The Makeover Takeover

by Sandra Paul

  But instead, he no longer had her in his life at all.

  His hand tightened into a fist, and he realized he was still clutching the wad of paper. He threw it at the can. It bounced off the side and rolled on the carpet. Disgusted with himself, he shoved his chair back and stood up. He needed to get out of here awhile. To get some fresh air and clear his mind.

  He left his office and went through hers, averting his eyes from her empty desk. He walked aimlessly down the hall, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He got on the elevator—and got off again when it stopped to let on more passengers. He didn’t want to talk; didn’t want to have to be polite. He had no particular destination in mind, nowhere to go. He just wanted to keep moving to try to escape the feelings building inside.

  He shouldn’t be missing her so much, he thought, wandering down another hall. Women came and went in his life all the time, and he’d barely notice. He’d been alone since he was a kid, but he’d never—ever—been lonely.

  But he was lonely without Lauren. He couldn’t get her out of his head. Images of her kept plaguing him. The shock on her face when he’d asked her if she was pregnant. Her determined expression when she’d told him she wanted a man. The upside-down kiss she’d given him that night in her apartment. He kept picturing her face. Hearing her soft voice—

  He stopped in his tracks, his mouth going dry. Was he going crazy? No, that was her voice. Coming from the cafeteria.

  He glanced inside… and he saw her. With the instinctive reaction of a natural hunter, he drew back a little from the doorway, so he could watch her unseen.

  She was standing high on a ladder, her slender arms lifted to attach a sprig of mistletoe to a wire hanging from the ceiling. She had on jeans and a green sweater. A red bandana covered her hair. She’d pushed her sleeves up on her forearms, the way she used to do whenever she’d try to make a basket.

  Her expression was intent, a small crease furrowed her brow as she concentrated on what she was doing. Her mouth was pursed in a tense little bow. She looked pale and a little thinner, but wonderful.

  Rafe was staring at her so hungrily, that it wasn’t until Brandon, the kid from the mail room, spoke that he realized there were other people in the room—Brandon and old Artie Dodge.

  “Hey, Lauren,” Brandon called, from atop another ladder in a far corner. “Should I stick some mistletoe up here, too?”

  “Let’s not overdo it,” Lauren told him, glancing in that direction. “I think garland is enough there.”

  Even from his vantage point, Rafe could read Brandon’s expression. It plainly said, how could there possibly be too much mistletoe—or too many kisses? But when the boy spoke again, he asked another question. “Is the deejay you lined up supposed to be pretty good?”

  “The best we could find.”

  “Does he play current stuff, d’ya know?”

  Rafe watched Lauren’s expression soften as she smiled at the kid. “He plays all kinds of music, Brandon. Something for everyone.”

  “Good.” Artie’s gruff voice sounded disgusted as he added, “Can’t dance to the noise that passes for music these days at all.”

  Brandon had something to say about that, but Rafe didn’t pay any attention as he looked around the room Garland and tinsel were piled on a chair. Arrangements of poinsettias and candles were grouped on a table, next to a stack of red tablecloths. Obviously, Lauren and her crew were decorating the place for the Christmas party that evening.

  He frowned. When Kane had learned Lauren had quit, he’d assigned Julia Parker to finish up the arrangements. But although he hadn’t paid much attention at the time, Rafe had heard that Julia had been gone the past few days, out sick. She’d probably called up Lauren to double-check the arrangements, and, as usual, Lauren had responded by coming in to decorate.

  The thought caused a soft ache in his heart. That was just like her. Lauren loved Christmas, and she wouldn’t want anyone to be disappointed about the party. To most of the people he knew, Christmas was simply a time to put up decorations and get gifts. It meant drinking and celebrating and basically, an excuse to have a good time. It wasn’t the trappings, but the spirit behind the holiday that was important to Lauren. She saw Christmas as an opportunity to give to people. To show them that she cared.

  No, she wouldn’t be able to leave this job undone, nor to refuse to help her friend Julia. Especially not when she was familiar enough with his own schedule to know that he was supposed to be out of town again. She’d probably thought there’d be no chance of running into him. Never-ever again—as she’d probably put it.

  The thought hurt like a punch in the gut. His muscles tensed as he fought the urge to go over to her, to make her talk to him. He wanted to demand some answers. To make her listen to what he had to say. Hell, she was up on a ladder. No way could she escape him this time.

  But of all the memories he had of her, the one that he kept thinking of the most was of the sadness in her eyes before she’d fled from the hotel room—fled from him.

  So after one final, considering look at her, he walked away down the hall.

  Lauren paused for a moment outside the cafeteria that evening. She peeked inside. Even to her critical gaze, the cafeteria’s makeover appeared successful.

  The round metal tables had been given elegance with the simple addition of red tablecloths and poinsettia centerpieces. The candles tucked in amongst the flowers gave the room a mellow glow, while the strings of twinkling white lights strung along the ceiling beams added a bit of sparkle to the shadowy room.

