The Makeover Takeover Page 6
Lauren had been knitting. She held it up—then glanced silently at Lauren.
But Lauren didn’t meet her eyes; her gaze was fixed on the garment in Jay’s hands. Lauren thought again how well the rich chocolate color would become Rafe. How warm it would keep him during the cold Chicago winters.
She reached out and took the sweater from Jay. Stroking the soft, thick wool, she thought of the hours, the weeks, the months she’d worked on it.
“Are you still going to give it to him?” Jay asked quietly.
Lauren shook her head. “No,” she said, calmly. “I’m not.”
She slipped her needles out of their loops and tugged at the strands of wool. Steadily, she began unraveling her stitches, winding the yam back into a ball.
She glanced at her friend and forced a smile. “So, while I do this, why don’t you show me what you’ve got in that bag of tricks of yours?”
Chapter Seven
Rafe arrived at work at a ridiculously early hour on Monday morning. He hadn’t slept well the night before—or all weekend, in fact.
As a kid, he’d often had a hard time sleeping. He’d lie awake in bed for hours, monitoring the sounds made by the other people in the latest foster home he’d been dumped in. At times he’d been wise to be wary. At others, the people had turned out to be okay. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t relax with strangers so near.
As he grew older, tougher and wiser, it wasn’t wariness that plagued him at night but restlessness. He’d slip out into the darkness and roam the streets, trying to ease some of his intense physical energy with a pickup game of basketball. Or with a willing girl who had energy to burn, too.
These days, he used the dark, sleepless hours to work on business projects. He’d found that to be as good a remedy as any—and definitely beneficial to his career. Yeah, he’d never been one to sleep much, Rafe thought. But he couldn’t remember the last time guilt had kept him awake.
Remorse—unfamiliar and uncomfortable—surged through him. He pushed aside the report he’d been writing and leaned back in his chair. All weekend he’d thought about Lauren, wondered if he should call and try to apologize once again for inadvertently insulting her. But finally he’d reached the conclusion he should give her some time alone to get over the hurt he’d inflicted. He’d decided to make his apology when she came into work. On neutral ground, so to speak.
Restlessly, he checked his watch. She should be arriving soon. He hoped she wasn’t still upset; he hadn’t meant to make her feel bad. As he’d told Kane, Lauren was sweet— but way too sensitive, he decided. After she forgave him, he’d mention—tactfully, of course—that she should work on that a bit.
He reached for his report again to get back to work himself and knocked his gold pen to the floor. He bent to pick it up and finally located it under his desk. He stretched to grab it… and paused.
Framed in the opening beneath his desk, he could see a pair of legs approaching—long, shapely feminine legs that tapered down to slender ankles and small feet clad in knock-’em-dead high heels.
Curious to view the rest of the package, he jerked up— and banged his head on the edge of his desk.
Stars sparkled. He winced, his eyes squeezing shut. “Damn!” he muttered, rubbing at the sore spot.
“Are you all right?” a soft voice asked.
“Yeah, I’m—Lauren?”
“Um-hmm.”
Rafe opened his eyes—and felt his jaw drop. He snapped it shut, but continued to stare at the woman standing before him. Exactly how hard had he whacked his head anyway? he wondered.
“Lauren?” he repeated—because he could hardly believe it. She looked so—so un-Laurenlike. “What did you do to yourself?”
“I made a few changes.”
She certainly had. His gaze moved over her, cataloging those changes, as she walked over to her chair. The change from the drab, loose tops she usually wore to a pink sweater that clung to her slender figure, revealing the high, delicate curves of her breasts. The black wool skirt that hugged her slim hips and hiked up above her knees as she sat down and crossed her legs. Not to mention those killer black shoes with the heels high enough to give her a nosebleed from the change in altitude.
And the differences didn’t stop there.
“You’re not wearing your glasses,” he said, as if she didn’t know.
