Authors: Kristen Painter
Viv wiggled her French-tipped finger in Meredith’s direction. “If that’s how you went to the book signing, you’re probably right.”
“Of course not.” Meredith’s hand strayed to her low ponytail. “I always look professional.”
“Professional or repressed librarian?” Celia chimed in, barely suppressed laughter lightening her voice.
“Let me guess,” Viv said. “You wore the tan suit and sensible heels.”
“What’s wrong with that outfit? It’s very nice.” Viv’s accurate guess rankled. Predictability was a perfectly respectable trait. And one that made the bad days easier. Who could think about what to wear when you were trying to find a reason to get out of bed?
“Nice? Oh, sweetheart, that outfit doesn’t let the real you shine through. It’s completely blah,” Viv said.
“Blah?” Chef Spicer hadn’t thought her blah, had he? He’d seemed...well, at least somewhat interested. In getting help for his sister.
“Bet your hair was up, too.” Celia took a long sip of her mimosa.
“The twist is a classic French hairstyle.” Meredith felt her defenses rising, but couldn’t help it. Hair was hair. Wasn’t it?
“The twist
is
a classic, you have to give her that,” Celia said, giving Meredith new affection for the young heiress.
Viv shot a glance at Celia before arrowing her gaze at Meredith. “Lovey, you’re Irish-Polish. Time to say
au revoir
to the twist. Men like hair they can run their fingers through.” She grinned like the devil with a new soul. “Grab hold of when they’re in the throes of—”
“Enough.” Meredith pressed her palms to her forehead. “Again, let me state for the record, I am not looking for a man. I have Jason and he’s the only man I need. And can I remind you that I’ve been married twice? Meeting men was never a problem for me.” She closed her eyes for a brief second against the nearly omnipresent ache in her soul. “It was just keeping them alive.”
“Honey, your son is a lovely boy, but he doesn’t exactly qualify as proper male companionship.” Viv polished off her mimosa. “How’s he doing at Tulane, by the way?”
The change in subject was a relief. “Fine. I think he has a girlfriend but he won’t give me any details.”
“Everyone needs someone to love,” Celia said, her blue eyes sparkling.
And we’re back.
Meredith blew out a soft breath. She appreciated that her friends didn’t see her for the husband-burying jinx that she was. And granted, there were nights when she missed the companionship of a good man. Not that Chef Spicer was in any way that man. No one was. She simply refused to put another husband in the ground.
Viv set her empty glass down and slipped her arm around Meredith’s shoulder. “Your books talk about moving on after the death of a loved one, but you look like a woman stuck in the past. What’s the cowboy’s sister going to think when she sees you? Maybe it’s time to take your own advice. You know, that bit about ‘investing in your new reality?’”
Meredith studied her short, unpolished nails. The last time she’d had her hair done was right before Michael’s wake.
“What do you say we have an afternoon of beauty and make you look like the successful psychologist and best-selling author that you are?” Viv gave her shoulders another squeeze. “Looking good never hurt anyone.”
Having no desire to be worn down by Viv, Meredith held her hands up in submission. And maybe her pride didn’t mind a little primping for the handsome chef’s sake. She may have sworn off men, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t touch up the exterior a bit. “Nothing crazy.”
Viv smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Celia clapped, her face a shining beacon of happiness.
Feeling suddenly afraid, Meredith groaned. No one did personal maintenance like Viv. The woman was a beauty commando. “I’m serious, Vivian. Nothing drastic—”
“Swan!”
The housekeeper stuck her head around the corner. “Yes, Miss Vivian?”
“Ask Marcus to bring the car around.”
“Yes, Miss Vivian.” Swan disappeared.
Viv punched a number into the cordless. “This is Vivian. Tell Timothee I have a beauty emergency.”
* * *
Meredith stared at her reflection in the salon mirror. “I look ridiculous.”
“Timothee does not make women look ridiculous.” The man standing behind her chair made jazz hands around her new hairdo, his multitude of silver rings glinting in the salon’s halogen lights. “Timothee makes them divine.”
He raised a hopeful brow. “Why don’t we show Vivian and see what she thinks?”
Meredith pursed her lips. She already knew what Viv would think. Timothee could do no wrong. “Fine. Whatever.”
He flounced out of the room, returning moments later with Viv and Celia trailing behind. Celia squealed. “Mer, you look twenty years younger!”
Meredith frowned.
