Back in the Bedroom ; Kiss and Makeup

by Jill Shalvis

  Ben placed her suitcase on the floor beside her, and rested one hand on the top of the car and the other on the door, so he could duck his head in enough to make eye contact.

  “Goodbye, Chloe Masterson.”

  His smile was sad and genuine, and knowing she’d never see it again made her chest feel fuzzy.

  She did her best to return the smile, and Chloe hated that hers felt a little wobbly, but she managed to say, “Goodbye, Ben Masterson,” and give him enough time to close the door before her stupid tear ducts betrayed her.

  CHAPTER 8

  WHEN BEN WALKED into his office on Monday morning, he was greeted by hearty congratulations and back slaps and a bottle of laudatory wine on his desk from Carson and McLeod. Well, it was probably from one of their admin assistants since the card was electronically signed, but still.

  He was proud of landing the account, of course, but since he’d been home, he couldn’t drum up the excitement that he usually held for a new challenge.

  Ben took a seat at his desk and looked around his office—the same dove-gray walls, the same black-and-white photos of Seattle architecture, the same glass-and-chrome accents—and he was struck by how colorless his existence had become.

  There’d been a time when he’d been proud of his job. At thirty, he was already a team lead, and with any luck, being seriously considered for the promotion to account director. He should be on top of the world right now, but he couldn’t shake the way Chloe had correctly pegged him in three seconds flat. It was making him doubt the paint-by-numbers progression of his life.

  Where was the excitement? The spontaneity?

  Smothered, no doubt, by a series of five-year plans. Get a degree. Get a job. Get promoted. He’d Stalin-ized his life into a bland progression of what he’d once thought were bigger and better goals. And now he had a great job, sure, but was that all he had?

  When was the last time he’d hung out with his friends? His once-weekly basketball game with his best friend, Oz, had become sporadic at best, and it scared him that work had taken over his whole life. But wasn’t that what it took to realize big goals?

  “Ben?”

  He glanced up, managing a smile for his team’s admin assistant. He noticed that in contrast to her patterned dress, her makeup was subdued. “Hey, Lana. How was your weekend?”

  “Not as great as yours! Congratulations on landing the Burke account. It’s all anyone is talking about around here. In fact, you’ve just been summoned to Carson’s office. Better get a move on,” she advised. “I have a feeling it’s good news.”

  He nodded, getting to his feet.

  “Lana, what do you think of this suit?” He motioned at himself. Her eyes tracked down his navy jacket—the one Chloe had called boring—his white shirt and his striped tie.

  “Looks great, boss,” she assured him. Then she added, “Just like always.”

  And that, Ben decided, heading for the elevator, was the problem.

  The silver doors slid open almost immediately, and he stepped inside, hitting the button for the top floor. It wasn’t until he was striding toward his boss’s office that he realized he’d been humming a Neil Diamond song.

  “Good morning, Ben. They’re expecting you.”

  “Thanks, Doris.” He nodded as he strode past the reception desk toward the imposing glass door. Ben straightened his lapels and stepped inside.

  “Ben!” Rob Carson’s booming voice greeted him. The heavyset man stood and extended a meaty hand in Ben’s direction.

  “Mr. Carson.” Ben reached across the imposing desk and shook his hand. He then turned to the thin, bespectacled man standing in front of the other black leather visitor’s chair. “Mr. McLeod,” he said, accepting the man’s hand in a shake that was much more reserved.

  Rob Carson and Hugh McLeod couldn’t be more different in looks, in demeanor, or in sheer decibels, but they were completely in sync when it came to the business of advertising.

  “Thank you both for the wine. I appreciate the gesture.”

  “Well deserved, Ben, well deserved. Please, have a seat. Hugh and I just wanted to say congratulations on a job well done! We just got off the phone with Burke, and he’s raving about you. Raving!”

  “I’m glad he feels the meeting went as well as I do. I appreciate you taking a chance and sending me. I think Hotel Burke will be a great addition to our company portfolio.”

  “Indeed it will. We do have another matter to discuss with you,” McLeod added in his eerily calm way.

  “Oh?” Ben’s palms prickled, a precursor to sweat.

  This is it! The promotion he’d been waiting for. The raise meant he could finally buy the lakefront cabin he had his eye on. The one he and his dad used to fish near. It was all coming together. Just like he’d planned.

  Carson was smiling, a big, gaping grin. “Turns out you’re not the only one the old man was raving about.”

  “Oh?” Ben said again. The noncommittal syllable was all he could muster.

  Son of a… Who else had been talking to Burke? He’d thought he had the account all locked up.

  “Seems he was also very taken with your wife,” McLeod informed him.

  Ben gripped the black leather armrests to steady himself, but his slick hands slid right off.

  “What’s with the secret-keeping? How come you didn’t tell us you got married, Ben?” Carson’s booming voice sounded even louder than usual to Ben’s ears. “I mean, I know we’re your bosses, but I was practically your father-in-law for a few years there. Melanie was almost as surprised as me when I mentioned you’d gotten yourself hitched!”

  He told Melanie?

