Boss I Love to Hate: An Office Romance(41)

Did it? Oh, who the hell cared?

“Brad! I’m serious.”

He gently shook me. “And I’m kidding. Hey, let’s just divide and conquer, just like in business.” He tipped up my chin. “What do you need to do?”

“Hair, makeup, get dressed.” My voice came out in huffed, broken puffs to match my rapidly beating heart. “I need to leave and race to my hair appointment.”

He checked the clock on the wall. “You’ll never make it.”

I shrugged him off. “Duh. I need to beg the salon to take me, like, right now.” I searched my purse and came up empty-handed and then rushed back to the family room. “Where’re my keys?” I paced the room, throwing the pillows and blankets on the couch. “Keys? Where are you?”

He shuffled behind me, picking up his phone from underneath another bed of pillows.

“Keys, Brad!”

Is he purposely ignoring me?

Great, he is making a call. What the heck is this guy doing?

“Hello, Selene.” He smirked and then eyed me with amusement. “Yes, I need a big favor.” And another laugh.

“Brad!” I gave him my evil stare and then dropped to my knees, looking underneath the couch, hunting for my keys. I needed to go, and stat.

“I’m going to a wedding today, and my date needs hair and makeup done. Is your team available this morning?”

On all fours, I peered up at him, confused.

“Thanks. I’ll text you her address. Yes. Nine-thirty will work. I owe you. Put it on my tab.” He ended his call and extended a hand to help me up. “There, done.”

“Who’s Selene?” I asked.

“She owns a salon on the Gold Coast.”

My hand flew to the base of my throat. “Selene Clives on Michigan Ave?” I whispered.

This man knew the Selene. Selene was a household name. Where Martha Stewart was known for all things home, Selene was known for all things beauty. Her clientele included all the A-list stars who walked the red carpet.

I blinked. “I can’t afford Selene.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” He handed me my keys. “Nine thirty, Sonia. Chop-chop. They’ll meet you at your apartment.” Then, he pulled me up and slapped my ass.

I didn’t have time to chastise him. I was already out the door and in my car without a good-bye. For once, I was grateful for his connections.





An hour and a half later, I straightened in a chair in my kitchen, held a mirror up, and gawked at the woman staring back at me. Her brown hair was swept up with curls on the top of her head, and her makeup was immaculate. Transformation was an understatement. With my contacts on, a fresh coat of mascara, my eyebrows freshly waxed and trimmed, and makeup by the magical Selene team, I didn’t even recognize myself.

“Well, darling. Do you like it?”

I peered up at Juan, Carole, and Nette.

When Brad had told me a team of beauticians would be coming to my house, he wasn’t joking. The three of them, all dressed in black, had strolled into my mini apartment, each armed with a suitcase and ready to beautify. Juan was hair, Carole was makeup, and Nette was wax and plucking and had interned with the great Anastasia, the eyebrow-plucking queen.

“I love it.” I touched my newly waxed eyebrows and tilted my chin, taking in cheekbones I’d never known I had. Contouring did wonders.

I felt like a princess, pretty in a light-pink lipstick to match the blush on my cheeks. “You guys did amazing. Thank you so, so, so, so much.”

When I offered to tip them, they waved me off.

“Please, honey,” Juan began. “Brad has tipped us well over what is normal. You’re good.” He placed his brushes in his oversize pouch and zipped it up.

“Over is an understatement,” Carole added with a wink. “I hope you have another made-up evening real soon. Have fun.”

After our farewell greeting, they left, and I nearly skipped to the bathroom. I shut the door and took in the beauty in my full-length mirror that hung on the back of my door.

“Wow. Take that, Replacement Girl.” I popped out a hip and pushed out my nonexistent chest. “This is going to be fun.”

An hour later, I slipped into the body-hugging, boob-enhancing, floor-length, backless dress. The shimmery blue V-neck spaghetti strap dress fit tightly up to my thighs and then tapered off in waves of simple ruffled fabric and into a mermaid tail. But the showstopper was the back of the dress—or lack thereof—where the beginning of the fabric cinched at my tailbone.

The knock on the door had my body tensing.

“One second.” I did one more mirror check. Then, I grabbed my purse, slipped on my heels, and rushed to the door. “Brad?”

“Did you invite someone else to this wedding?”

Crap. There was no way he could come into my apartment. First and foremost, it was a mess. Second … my eyes followed the poster of him full of dart holes on my wall.

Yep. Nope, can’t let him see that.

“Coming.” I hurried and slipped into the hallway, and my eyes took him in.

All of him. In a tailored navy-blue suit, a skinny gray tie, and a smile that could drop panties anywhere.

Goodness, Brad was a fine sight.

My thought from earlier popped back into my head. Yes, this was going to be fun.