“Okay, maybe not twenty years but still,” Celia corrected.
“It’s to die for,” Viv agreed.
“That’s not funny,” Meredith said.
Viv ignored the comment. “The cut is fabulous. Who knew you had such marvelous cheekbones?”
Celia nodded. “That color is delish. What’s it called?”
“Venetian Cognac.” Timothee preened. “With honey highlights.”
Meredith took a closer look. Maybe it wasn’t
that
bad. A littler brighter than what she was used to, but it almost matched the color she’d had as a kid. She sighed. The maintenance was going to be a pain. She’d forgotten how much work it was to be girly. “I guess it’s okay.”
“On to eyebrows and nails. Time’s wasting,” Viv announced before kissing Timothee on each cheek. “Wonderful job, darling. Thanks a million.”
“For you, Vivian, Timothee does anything.” The stylist fluttered himself with an imaginary fan as they left.
After Meredith’s manicure and pedicure, Viv corralled them back into the limo and they headed for Barney’s. Viv’s personal shopper, Lizza Bouchon, meet them in the VIP reception area of the upscale department store. Great pots of forced hyacinths wafted their perfume through the walnut-paneled, ivory-carpeted room.
Lizza and Viv exchanged air kisses. “Hello, Vivian. So good to see you. I understand we have an event?”
With her cropped bangs and jet-black hair done in a high ponytail, her cat-eye makeup and dark red lips, Lizza resembled a cross between Mortica Adams and Audrey Hepburn with a little Bettie Page thrown in for kicks. Meredith glanced back toward the elevator but the doors had already closed.
“Yes, we do.” Viv grabbed Meredith’s hand as though sensing her urge to run.
“Party at Sedona this evening, correct?” Lizza smiled in a sort of this-is-going-to-hurt-me-worse-than-it’s-going-to-hurt-you kind of way.
“Yes.” Meredith had never seen Lizza in an outfit that didn’t contain the color black. Today’s corset top and leather pants were no exception. “Nothing too wild,” she added, unable to look away from the rhinestone skull belt buckle winking beneath Lizza’s belly button.
Lizza winked. “Not to worry. We’ll steer clear of the rock star section.”
Meredith relaxed her shoulders. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. Lizza dressed Viv without turning her into a Goth.
“Right this way, ladies.” Lizza circled her hand through the air like she was ushering them into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. “I have a selection of things set aside.”
An assistant passed flutes of champagne as Meredith was whisked into the dressing room. Lizza gestured to the rolling racks of clothes against the wall. “Start anywhere you like.”
Lizza shut the door and Meredith eyed the racks. Lots of color, including alarming amounts of red, but not a speck of tan or gray, her standards. She rifled through the selections, mostly things she wouldn’t have looked twice at on the hanger. She stuck her head out of the room. “Why am I doing this again?”
Lizza was showing Viv some shoes. Celia set her glass down and walked over. Her voice was low as she spoke. “I know Viv can be a bit pushy at times but—”
“At times?”
Celia grinned. “Okay, all the time, but listen, once Viv sees that your new coif and designer outfit don’t sway the chef’s attention from the little blonde chickies he seems to adore, she’ll leave you alone. You can go back to looking however you want to.”
Meredith leaned against the doorframe. Celia had a point. And a much better shot at dating the chef. “I could probably go to that party naked and he wouldn’t look twice.” She nodded, a slight smile forming on her lips. “And the next time Viv gets a wild hair, I can remind her how wrong she was.”
“There is that.”
“Maybe he’ll ask you out. You’re definitely his type.”
Celia laughed. “Really? Have you seen him date any heiresses lately?”
“Point taken.” Chef Spicer seemed more interested in quantity over quality. Another folly of youth.
“Try something on already, will you? Unless you’d rather Viv came in there…”
“Changing right now.”
Celia gave her a wink and returned to the discussion of kitten heels versus ballet flats.
Numerous unacceptable outfits later, Meredith’s energy sagged. She faced her small audience, hands on her hips. “There has to be something I’ve tried on that will work.”
Viv shook her head and crossed her arms. Celia pointed to the foofy black number Meredith wore. “You keep trying on the black ones. What’s wrong with a little color?”
Lizza’s eyes lit up. “There is one you haven’t tried yet. And with that figure, you should. Let me find it.” She minced into the dressing room and searched through the racks, her hands a blur of ruby polish and pale skin. “Here!” She pulled out a sleeveless sheath of crimson matte satin. She shoved the dress into Meredith’s hands and shut the door before Meredith could say it was too red.