  “It’s great news, though. The kind of thing that can really help you get to the next level here. Stability is good for business. But you’ve been working like a madman, lately. When did you have a chance to strap on the ol’ ball and chain?”

  So many expletives, so little time.

  “Oh, it’s all pretty recent,” he managed to answer. Ben tugged at his tie. Man, it was hot in this office. “I like to keep my business life and my personal life separate. Keep my focus on the work.” There. That sounded pretty good, didn’t it?

  “Admirable,” said McLeod, “but nonsense. We’d love to meet your bride.”

  “Definitely! This could be the dawn of a new era for you here at Carson and McLeod! You know we’re looking for a new account director. With the work ethic you’ve exhibited over the last while, we’ve put you on the short list, Ben.”

  It should have been great news. It was great news. Unfortunately, Ben couldn’t fully enjoy it, because the great news also came with a great big catch.

  “We’re setting up dinner parties with all the candidates so Hugh and I can come to your home, meet the family, get a real sense of who will be the best fit for the upper-management team. Plus, it’s a great test run. Advertising is a very social world, and we want to see what will happen when we set you loose with our big clients. We’ve got you penciled in to host next Saturday. It’s the perfect opportunity to meet this wife of yours.”

  I am so. Damn. Screwed.

  “How does that sound, Benny?”

  Awful. Just the worst.

  “Good. So good.” Ben swiped his hand across his forehead, smearing the droplets of sweat trickling down from his hairline.

  “Excellent! You can get the details about food allergies and who will be attending from Doris on your way out. Stellar work this weekend, Ben. Hugh and I see great things in your future.”

  Somehow Ben managed to get to his feet, make it through another round of handshakes and book it out of the office.

  With the envelope full of dinner party instructions Doris had given him clutched in his fist, Ben began the long trip back to his desk.

  Meanwhile in his hea
d he reviewed the past five promotions awarded. Every single recipient had been married. How had he never noticed that before?

  Ben shut the door behind him when he got back to his office and collapsed into his chair.

  He was screwed. And not the good kind.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, Masterson, think. There’s a way out of this. You just have to figure out what it is.”

  After a long few minutes, he finally picked up the phone and got Lana on the line.

  “What can I do for you, boss?”

  “I, uh. Well, I was just sort of…wondering, really…” Oh for God’s sake! “Where do you buy your makeup?”

  There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry?”

  Ben pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He had a headache coming on. “Is there a store you go to? One that sells face stuff?”

  The line went dead. Ben hung up the receiver.

  And three, two, one…

  “What is going on?” Lana burst through his door, right on cue, practically slamming it closed in her haste to get to the gray leather visitor’s chair on the other side of his desk. “Why do you want to know where I buy my makeup? Oh, my God. Are you trying to buy someone a present? Do you have a girlfriend you haven’t told me about?”

  “No. Lana, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  Her eyes lit with understanding and she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Is it for you?”

  “What? No!”

  She shrugged. “Okay. That’s too bad. I’ve always secretly wondered how you’d look in drag. So spill, then. It’s not for a girlfriend, and it’s not for you. What am I missing?”

  “I met this woman—”

  “Aha!”

  Ben frowned.

  “Sorry. Continue.”

  “I met her, and now I need to track her down. And all I know is that she sells makeup at a store in the mall.”

  “Which mall?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “This is potentially the greatest thing I’ve ever gotten to do in all my time working at Carson and McLeod. You call the boutique shops, I’ll take the department stores.” She grabbed his notepad and pen and scribbled down five store names for him and handed it back. “What’s her name?”

  “Chloe Masterson.”

  “Masterson?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  When it became obvious he was not going to elaborate further, Lana crossed her arms over her chest. “If we find her, you owe me an explanation, boss.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Thirty-five minutes later, Ben was not quite so optimistic about Lana’s chances of cashing in on their deal.

  Ben tossed his pen on the desk and plowed his fingers through his hair. He missed the good old days when everyone had a landline that was listed in the phone book.

  A glance at the clock let him know he’d managed to accomplish no work in the two hours that had passed since he’d arrived at the office. He looked back at the Post-it Lana had left with him. He was going to have so much work to catch up on tomorrow. With a sigh, he typed Titanium Beauty into Google, clicked on store locations, and started his next round of calls.

  * * *

  IT WAS FOUR O’CLOCK by the time Ben finally made it to the mall, and another ten minutes before he found Titanium Beauty. He’d ultimately located it by following a horde of high school girls.

  Titanium Beauty was packed with bodies, and he was having a tough time figuring out if one of them was Chloe’s.

  The guy on the phone had said she’d be here, so Ben continued to look, leaning back and to the right for a better view of the tills. He almost toppled over when he caught sight of a woman with a choppy black bob with stoplight-red highlights shot through it standing behind the register. Someone with berry-stained lips and green-gold eyes.

  Chloe.

  Not that he was surprised to see her. Obviously. He’d come here for exactly that reason. But he was shocked at how different she seemed. She looked more comfortable, more in control—and smoking hot.

  She was so kick-ass-animé-heroine hot, in fact, that Ben was having trouble believing she was the same woman who’d cried on his shoulder in a midlevel hotel room. Ben couldn’t move his gaze away from her as the line inched forward.

