The Makeover Surprise (Surprised by Love Book 2)

by Laura Burton

  I hope he’s right. Because I like Wyatt. He’s got a friendly temperament. He smiles with his eyes, and I feel happy when I’m with him.

  Great. I’m making him sound like a dog.

  “All right,” I say. I let out a puff of air and watch a couple stroll by, hand in hand. Telling Wyatt about myself… the nerdy, quirky, zany side of me, is a big risk. The main goal here is still to get him to fall for me. Otherwise, I can kiss goodbye to my promotion and all of this stress and drama will be for nothing.

  But I do need to be more up front about who I am, otherwise he’s not falling for me. He’s falling for the idea of someone I’m projecting. Someone that doesn’t even exist.

  So, I opt for a blend between the two trains of thought.

  I’ll hold back on the details, but I’ll give him a few breadcrumbs to pick up on. “I have two sisters, we’re really close,” I say, looking up at the starry night sky. “But they’re both super fun and outgoing. I’m the odd one out.”

  “Oh?” Wyatt turns to give me a look of incredulity. “You don’t think you’re fun?”

  “Sure, I’m fun,” I say, my tone rising in pitch. “But I’m kind of introverted. Being out and around lots of people is draining for me.”

  Wyatt lets out a long thoughtful hum that rumbles the bench underneath my thighs. I shiver at the sensation and become acutely aware of how close together our hands are on the bench. “I’m like that too,” he says, his voice soft. I give him a cynical look.

  “You? An introvert? No way.”

  But then Wyatt wags his finger at me like I’m a naughty child. “I enjoy parties just as much as the next guy, but as soon as it’s over, I need three days of isolation to recover.”

  “You’d need a whole week after spending time with my sisters,” I joke. “They’re… intense.”

  “Uh, oh. Is there a big event coming up?” Wyatt asks, clearly sensing my thoughts.

  The idea of going to Leila and Blaze’s mansion with a whole bunch of rich people milling around, holding fancy glasses and laughing like horses, does nothing to thrill me.

  Then I remember that Leila said I could bring Wyatt along.

  “This weekend. My sister and her husband are having a bunch of people over for a party and I kind of have to go.”

  Wyatt sucks in a breath with a hiss. “Let me guess, these people are your sister’s friends?”

  “Worse. They work with my brother-in-law.”

  “Sounds like torture.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Do you want me to come along?”

  I hold my breath. Did Wyatt just invite himself to a family event? He lowers the bag of peas, sensing my shock, and his eyes go big and round.

  “Is it too soon? I don’t want to rush things or make you feel uncomfortable.”

  I scratch my arm in thought. In the ordinary world, yes, it’s totally too soon to introduce this guy to my sisters. But Helen wants the first draft of my article in a week. I haven’t got time on my side here. Besides, bringing Wyatt to a family barbecue is guaranteed to give me great material for my article.

  “No, it’s not too soon.” I give him a playful nudge. “As long as you don’t have a concussion, I’d love to take you as my plus one.”

  Wyatt offers me a broad grin. “I’ve never felt better.”

  “Great.”

  “It’s settled then.” He dips his head and leans over until his body heat sizzles on my face. I glance at his lips. They look so creamy and smooth in the streetlight; I can’t help but fantasize about running my tongue over them. Or sucking on the bottom one until it reddens. But then he winks at me and rises to a stand and my thoughts scatter.

  “It’s getting late. Let’s get you home.”

  My heart sinks as he flags down a cab. Is this guy ever going to kiss me?

  He’s the biggest tease on the planet.

  Part of me wonders why I care.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lucy

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t want me to go with you to the hospital?”

  Wyatt chuckles, eyeing me like he knows exactly what I’m doing.

  I’m stalling.

  We’re both standing in the light rain outside my apartment. I stare at Wyatt like his lips are an oasis in the Saharan desert.

  Kiss me. Please. Just kiss me already.

  The pull to him is near impossible to ignore but I can’t kiss him first.

  Can I?

  I twist my hair between my fingers as I think about it.