Alone in the cubicle, Meredith held the dress out. Very red. And very low cut.
“I don’t hear fabric rustling.” Lizza’s voice rang from the other side of the door. “Just try it on. It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Meredith reluctantly stepped into the dress. The cool satin slid over her skin like a spring breeze. She hoisted the zipper up, then tugged the dress down over her hips before taking a look in the mirror. Cleavage city. The scoop neckline and body-hugging fit made her B-cups look more like high C’s. The swingy skirt flowed out from her hips to just above her knees. Her legs were good; she’d give herself credit for that.
But the bust line...she didn’t want Chef Spicer to look at her and think she was trying to get his attention. Not that he’d look anyway. She probably didn’t even register with his libido as being female. Did the girls he dated even appreciate what an amazing specimen of manhood he was?
She put a hand against the wall.
Amazing specimen of manhood?
Where had that come from?
Viv’s voice derailed her thoughts. “Let’s see it, lovey.”
“It’s too low,” she said stepping out of the suddenly warm dressing room.
“Nonsense,” Viv replied. “You’ve got divine ta-ta’s.”
“Hooters galore in that dress.” Celia winked.
Viv turned to Celia. “Wasn’t Hooters Galore one of the Bond girls?”
Lizza nodded approvingly. “That’s the one. Makes your skin glow. And the fit! Dead sexy. It’s like it was made for you.”
Meredith planted her fists on her hips. “You seriously expect me to go out in this?” She cupped her hands in the air beneath her chest. “With my breasts hanging out?”
Viv laughed. “Darling, they aren’t hanging out. They’re getting some well-deserved fresh air. Let them breathe.” She tipped her head toward Lizza. “We need shoes.”
Lizza’s heavily-lined eyes twinkled. “I have just the ones. They incite envy in women and lust in men.”
Meredith’s head snapped up. “What? Why would I want—”
“Wonderful!” Viv raised her champagne flute. “Bring us all a pair.”
Chapter Three
Meredith wasn’t sure if she was more worried about falling out of her dress or off her heels. Tex-mex and stilettos seemed like a weird mix, but her captors had insisted the four-inch strappy bronze sandals were the only way to go. Part of her secretly agreed. The shoes were beautiful. Like wearable works of art. That were impossible to walk in.
When they arrived at Sedona, the party was half an hour underway. Viv’s driver, Marcus, held the door for them as they filed out of the limo. “Looking good, ladies.”
They regrouped on the sidewalk and headed for the restaurant en masse. A beefy gentleman in a black suit, bolo tie and black cowboy hat stopped them at the door with a stern look. “I’ll need your invitation or the name on the list.” He tapped the clipboard in his hand.
“I think it’s under Meredith Black?” Meredith hoped that was right. The guy’s body language said he took his job seriously.
He flipped through the pages on the clipboard. “I don’t see that name.” His eyes narrowed down to slits, and she got the distinct feeling he thought they were party-crashing groupies. What kind of groupies wore four hundred dollar shoes?
She straightened her shoulders and held up the book she’d brought for Kelly’s sister so the mouth breather could get a good look at it. “
Dr
. Meredith Black.”
Barely glancing at the book, he checked his list again. “Sorry, don’t see it.”
A slow, angry fuse lit inside her. If the chef had wanted her to come, why hadn’t he put her name on the guest list? If she’d gone through all this torturous primping for nothing, she would find a way to give him a piece of her mind.
Viv leaned over and whispered in Meredith’s ear. “Didn’t the cowboy give you a card?”
“Oh. Yes. Just a moment.” She dug through the matching bronze bag Viv insisted she buy and pulled out the card Kelly had written on. “Here.” She handed it to the doorman.
He looked at the back of it. Tipping his hat, he stepped aside and opened the door. “Sorry for the inconvenience, ladies. Enjoy your evening.”
Celia raised her brows so high they disappeared beneath her bangs. “What was on that card?”
“Just his signature.” Meredith shrugged. “He probably hands those out to lots of women.”
Younger, perkier women but undoubtedly shod in much cheaper footwear.
Celia nodded. “Based on what I’ve read about him in the About Town sections of the paper, I’d say you’re right. He’s never photographed with the same girl twice.” Celia’s social status often put her in those columns, too, so she read them daily to keep up with the gossip.