  He’d put so much effort into the “finding” part of the plan that he didn’t have a contingency for the “talking” part. He had no idea what to say to her. A fact that became painfully obvious when he finally made it to the front of the line and all he could do was grin at her like a moron.

  * * *

  SHE TURNED TO the next person in line.

  “Welcome to Titanium Beauty, did you find everything you—Oh, my God! Ben! What are you doing here?”

  His beautifully crooked smile made her heart lurch in her chest.

  “Man, I’d hate to hear how you greet the guys you’re not married to.”

  Josh’s head whipped in her direction. Honest to God, when it came to gossip her best friend had the ears of a bat.

  “Listen, Ben.” She tried to keep her voice normal so as not to draw any more of Josh’s attention, all the while pleading with her eyes. “Now’s really not a good time, and—”

  “You’re married?” Josh interrupted.

  “Nope.” Nothing to see here, Josh. Move along. “I’m working right now, Masterson.”

  She winced internally at her blunder.

  “You just called him ‘Masterson.’ That’s your last name.”

  “Yes, Josh. We got married, and he changed his last name to mine. We both wore pants. Ben’s very into female equality. He’s a real suffragette’s wet dream.” She flicked her attention back to Ben. “Can we talk later?”

  Josh shot her a look that confirmed he was questioning her mental health. “He just said he’s your husband.”

  “Inside joke,” she bit out. She loved Josh, but he was irrepressible when it came to hooking his friends up. It had taken her three months to get him to stop trying to fix her up with the new guy at the sporting-goods store next to Titanium Beauty. She didn’t need him hounding her about Ben. She was having a tough enough time keeping the adman out of her thoughts as it was.

  “Actually, it’s kind of a funny story,” Ben began charmingly, and Chloe wanted to kick him in the shin. If not for the counter in her way, she would have. “We got stranded together in Chicago last week when our plane broke down.”

  Shut up, Ben.

  “You went to Chicago last week?” Josh demanded. “I thought you were going to Buffalo for your sister’s wedding!”

  “Actually, we were both headed to Buffalo. But there was this big snowstorm and we ended up sharing a hotel room—”

  Oh. God. No.

  Chloe closed her eyes. She could feel Josh’s excitement mounting over this new love match.

  Finally, mercifully, Ben shut up. “Chloe? What’s the matter? Are you okay?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm. The show of concern made her feel like even more of an ass.

  “Actually, Chloe’s been a bit under the weather, haven’t you, Chloe?” Josh barged behind the counter and shoved her out of the way. “You should probably take her to the food court so you two can talk while she rehydrates with a smoothie. I’ll take over on cash. Bring me back a banana-mango.”

  “I’ll only be five minutes,” she told Josh.

  He waved her off. “Five minutes, an hour. Whatever. Take your time.”

  She grabbed Ben by one big strong arm and tugged him out of the store and into the mall, whirling to face him.

  I missed you.

  The unbidden thought took her completely by surprise.

  “Ben, what are yo
u doing here?”

  It’s really good to see you. You’re just as hot as I remembered. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to resist her shameless hormones. Be strong, Chloe.

  “I’m in the middle of a shift.”

  “I know.” He nodded. “I know. And I’m so sorry to bother you at work, but I’ve run into a slight predicament, and the thing is, Chloe, I need you.”

  Well, dammit. She didn’t stand a chance.

  CHAPTER 9

  “SO, THIS IS IT. Welcome home.”

  Chloe stepped in front of Ben and through the door. “Wow.”

  Sand-colored walls, dark wood flooring and pristine white crown molding combined with Ben’s total lack of kitsch—or anything even remotely personal—completed the illusion that she was touring a swanky show home.

  “It’s like you live in a catalog.”

  Something flickered in Ben’s amber eyes—hurt?—but he turned to shut the door and when he faced her again, his easy smile was in full bloom.

  “A nice catalog, though, right? From one of those upscale stores?”

  “Definitely a nice one,” she agreed, figuring that he didn’t need to know “nice” was code for bland. Besides, who was she to judge? Her apartment was serviceable and clean, but it wouldn’t be scoring a magazine spread any time soon. She’d bet you could barely hear the pipes or the neighbors’ TV in a place like this. “How long have you lived here?”

  “A year and a half.” He threw his keys on the kitchen counter—granite, natch—and pulled his black peacoat off. He hung it in the small closet to their right, then did the same with Chloe’s.

  A year and a half? She’d have been less surprised if he’d said yesterday. Spartan was too kind a description.

  “Want a tour?” he offered, picking up her suitcase.

  “Lead the way.”

  “Okay, let’s see. Kitchen.” He pointed to the left. In addition to the granite, Chloe saw what she expected to see in a high-class condo: galley style, open concept and lots of stainless steel. “Living room.” High ceilings, a sectional and a man-size television. “Bathroom.” Glass-encased mega shower with rainfall showerhead. “Office-slash-second-bedroom.” She wasn’t even paying attention anymore. At least not until he stopped in front of the last door on the tour.