Barbara Dunlop - Beauty And The Billionaire

She shook her head, rising to her feet. “Roger was my only roadblock.”

“Obviously,” Roger said to Sinclair, with exaggerated patience. “I can’t turn down the CEO.”

She nodded where she sat in a guest chair in his office, squelching the lingering guilt that she might have used her relationship with Hunter as leverage. She admitted she’d been counting on Roger having to say yes to Hunter.

But she consoled herself in being absolutely positive the spa launch was a worthwhile idea. Also, Roger had been strangely contrary lately, shooting down her recommendations left and right. It was all but impossible to do her job the way he’d been micromanaging her. Going to Hunter had been her option of last resort.

Besides, Hunter had invited all the employees to run ideas past him. She wasn’t taking any special privilege.

“I’m not holding out a lot of hope of you securing the Millennium,” warned Roger.

Sinclair was more optimistic. “It would be good for them, too. They’d have the advantage of all our advance publicity.”

Roger came to his feet. “I’d like you to take Chantal with you.”

Sinclair blinked as she stood. “What?”

“I’d appreciate her perspective.”

“On…” Sinclair searched for the logic in the request.

Chantal was a junior marketing assistant. In her two years with the company, she’d mostly been involved in administrative work such as ad placement and monitoring the free-sample program.

“She has a good eye,” said Roger, walking Sinclair toward the door.

A good eye for what?

“And I’d like her to broaden her experience,” he finished.

It was on the tip of Sinclair’s tongue to argue, but she had her yes, so it was time for a strategic retreat. She’d figure out the Chantal angle on her own.

Her first thought was that Roger might be grooming the woman for a public relations position. Sinclair had been lobbying to get an additional PR officer in her department for months now, but she had her own assistant, Amber, in mind for the promotion, and Keely in reception in mind for Amber’s job.

“Keep me informed,” insisted Roger.

“Sure,” said Sinclair, leaving his office to cross the executive lobby. First she’d set up a meeting at the Millennium, then she’d sleuth around about Chantal.

Three days later, Sinclair lost the Millennium Spa as a possibility. The President liked Lush’s new samples, but he claimed using them over the launch weekend would put him in a conflict with his regular beauty products supplier.

She’d been hoping the spa would switch to Luscious Lavender items on a permanent basis following the launch. But when she mentioned that to the spa President, he laughed and all but patted her on the head over her naiveté. Supply contracts, he told her, didn’t work that way.

Chantal had shot Sinclair a smug look and joined in the laughter, earning a benevolent smile from the man along with Sinclair’s irritation.

Then the next day, at a pre-Valentine’s event at Bergdorf’s on Fifth Avenue, Chantal earned Sinclair’s irritation all over again.

It was twelve days before Valentine’s Day and the main ball and product launch. Sinclair had worked for months preparing for both events.

For Bergdorf’s, she’d secured special space in the cosmetics department, hired top-line professional beauticians, and had placed ads in Cosmopolitan, Elle and Glamour. She’d even talked Roger into an electronic billboard in Times Square promoting the event. Her spa plan might have fallen flat, but she knew if they could get the right clientele into Bergdorf’s today for free samples and makeovers, word of mouth would begin to spread in advance of the ball.

The event should have come off without a hitch.

But at the last minute Roger had inserted Chantal into the mix, displacing one of the beauticians and making the lineups unnecessarily long. Amber, who had already heard about Chantal’s appearance at the spa meeting, was obviously upset by this latest turn of events. Sinclair didn’t need her loyal employee feeling uncertain about her future.

The result had been a long day. And as the clock wound toward closing time, Sinclair was losing energy. She did her hourly inventory of the seven makeover stations, noting any dwindling supplies on her clipboard. Then she handed the list to Amber, who had the key to the stockroom and was in charge of replenishing.

She reminded the caterers to do another pass along the lineup, offering complimentary champagne and canapés to those customers who were still waiting. The cash register lineup concerned her, so she called the store manager on her cell, asking about opening another till.

The mirrors on stations three and six needed a polish, so she signaled a cleaner. In the meantime, she learned they were almost out of number five brushes and made a quick call to Amber in the back.

“How’s it going?” Hunter’s voice rumbled from behind her.

She couldn’t help but smile at the sound, even as she reflexively tamped down a little rush of pleasure. They hadn’t spoken in a few days and, whether she wanted to or not, she’d missed him. She twisted to face him, meeting his eyes and feeling her energy return.

“Controlled chaos,” she mouthed.

“At least it’s controlled.” He moved in beside her.

“How are things up on the executive floor?” she asked.

“Interesting. Ethan gave me a tour of the factory.” Hunter made a show of sniffing the back of his hand. “I think I still smell like a girl.”

“Lavender’s a lovely scent,” said Sinclair, wrinkling her nose in his direction. She didn’t detect lavender, just Hunter, and it was strangely familiar.

“I prefer spice or musk.”

“Is your masculinity at stake?”

“I may have to pump some iron later just to even things up.”

“Are you a body builder?”

Even under a suit, Hunter was clearly fit.

“A few free weights,” he answered. “You?”

“Uh, no. I’m more of a yoga girl.”

“Yoga’s good.”

“Keeps me limber.”

“Okay, not touching that one.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“My grandfather would agree with you on that point.”

A new cashier arrived, opening up the other till, and the lineup split into two. Sinclair breathed a sigh of relief. One problem handled.

Then she heard Chantal’s laughter above the din and glanced at the tall blonde, who wore a cotton-candy-pink poof-skirted minidress and a pair of four-inch gold heels. She was laughing with some of the customers, her bright lips and impossibly thick eyelashes giving her the air of a glamorous movie star.

With Hunter here, Sinclair felt an unexpected pang of self-consciousness at the contrast between her and Chantal. Quickly, though, she reminded herself that her two-piece taupe suit and matching pumps were appropriate and professional. She also reminded herself that she’d never aspired to be a squealing, air-kissing bombshell.

She tucked her straight, sensibly cut hair behind her ears.

“So what happened at the spa?” asked Hunter.

“Unfortunately, it was a no go.”

“Really?” He frowned with concern. “What was the problem?”

“Some kind of conflict with their supplier.”

“Did you-”

“Sorry. Can you hang on?” she asked him, noticing a disagreement brewing between the new cashier and a customer. She quickly left Hunter and moved to step in.

It turned out the customer had been quoted a wrong price by her beautician. Sinclair quickly honored the quote and threw in an extra tube of lipstick.

When she looked back, Chantal had crossed the floor. She was laughing with Hunter, a long-fingered, sparkly-tipped hand lightly touching his shoulder for emphasis about something.