  Does a guy want a headstrong woman to take action and go in for the smooch?

  Or will that scare him off?

  What would I do if I wasn’t trying to get this guy to fall in love with me within the next eight days?

  The honest answer is that I don’t know.

  The normal Lucy wouldn’t even be on this date in the first place.

  But there’s just something so familiar about Wyatt, like he’s an old friend from a past life. Or maybe I got selective amnesia and forgot about him but his warm smile is clearing the fog. It’s like the sun breaking through gray clouds after several days of rain.

  He beams at me. “I’m fine, Lucy. You’re very cute when you worry, you know?” he says, caressing my upper arm before giving it a squeeze. “You’ve got an adorable little line between your brows.”

  I chew my lip, intoxicated by him. His scent, the warmth of his touch, and the way he looks at me.

  Then his eyes flit to my mouth and all parts of my body set alight.

  For goodness sake, man. Take me out of my misery and… “Kiss me!”

  It’s as though my thoughts took on a life of their own and forced their way out into the open with a squeal. My stomach churns as I watch those two words smack him on the face. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  I run my tongue under my front teeth, wracking my brain for a way to get out of the humiliation of the moment. What kind of woman screeches “Kiss me!” at the end of a second date?

  A desperate one.

  “I said, you kill me.” I give him a playful nudge. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to point out a woman’s worry lines?”

  Nice save, Lucy.

  There’s a flash behind his eyes as his smile falls and I half-expect him to apologize. But instead he takes my face in his hands, grazing his thumbs across my cheekbones. I hold my mouth shut, worried that if I breathe, he’ll be able to smell the hotdog I ate at the game.

  I was so preoccupied with wanting Wyatt to kiss me, I forgot to take out a breath mint from my purse. “I’m not one for following the rules.” He hovers so close to my mouth that his deep voice makes my lips vibrate.

  On the inside, my eyes are rolling back and I’m swooning in his arms, willing him to wrap me up in his masculinity and take me away on horseback into the sunset.

  “Oh,” I whisper.

  If I were Chessy, I’d grab his cheeks and pounce on him like a wild kitten.

  He’d catch me in those burly arms, and his hands would squeeze my thighs as I wrap my legs around his waist and smother his chiseled face in kisses.

  Miaow.

  If I were Leila, I’d do something so irresistibly charming, Wyatt would pounce on me. I snort––on the inside of course––at the image of him jumping into my arms, my knees trembling under his weight as I try to hold him up. Not sexy.

  My shoulders shake and air puffs out of my nose as I fail hopelessly to hide my laughter.

  And then there’s me. Maybe the nickname Goofy Lucy is perfect, after all.

  Here I am, in the arms of a man I’m seriously attracted to, cracking a silent joke and effectively ruining the moment with an outburst of inappropriate laughter.

  Wyatt lets go of my face, but the skin burns where his hands once were. I touch my cheeks, numb now that he’s backed away.

  “I’m looking forward to the weekend,” he says, giving me a salute.

  “The weekend?”

  My brain is frozen a
s I watch him walk backwards, away from me. We should be making out on my couch like a pair of teenagers right now.

  “Your sister’s barbecue?”

  “Oh!” I tap my forehead. “Duh. Yes, me too. I can’t wait to eat all the meat. Oh. I mean, animals. Not… anyway. I love barbecue meat. I don’t hate animals. I love them a lot. Too much maybe. Wait… That came out wrong. I’m not a weirdo, I swear.”

  Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking.

  “Good night, Lucy,” Wyatt says with a wave and a causal smirk. I give a soft wave back and watch him climb into the taxi.

  “Good night,” I say to no one.

  Now alone, I pull out my phone and call my older sister. “Leila, I know it’s late, but can I come over?”

  Leila sits in her silk nightgown and robe with her hair tied up into a loose ponytail. I look around the huge room with high ceilings and ornate furniture as she leans forward to pour us both a drink in an antique tea set. “Here, the tea is hot, so be careful.” She places a coaster on the glass coffee table and sets down a china cup of steaming tea. It’s weird to see her in such luxurious settings. Ever since she married Blaze, she’s been different. More refined and careful.

