comforted her—they gave her a sense of accomplishment—they meant she had control of something.

  For all the good her control would do her now.

  The sinking feeling in the pit of her belly had fled while she’d been talking to Heath, but it returned with a slam to her gut when she remembered that none of this, not her perfectly rolled weenies in a blanket, her carefully planned vegetable dip, her famous cheese log, or even her man-coup would matter after today.

  Wanda gripped the edge of her table, white-knuckled and fighting the shakes that wracked her body.

  Seriously, what did anything matter when you were diagnosed with a terminal illness?

  Like dying.

  So in the spirit of her good friend Nina, Wanda thought, Well, fuck.

  The next list she made—was going to be a doozy.

  CHAPTER 2

  Well, okay.

  Nice.

  She’d been owned.

  Wanda narrowed her gaze in Mr. Heath Jefferson’s direction as yet another woman swooned at his color recommendation, and to really top things off, not only was he crazy cute, he was flippin’ spot-on. It was like he’d been doing this all his life—like he was born to create color auras.

  Frankly, Wanda didn’t even know why she’d bothered to hang around.

  At her own party.

  In her own house.

  Because it would seem this Heath had commandeered not just the party, but the women attending. How had this happened? He’d waltzed in, giving her but the slightest of acknowledgments by nodding his windblown, sinfully male dark blond head. And obviously he didn’t need much acknowledging, he was the first ever male Bobbie-Sue potential recruit. Then he’d popped some weenies in a blanket into his mouth, savoring them like they were the finest caviar while she’d done her Bobbie-Sue spiel, and just to really unnerve her, he’d watched her every move with eyes that could melt steel. And then, he’d taken over.

  Completely.

  He’d looked at the samples, had apparently absorbed the basic literature at the Evelyn Wood version of the speed of light, and began telling the other attendees exactly what was in their color wheels. But not before he’d captivated every female in the room with the notion that he wasn’t anyone’s husband or even a boyfriend of one of the partygoers. He wanted to sell Bobbie-Sue.

  Seriously.

  And all the ho’s in Ho-ville had latched onto him like he was their first french fry after the Cleanse, all doe-eyed and gushing.

  As if that weren’t enough—as if watching this gaggle of women turn to so much melted butter beneath Heath Jefferson’s mere gaze wasn’t crazy pathetic—her cat, Menusha, fluffy, faithless slut that she was, was sitting at his feet, staring up at him with big green cat eyes, like he was one of those fancy kitty condos with the plush carpeting.

  Heathen.

  One of her attendees, a well-dressed redhead with flowing, curly hair, moved in for the kill, placing her long, lean fingers on the arm of Heath’s immaculate navy blue suit. She’d spent the better part of the evening eyeballing him with a seductive stare. The kind of stare that upon re-creation would make Wanda look like she had an eye tic. Yet when the vixen here gave him that demure but sultry stare, it stole the breath from Wanda’
s mere mortal lungs.

  Wanda watched as the woman scooted closer to Heath on the couch, her ice blue, almond-shaped eyes sending arrows dipped in lust at him. She held up a sample lipstick, totally not in her color wheel—and undoubtedly, judging from her personal style, she darn well knew it wasn’t—then asked breathily, “Is this in my color wheel, Heath?” She smiled flirtatiously, wetting her collagen-injected lips.

  Each head of every bloody woman in the room turned their eyes expectantly, looking to Heath, waiting with bated breath for his answer. Wanda rolled her eyes from her fold-up chair at the back of her small living room and attempted to maintain a professional facade for the sake of her Bobbie-Sue reputation. She cleared her throat, waiting for him to answer—because he had them all. Answers, that is.

  Heath tilted his freshly shaven jaw and appeared to ponder for a moment, then shook his blond head, making the wisps of hair that just touched the crisp collar of his white shirt rasp against it. “Nope. It has too much orange in it.You need a blue base, if you’re going to wear red lipstick.” He reached out to the table that held the samples Wanda had laid out before her guests had arrived and picked up another lipstick to show Mindy, or Mippy, or whoever the hell this tart was, what he meant. His broad shoulders didn’t budge an inch, the slight tilt of his lips, ultra confident. “This one is more appropriate for your color wheel.” He said it with such authority and all while being so—so completely male, he left absolutely no doubt he knew what he was talking about and that he was all man while he was doing it.