She nodded, clasping her hands on the papers and pad she was holding on her lap. “I have on contacts. I’ve had them for a while now, but I’ve never worn them to work because they make my eyes water so much. But Jay thinks I look better without my glasses, so I’m trying to get used to them.”
Jay again—and damn it, Jay was right, Rafe thought. Without the dark frames overpowering her small face, her eyes looked bigger and brighter—maybe because they were watering, as she’d said. But their blue-gray color looked different, too. Smokier, somehow, and edged by lashes that were surprisingly long and dark and thick.
“I suppose Jay suggested the haircut, too,” he said dryly.
He watched her hair swing gently as she nodded. Instead of hanging straight down, her hair now curved under her chin. Shiny and thick, with unexpected streaks of honey gleaming among the rich brown strands, it had a tousled look. As if she’d run her fingers through it as she climbed out of bed.
The style definitely suited her, he admitted grudgingly, reluctant to give Jay any credit. Her cheekbones appeared more pronounced. The clean, delicate line of her jaw was revealed, and her mouth… Rafe’s gaze lingered on her mouth. Her new lipstick—the same shade as a rich red wine—made her mouth look fuller, poutier. Moist and soft. Enticingly kissable.
With an effort, he looked away from her lips. Yeah, she’d changed all right. The only familiar thing about her was the serious, resolute expression she was wearing. She seemed to have her game face on.
She pressed her lips together. “Rafe—”
“Yeah?” He shifted restlessly, letting his gaze run over her again. Altogether, she looked more polished, more together and definitely more sophisticated. Yet contradictorily, she also looked more rumpled somehow. Looser. Softer. Sexier. The kind of woman he could imagine sprawled across his bed, her creamy skin flushed with the afterglow of— Whoa there, buddy. This is Lauren you’re fantasizing about here. Not some sexy babe.
“I’d like to request a transfer.”
Rafe jerked, startled back to reality by the determined note in Lauren’s voice. “Did you say transfer?”
She sat stiffly in her chair. “Yes. I want to spread my wings a bit. Gain experience in a few other departments.”
And get away from you, he supplied silently, feeling an unexpected pang of hurt at the thought.
Hell, she couldn’t really mean it. She was just angry about what he’d said. “Lauren, if this is about the other night—”
“It isn’t,” she insisted, interrupting his apology. “My request has nothing to do with that at all.”
He didn’t believe her. But he knew she wouldn’t admit the truth. He considered her request a moment, trying to decide on the best way to handle it. She was obviously braced for a battle. The rose-pink color of her sweater was echoed in her cheeks, and even the soft material couldn’t disguise the proud, straight set of her shoulders.
He glanced at her hands. Sure enough, her slim fingers were gripping her notepad so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
So, she expected a fight, did she? Then he wasn’t going to give her one. “Okay,” he said, “you can have a transfer…”
Her gaze flew up to meet his. Surprise was in her wet blue eyes. But before she could say anything, he added, “…but not until the Bartlett merger goes through. I don’t want to have to train another secretary in the middle of a deal as important as this one.”
A small crease appeared between her brows. She bit her lip, thinking that over, while Rafe watched her from beneath drooping eyelids, thinking how white—and sharp—her small teeth looked against the rich burgundy color of her mouth.
He shrugged. “I hope to wind it up on our trip to Hillsboro.”
She hesitated, studying his unrevealing expression. “All right,” she said reluctantly. Then lifting her chin, she added in the distant tone she’d used the other night, “But I’d appreciate it if you’d begin processing my request right away.”
He’d appreciate it if she’d quit being so sensitive, Rafe thought, feeling a prickle of annoyance. What he’d done had been rude—and totally unforgivable. But it was time to forget about it and get back to normal. “And I think that—”
He broke off as a quick knock sounded on his open door. He glanced in that direction. Brandon Levy, a college kid who worked in the mail room in the mornings while he finished up his business degree at night, strode in without waiting for an invitation.