  A colorful Christmas tree dominated one corner of the room, the makeshift bar another. The refreshment tables— laden with an assortment of dishes to satisfy every taste—were lined up nearby. Along with the mouthwatering scents of turkey and ham, Lauren could smell cinnamon and apple from the huge bowl of wassail she’d placed on a corner of the table. The air was filled with the buzz of conversation and soft rock music.

  Most of the people inside were laughing and talking in small groups. The newlyweds, Jack and Sharon Davies, were already moving around the space set aside as a dance floor. Ken Lawson was at the bar, and Matthew and Jennifer Holder were checking out the refreshment table. Everyone looked as if they were having a good time, as if they were happy to be there.

  Except her.

  Lauren glanced around again, but didn’t see Rafe anywhere. Taking a deep breath, she made her way toward the refreshment tables to check the supplies. She hadn’t wanted to come to the annual Kane Haley, Inc., Christmas party, but she hadn’t been able to refuse. Not when Julia needed her help.

  She’d tried to explain that to Jay earlier that evening, while getting ready for the party.

  “Don’t go back there,” Jay had kept telling her as she’d styled Lauren’s hair, curling and combing and talking nonstop. “You’ve already gone cold turkey on the man, quitting your job the way you did. I’m afraid that seeing him again will simply set back your recovery.”

  “He won’t be there; he’s off on a trip,” Lauren had replied.

  “Still, let someone else who works there help Julia.”

  “She asked me. Not very many people at the firm even know she’s pregnant. She certainly doesn’t want them to know that she’s feeling sick. She just wants me to be there in case she needs to leave suddenly.”

  “And I don’t want you to get hurt again,” Jay had said softly.

  Lauren’s mouth turned down in a wry little grimace as she stared down at the food. She picked up a couple of the plates that were already empty and set them on a cart beneath the table. She couldn’t blame Jay for being worried—she’d been pretty upset when Lauren had ended up at her door a week ago.

  Walking out of Rafe’s hotel room had been the hardest thing Lauren had ever done. Once back in her own room, she’d known she couldn’t stay at the hotel with him so near, so she’d grabbed all the clothes that she’d packed with such care before and tossed them in her suitcase. She’d called a taxi and taken it a
ll the way home. The cost had been well worth it. Every mile it put between her and Rafe was one more mile between herself and the temptation to run back into his arms again.

  She hadn’t cried during the long ride. But when she’d seen Jay and told her what had happened, grief for what might have been welled up in her heart along with her tears. Jay had comforted her with hugs and ice cream. She’d listened patiently, discussed every detail, until Lauren reached the conclusion—again and again—that there had been nothing else she could have done. Not once she knew Rafe didn’t love her.

  Yes, she’d done the right thing in leaving, Lauren thought, as she automatically rearranged the carrots on the vegetable platter. It was just too bad that doing the right thing was so painful.

  Yet, painful or not, she needed to get on with her life. To put it all behind her.

  “But what if Rafe shows up at the party?” Jay had asked her worriedly as she’d worked on her hair. “What will you do then?”

  “I’ll simply have to handle it. I can’t keep hiding out from him forever,” Lauren had replied quietly. “Running away was the only solution I could come up with at the time, but I don’t want to make it a way of life.”

  Jay hadn’t been convinced. “I still think going back there is like putting an alcoholic behind the bar to serve drinks at a wedding reception—the perfect setup for disaster. But if you insist on committing emotional suicide, you might as well go down in a blaze of beauty. I’ll do your nails.” She’d picked up a small bottle and shook it vigorously. “What color do you want? Crazy in Chicago Carmine? Or Insane Cinnamon?”

  Lauren had chosen the cinnamon—not because she was insane, but because it matched her floor-length red formal, the one that left her shoulders bare. And she wasn’t an alcoholic either. Her love for Rafe—her previous love for Rafe—she reminded herself sternly as she put out more meat pastries, was nothing but a state of mind that would alter with time and willpower and lots of affirmations. Not a disease.

  Although she did feel a little sick with tension, she conceded, as, finished with her task, she glanced around the room again. She was just about to join Julia, whom she’d spotted standing all alone by the Christmas tree with her hands resting on the small mound of her stomach, when Lauren saw Rafe.

  Her heart jumped and the knot in her stomach tightened. Nervous chills chased up and down her spine. He had a drink in one hand, the other was shoved into the pocket of his dark suit jacket. He was standing by Kane and Maggie. Maggie said something, and, as he tilted his head to listen, his crooked smile crossed his lean face.

  Lauren’s mouth went dry. She turned away, almost reeling toward the makeshift bar in the corner. She needed a drink.

  But before she could get there, Brandon came up beside her. “Hey, Lauren. Thought you’d never get here.” His bright, happy gaze skimmed her up and down. “Wow, you look hot.”

  “I do?” That was funny, Lauren thought, looking furtively over her shoulder to see what Rafe was doing now. Because the nervous chills had attacked her again, making her shiver.

  “Yeah.” Brandon’s young voice was husky with admiration. “You look good in red.”

  Oh, he’d been talking about her dress, Lauren realized as she turned back to him. “Thank you, Brandon.” She smoothed a hand over her skirt. “You look very nice, too.”

  He’d put on a sport coat for the occasion, along with a tie featuring the Grinch. A tide of red swept up his face at her compliment. “Do you wanna dance?” he blurted out.