  In-freakin’-credible.

  There was a small hush while the others looked at their color wheel charts for verification, and then with wide eyes filled with adulation, they all squealed their approval. A couple of them even clapped their hands. Like he’d just given them detailed directions to the Fountain of Youth. Heath’s eyes met hers above the fifteen or so heads, his gaze held smug satisfaction. His firm lips fell into a line of quiet superiority.

  And as hard as it was for her to admit it, this Heath was dead-on. The vixen that almost couldn’t contain the spill of her überhooters from her charcoal gray silk shirt should definitely never wear anything with an orange base to it.

  Bastard.

  Why his grasp of color concepts and the fact that women were falling at his feet like dead flies after a shot of Raid was leaving her so unsettled, escaped her. If nothing else, she should be excited that she’d found a recruit who could potentially earn her some serious moolah. And he would, if the way he was working these women over was any indication. And he was a man. Male—maybe even a heterosexual man. It was the Bobbie-Sue coup of the century. Except, what good was moolah and coups when you were . . .Wanda snapped her thoughts to a screeching halt.

  Hookay.This was so over, and she was so over his showing her up. The damned show-off. Wherever he’d learned to whip a color wheel into a frothy frenzy was one of those unsolved mysteries, but this was her party and these were her recruits. It was time to take charge like any good regional color supervisor would. That she wanted to do it while she stuck her tongue out at him was another story.

  Wanda rose, feeling the niggle of pain in her abdomen that had become so familiar to her as of late as she did. She placed a hand where the indentation of her waist met her hips and said with a smile, “So, ladies, I think you can see Bobbie-Sue speaks for itself, and I hope you’ll all agree. Sign-up sheets for the starter kit are in the kitchen. If you’ll follow me, we’ll get down to the boring paperwork,” she joked, smiling, then began to make her way to the kitchen.

  While everyone else stayed exactly where they were.

  As close to Heath as they could possibly get.

  The excited hum of voices rose and fell as each woman dawdled in the living room, coming up with one excuse after another to stay with Heath. She popped her head around the corner and gave the Pied Piper of Color a pointed gaze. “Mr. Jefferson? Why don’t you be the first to fill out the paperwork that will mark the beginning of your new future as a Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics consultant? Seeing as you’re so obviously attuned to color wheels and all,” she added, flashing him a fake smile. She didn’t know what his gig was, or why he’d decided to crash a party clearly designed for chicks, but she was ready to call him on it.

  If he thought her weenies in a blanket and some makeup were going to be his vessel to pick up broads, he’d thought wrong. Maybe this was some weird fetish of his? She’d seen plenty since she’d found the Internet and read all those romance novels, and if this were some bizarre kink he indulged in, he wouldn’t be getting his kink on at her house with her potential clients.

  No kinking on her watch.

  But Heath shot her another confident smile and popped off the couch, rising to his full height, leading the way to Wanda’s kitchen, his pack of newly acquired drooling flunkies on their feet and at the ready. “Just say where.” He smiled down just inches from her face, his hazel eyes glittering, then slid past her, his hand brushing her hip as he did.

  A shiver raced along her spine, and she wasn’t sure if it was from the touch of his broad hand or the smell of his cologne settling in her nostrils. Which was yummy, but whatevah.

  Bodies filled her kitchen, and as Wanda supervised the paperwork, she lost track of the pens she handed out, the applications for starter kits that were signed, and Heath, who’d apparently not been as serious as his game face had claimed. He’d disappeared shortly after the redhead had asked if Heath could be her color supervisor. Yeah, a color supervisor was exactly what came to mind when Wanda thought about positions Ms. Wonder Boobs needed to fill.

  An excruciating hour later, as the last of the women filed out of her front door, she leaned forward on it, resting her forehead against the cool, painted surface, breathing a sigh of exhaustion. Her hand shook when she ran it along her hair.