Brandon always moved quickly, if awkwardly, like a gangly giraffe. He was halfway across the room in less than two seconds, his gaze fixed on the envelopes in his hands. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, looking up in time to catch Rafe’s frowning glance. “But these letters were marked Urgent so I thought I’d better bring them up right away.”
“I’ll take them,” Lauren offered, holding out her hand.
“Okay,” Brandon turned her way, shuffling through the envelopes. “I have a few here for Maggie as well, so I’ll just—” He lifted his head—and froze.
Rafe watched as the kid just stood there—like a lovesick pup—staring at Lauren with a look of amazement on his face, his arm extended to hand her the envelopes.
Then Lauren smiled, and leaned forward to take them, breaking the spell. Brandon came back to life with a start, almost leaping the two feet remaining to place them in her hands. “Ah, here you go.”
“Thank you, Brandon,” she replied.
A wave of color rose up Brandon’s face, all the way past his tanned forehead to his blond, spiked hair. “You’re welcome, Lauren,” he replied, his husky young voice lingering on her name.
Then, as she reached for the opener on Rafe’s desk,
Brandon leaped again, grabbing that up, too. He handed it to her—earning yet another grateful smile.
“Thank you again,” Lauren said.
“You’re welcome again,” Brandon replied, and to Rafe’s disgust, a big goofy grin spread across the boy’s face, as if he thought he’d said something clever.
Rafe resisted the urge to throw the kid out of his office. Lauren wouldn’t like that, he knew without a doubt. But when a full ten seconds passed, and the kid still hadn’t moved, Rafe decided to prod him along. “You said you had some mail for Maggie, too?”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did,” Brandon said with regret in his voice. Rafe watched him slowly make his way to the door. The kid was practically walking backward in an effort to keep his eyes fixed on Lauren as long as possible. Rafe wasn’t surprised at all when he backed into the basketball trash can, still centered on the carpet. Brandon stumbled—recovered his balance—and with another tide of red rising on his face, finally made it out of the room.
Rafe shook his head in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair, and glanced at Lauren, expecting her to share his amusement. “Can you believe it?”
“Believe what?” she parroted back, without looking up from the envelopes she was slitting open.
“Brandon,” Rafe said impatiently. “Didn’t you notice the way he acted? He was all over you.”
That caught her attention. She slowly looked up, her eyebrows rising beneath the new, wispy fringe of golden-brown hair on her forehead. “Hardly. He just handed me some envelopes and a letter opener.”
“And practically drooled all over you as he did it.”
“Oh, please.” She returned her attention to the envelopes.
With any other woman, Rafe would have thought she was pretending not to notice Brandon’s infatuation. But Lauren simply hadn’t seen it. He should just let it go, Rafe knew, but he couldn’t help asking one more question. “How long has that kid been calling you Lauren anyway?”
“For as long as he’s been working here.”
Rafe frowned. “That seems kind of overly friendly, almost disrespectful, don’t you think?”
Lauren stared at him again. “You have to be joking,” she said, dryly. “That ‘kid’ is a mere four years younger than I am. There’s twice that difference between your age and mine. Is this a not-so-subtle hint that you’d like me to call you Mr. Mitchell? That I’ve been overly friendly?”
“Hell, no,” Rafe said hastily. That was the last thing he’d accuse her of this morning. Besides, the situations weren’t similar at all—and she knew it. Brandon was a kid and she was a woman. Rafe, on the other hand, was a man and she was… well, still a woman.
She was watching him expectantly—as if waiting for him to debate the issue—but Rafe decided to let the matter drop. He didn’t want to get sidetracked into another ridiculous argument like the one they’d had the other night— especially another argument that he suspected he wouldn’t win. What he intended to do was settle the one they’d had.
“Lauren, about the other night—” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. I never intended to say what I did.”
To his surprise, she smiled back. “That’s okay. Forget about it,” she said, almost cheerfully, “Actually, you did me a favor.”
“I did?”
She nodded. “I thought over what you said, and I decided you were right.”
That should have been a good thing, yet Rafe suddenly felt wary—as if he were in the marines again, picking his way through a field full of land mines. “Right about what?” he asked cautiously.