  “Since when do you drink tea?” I ask, shooting her a wry look.

  Leila loves to keep up with appearances. Or try to, at least. Growing up, she and I had the most in common when it came to clumsiness. But Leila seems to have grown out of her silliness and appears to be doing a much better job at adulting than me. She’s so poised and elegant, perched on the edge of her couch with her back poker straight. She likes to pretend she’s totally refined and on top of life now. Only, I know better. Somewhere underneath the cashmere sweaters and snail slime face cream is my loopy older sister.

  Her smile slips but she recovers herself. “When Blaze and I were in England, I struggled with jet lag. This sweet old lady gave me chamomile tea to help me sleep at night. I guess now I can’t get enough of the stuff. It really does work, you know?”

  She takes a sip from her own drink. “But this isn’t about me, how can I help you?”

  Her eyes squint and she gives me one of her big sister looks. The kind she makes when she’s concerned about me. Or disapproving of something I’ve done.

  Which is a bit rich coming from her, considering the lengths she went to for her dream life with Blaze Hopkins.

  “I don’t need help,” I say, growing defensive.

  “Oh.” Leila sets down her drink. “Well then, how are things going at work?”

  “Fine.” I avoid her eyes and turn to the tall bookcases laden with hundreds of leather bound books instead. I’m certain Leila hasn’t dusted any of them, not to talk of picking one up to read. I wonder if I’d find a first edition set of Lord of the Rings on one of those shelves.

  “Great. Sooo… You’re feeling confident about this article then?” Leila presses.

  I meet her discerning stare, and for a few moments, we have a silent standoff.

  Then Leila slumps back in her chair with a huff, as though the act is simply too much to keep up. “Come on, Lucy. Talk to me. I’m too tired to play twenty questions with you. Tell me what you’re thinking. I’m not a mind reader,” she says, rubbing her temples.

  “Wouldn’t it be cool if you were, though?” I ask, skirting around the question. “Imagine all of the gossip you’d collect.”

  Leila’s brows rise in slow motion. “And since when have you cared about gossip?”

  I cock my head to the side. “Well, I do work at a magazine that has its own gossip column.”

  Leila tucks her feet under her and curls up on the couch with a sigh. “Oh, please. Come on. You work for a tiny imprint that shares an office with three other magazines, and I’ve never seen a single one on a newsstand. I’ll bet if it wasn’t for this new owner, Young and Me––along with all the others––would be out of print by the end of the quarter.”

  “Hey!” I sit up and give my sister a hard look, surprised by her attack. “Where the heck did that come from?”

  Leila scratches her arm, averting her gaze. “I’m sorry,” she grumbles. “Ever since Blaze and I set up a life together, I’ve been under so much pressure.”

  “Pressure?” I stand up and gesture to the ridiculously expensive paintings on the walls. “Look around, Leila! You live a life of luxury. You got your happy ending. All your problems are solved.”

  “Huh. That’s really what you think?” Leila crosses her arms. “You think I’m just this lady of leisure, being kept by a rich husband and living the easy life in this big house?”

  I nod along. “Yes. That’s exactly what I think.”

  Leila shakes her head and mumbles something inaudible.

  “If I’m wrong, enlighten me,” I suggest with a shrug.

  “All right, then,” Leila says, a note of finality in her voice. “Blaze is a high profile person. Everywhere we go, there’s paparazzi. I’m being watched all the time. And as wonderful as Blaze is, he’s away for work a lot. I manage the house, the staff, and his schedule. Honestly, I feel more like his personal assistant than his wife!”

  I don’t say a word, stunned by the revelation. I’ve never been followed by paparazzi. Sometimes there’s the odd cameraman when Leila and I go to the mall. I never thought it was such a big deal to her.

  Until now, I thought she liked the attention.

  “Why don’t you get a normal job?”

  Leila sighs. “Doing what? You and I both know I’m the worst personal shopper, I got fired from my last three jobs. Do you know how the media will react if I go back to work as a temp?”