  The clatter of dishes in her kitchen made her jump.

  “I assumed you might need some help cleaning up.” The deep rumble of Heath’s voice washed over her, and she found a disturbing tingle settled in her belly just hearing it. Then it freaked her out. She was alone with a strange man in her house. A man who could still create color wheels even if he were blind. A man who’d make Bobbie-Sue herself shed tears of envy with his gift for wooing an audience of women into signing up to become a rep.

  Wanda turned around and flattened herself against the door, her hand on the knob, ready to flee if he was like an ax murderer. “I think I’ve got it, but thanks.” Her ears perked to the weak tone of her reply, and if she didn’t feel like she was going to fall flat on her ass, she’d care more. Right now, she just wanted him to go away so she could go to bed and forget today.

  And do it without him killing her in cold blood.

  He popped a fistful of mini Ritz crackers in his mouth and closed his eyes, very clearly savoring them, before directing another one of those steel-melting gazes at her. “You look pretty tired, Wanda, and I don’t mind helping. It’s a mess. Those women sure could eat, huh?”

  And fawn. And gush. And make goo-goo eyes at Heath. A giggle slipped from her lips. She nodded her head. “Yeah, eat they can. Among other things.” Her living room was a sea of paper cups, crumbs, and platters with very few remains of her carefully planned appetizers left. It was a friggin’ disaster area. Her energy level sank to a new low just contemplating straightening it up.

  “C’mon,” he said over his wide shoulder. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

  Wanda blew out a raspy sigh. Uh, no. The best thing for this man to do was leave. He could be some nut, or worse, a hardened criminal, or—in favor of thinking the worst—a serial killer. Ted Bundy had an eye for the ladies, too, didn’t he? Handsome . . . charming . . . hookay, she was only freaking herself out. She was in no mood to be someone’s victim tonight. She had nuthin’ to lose after today.Yet, still she chose to pacify him for fear of stirring his serial-killer juices up. “I’ve done this a hundred times. Really, it’s okay. I’m good.”

  “Not if those dark c
ircles under your eyes are any indication. I’d highly recommend you hit the Bobbie-Sue concealer—in dark ivory, judging from your skin tone, right?”

  There was a lot of nerve going on in this here room, and even if he was right about the color her concealer should be—it took hella guts to point it out. It was unsettling her to no end and thus, tweaking her for reasons she had no explanations for. But again, the role she’d played most of her life kicked into overdrive. Peacemaker. Pacifier. If money could be made making nice—she’d be a superstah. “Uh, right. Seriously, I can’t ask you to clean up a party I invited you to. I’ve got it.” But Heath wasn’t listening, he was back in the kitchen, his jacket on the back of one of her chairs, his perfect white shirt rolled to his elbows, and his forearms, sprinkled with light brown hair, deep in her sink.

  Wanda zipped in behind him, grabbing a towel and moving with caution to stand beside him, taking the dish he handed her while giving her one of his congenial smiles.When her shoulder brushed against Heath’s bicep, she moved farther to the right, locking her hips in place by pressing them to the edge of the counter. Her pencil-slim black skirt rustled in the silence.

  “So, this Bobbie-Sue thing . . .”

  Yeah, this Bobbie-Sue thing he seemed to think he could conquer all in one breathtaking leap of hotness and man charm. “Hmmmm?”

  “The starter kit’s pretty expensive.”

  Her Bobbie-Sue-ness, reserved for those who might experience skepticism, immediately kicked in, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It had become second nature to shoot down a cynic with a smile on her face and perseverance in her heart. “Expensive is a matter of perspective, if you ask me. If making ten times what the starter kit costs is expensive, then I guess it’s expensive. But if you look at it as an investment in your future—”

  Heath held up a soapy hand, the bubbles from the dish detergent fizzing along his lightly tanned fingers. “Save the spiel. I get it. I just don’t have that kind of money right now.”

  Wanda waited for more, hoping he’d give her just a little more information on exactly why in the hell he, a man, wanted to sell makeup, but his lips returned to that stoic position and his profile held a cockiness she was growing tired of.