“What you’re always telling me. That I need to develop some backbone. Set goals, get out more. That I should learn to fight for what I want.”
Rafe relaxed again, leaning back in his chair. He gave her an approving nod, pleased that she was finally taking his advice. “Good. Glad to hear it. So what is it that you decided you want?”
“A man.”
“What!” Rafe straightened so abruptly, his chair almost fell over. “What did you say?”
“I said a man, Rafe. Remember? Those creatures you know everything about.” She gathered up her papers, preparing to depart.
Rafe’s mouth tightened. “I suppose this is another suggestion made by your new friend Jay. And I suppose he intends to be the man in question.”
She stared at him a moment, then her gaze shifted as she stood up. “No, I don’t think so. Jay and I are—just friends.”
Rafe could see the amusement on her face, and his annoyance increased. Okay—now he got it. She was jerking him around, pulling his leg. He said dryly, “I thought you were insulted the other night, when I inadvertently implied you might have had a one-night stand.”
“I was insulted—I’m still insulted—by such a suggestion, inadvertent or not.” Turning her head, she met his eyes steadily. “Everyone isn’t like you, Rafe, only capable of brief affairs. I’m looking for a serious relationship. One that will lead to marriage.”
“Marriage!”
She nodded, amusement—and an odd kind of sadness—still in her eyes. “Yes. Mar-riage," she said, enunciating each syllable as if teaching him a foreign word. She started walking to the door.
Now he knew she was joking. “C’mon, Lauren. That’s ridiculous,” he said, letting his exasperation show in his voice. “You can’t decide to get married, just like that, and go out and find a man. That’s not how it happens.”
Until that moment, Lauren might have agreed. She’d gone along with Jay’s makeover plan more to take her mind off Rafe, than because she thought it might work. She knew she was still the same person despite the new dress and makeup.
But to hear him dismiss her goal with such scorn, with such absolute certainty in his voice, aroused her determination as nothing else could have done.
“You wanna bet?” she asked quietly. Then walked out, shuttin
g the door behind her.
Rafe gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to go after her. She was getting good at that, he thought grimly. Good at shutting a door between them before he could talk some sense into her.
His hands clenched on the arms of his chair. He couldn’t believe that she’d take his sound, practical business advice and twist it around to suit such an absurd goal as marriage. Marriage wasn’t something a person pursued. It was something that happened when a person didn’t expect it—like a car accident.
Lauren couldn’t want that. No sane person did. Did she really think she wanted to tie herself down to one person? To go home every night to talk, to sleep—to make love—with someone like this Jay Leonardo character? Hell, no. The mere thought of Lauren with somebody like Leonardo made Rafe want to puke.
In fact, Lauren didn’t need to be going out at all, he decided. She was only twenty-four, for God’s sake. Much too young to be running around loose. Memories of himself at twenty-four flitted though his mind, but he pushed the thoughts away. He’d been in the marines, damn it. And he was a man. Lauren was… well, Lauren.
And that summed it up in a nutshell. Lauren was too young, too sweet—too damned innocent—to know what she was saying. She didn’t need a man. She had a boss. Him.
And he intended to remain her boss. He picked up the transfer request she’d left on his desk. They worked well together. She didn’t really want to transfer—she just thought she did because he’d gotten her upset. Things were fine the way they were. Or at least, the way they had been before Kane Haley had come to his office and started this whole mess. Damn Kane, anyway, with his crazy pregnancy problems.
If it hadn’t been for Haley, Lauren wouldn’t be off on this wild crusade to find a man. A crusade Rafe totally disapproved of. This was a business corporation—not some damn dating agency. He didn’t need a bunch of infatuated males—like Brandon—stumbling around in his office, causing complications. Lauren didn’t need them either.
This was simply some kind of female funk she’d fallen into. A person didn’t change so completely, just overnight. She’d get tired of her quest—revert back to her normal self soon. He was sure of it.