  “Who cares? It’s your life. Don’t you want to be true to yourself and not worry about what other people think?”

  Leila snorts. “Seriously? You’re preaching to me?” She drags her gaze up and down my body. “Looked in the mirror lately? You’re still wearing your pretty woman mask.”

  I stiffen. “It’s for an article! As soon as it’s done, I’m going back to normal. You’re practically stuck in your situation unless you unstick yourself.”

  Leila’s cheeks redden and she scowls at me. “And what about Wyatt? Won’t he be a bit surprised to find that his girlfriend has gone from Malibu Barbie to Goofy Lucy overnight?”

  I grind my teeth, balling my hands into fists. Leila and I really know how to push each other’s buttons, and without Chessy the peacemaker to jump in and diffuse the situation, the tension is reaching a boiling point.

  “Don’t call me goofy.”

  “Don’t call me a lady of leisure!”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  I get up and march across the room. “I don’t know why I came here for help in the first place,” I mutter under my breath. But just as I reach the door, Leila jumps up and calls after me. “Lucy. What is going on with you?”

  My eyes sting and my nostrils flare as I puff out air like an angry dragon. “Wyatt won’t kiss me.”

  The statement sounds so dumb and pathetic outside of my head. All of the worries I had bottled up inside of me come swirling to the surface and a little whimper escapes my lips. Leila’s defiant look vanishes and she walks across the room to pull me in for a tight hug. “Oh, Lucy.”

  I realize it’s totally dysfunctional. But this is how Leila and I work.

  I’ll come to her for help, but my pride and fear of sounding like an idiot make me clam up. I force her to guess what the problem is, and when she inevitably fails, I pick a pointless fight. Then the two of us bicker until the real reason I’ve come to talk tumbles out.

  Tears well in my eyes as Leila holds onto me and strokes my hair. “Honey, it’s okay,” she shushes me like a mom. “You’ve only been out a couple of times.”

  “But I don’t have long,” I burst out. “Chessy has got guys to fall head over heels for her within a week. I know it can be done. So what am I doing wrong?”

  “You’re not doing anything wrong,” Leila says, coaxing me back to one of the soft
chairs. “Listen, this Wyatt guy, from the conversations we’ve had about him, strikes me as a really good man.”

  “He is. He’s so good. He’s too good,” the last words barely come out of my lips. I mean, besides the fact that he didn’t hit on me until after my makeover, which makes him pretty shallow.

  “I’m trying to be the girl of his dreams, but he’s not buying it. He’ll come this close to my face and act all sexy and affectionate… but then he pulls away at the last minute.”

  “Mixed signals, for sure,” Leila notes. “Maybe he just likes to take things slow.”

  “I can’t afford to take things slow. If I don’t succeed, I can’t write the article, and if I can’t write the article, I may as well kiss my column goodbye.”

  Leila dabs my cheeks with a handkerchief. “Can’t you make something up?”

  “Lie?” I gawp at my sister. “No way!”

  “But you’re lying to Wyatt. And how do you think he’s going to feel when this article comes out anyway?”

  I swallow. “It’s like you said, Young and Me isn’t a well-known magazine. There’s every chance he’ll never know about it.”

  Leila gasps like I just told her the moon disappeared from space. “You’re never going to tell him?”

  “I don’t see why I have to.” I shrug. “Maybe I will one day. But right now, I have to turn up the heat. Leila. You and Blaze were declaring your love for each other inside a fortnight. How did you do it? How did you get him to fall in love with you?”

  I grab my sister's arms and shake her, demanding to know her secrets.

  To my dismay, she shakes her head and gives me the look I hate most: pity.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” she rests her hand on my shoulder. “You can’t get a guy to fall in love with you.”

  “If that’s true, why have you been helping me?” I drop my hands with defeat. “Article aside, I like him. He’s funny and genuine and he behaves like a gentleman.”

  Leila tilts her head. “I know you like him, and that is why I’m helping you.”

  Then her smile fades. “But it won’t work out if you’re just going to use him and then start to hide things from him.”