  Go out on the dance floor? Where Rafe might see her? No, she definitely didn’t want to dance. But then she met Brandon’s hopeful eyes and knew hiding out wasn’t an option any longer. She squared her shoulders and smiled. “That would be nice, Brandon.”

  She fixed her eyes on a distant corner—the farthest away from Rafe—but Brandon steered her toward the center of the floor. The song was a fast one, a Latin tune with a heavy bass beat. Lauren tried to dance discreetly, keeping plenty of moving bodies between herself and the spot where she’d last seen Rafe. Brandon danced with abandon, his young, athletic body full of grace and vigor. He was undoubtedly the best dancer on the floor—the one to watch. Lauren tried to dance away a bit, to put more space between them. Brandon followed her like a pull-toy on a string, his hips thrusting energetically in a Ricky Martin imitation.

  The song finally crashed to a halt. Lauren drew a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you, Brandon,” she said breathlessly. “That was fun. I really—”

  A light tap on her shoulder made her forget what she was going to say. Her breath caught and she turned around.

  Artie was standing behind her. He beamed at her, his face wrinkling like a lovable hound’s. “Would you like to dance, Miz Lauren?”

  This time the music was a two-step. Lauren followed Artie’s halting, arthritic steps sedately, one hand resting on his bent shoulder, the other held gently in his calloused palm.

  They stumbled slightly and Artie’s gnarled fingers tightened around hers. He concentrated, carefully regaining the beat before conversing again. When they were once more dancing steadily, he told her with a twinkle in his faded blue eyes, “Have to keep moving to stop all these young bucks from closing in. Part of the price of dancing with the prettiest girl in the room.”

  She wasn’t the prettiest, of course. But the sincerity in Artie’s voice bestowed beauty like a gift, and Lauren accepted it with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Artie. That is so sweet.”

  His narrow chest puffed out, the music drew to a close. And Lauren turned at another touch on her arm. This time Frank Stephens was standing there.

  And so it went. Man after man, dance after dance. She circled the floor with James Griffin, with Ralph Riess and then with Brandon again. Even Kane Haley took a turn. Lauren had never been so popular, so sought after.

  Somehow it didn’t seem to matter much, possibly because she couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe, watching for a glimpse of him. She was tense with apprehension at the thought of a confrontation, but he didn’t come near her. Apparently he’d decided to leave her alone. That was a good thing—a wise thing—to do she realized, but still, a wave of sadness washed over her.

  “It’s a great party,” Ken Lawson, her present dancing partner told her, breaking into her thoughts. “But there’s one thing you’ve neglected…” He shook his head regretfully.

  “What’s that?” she asked, recognizing her cue.

  “Mistletoe. Brandon was complaining about it to me, and I have to admit, the kid has a point.”

  Lauren smiled faintly. “From what I’ve heard around the water cooler, you don’t rely on mistletoe as an excuse to kiss a woman, Ken.”

  “Hey!” He tried to look offended, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Let me tell you those nasty rumors are lies— every one of them. I’m an old-fashioned guy. I know the value of a great Christmas tradition.”

  He glanced up ahead a second, and Lauren realized he was steering her toward the mistletoe she’d hung in a corner of the room. Ken had already caught several women under the sprig. Apparently, she was destined to be his next victim.

  But before he could maneuver her into place, they were interrupted.

  “My turn,” a deep voice said behind her.

  Lauren’s heart jumped into her throat. She glanced up at Rafe.

  He met her eyes briefly, then looked at Ken, who appeared about to protest. But after a brief glance at Rafe, Ken gave in with a sigh. “Okay. Catch you later, Lauren.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Rafe murmured as Ken turned away, and the song drew to a close. Then he looked down at Lauren. “Hello,” he said softly.

  She swallowed to ease the tension in her throat. “Hi.”

  “Glad you came.”

  “So am I.” There—she could do it. Make conversation with him without falling apart. Not scintillating conversation maybe, but still…

  The music started up again. “Do you want to dance?”

  Alarm rushed throug
h her. “I, well, I—” She intended to say no, but before she could articulate a polite refusal Rafe had his arm around her waist and they were moving slowly across the floor.

  Her hip burned where his palm rested. Her other hand tingled in his firm, warm grip. She knew she was trembling, but Rafe didn’t seem to notice.

  He said, “Your song, I think.”

  “My song?”

  ‘“Lady in Red.’”

  Until that second, Lauren hadn’t even realized they were dancing to Chris Deburgh’s slow, seductive love song.

  “Yes, well, I’m definitely in red,” she said, striving for a light tone.

  “And you definitely look beautiful tonight.” There was nothing light about Rafe’s tone at all.

  And suddenly, Lauren realized she shouldn’t have come back, shouldn’t have taken the chance of seeing him quite so soon. Jay had been right; she wasn’t ready. Loving Rafe wasn’t a state of mind that she could talk herself out of, she realized all over again, but the state of her heart, that would take time to heal.

  She couldn't take it. She made a small, desperate bid for release, but this time Rafe didn’t let her escape. He slowed to a stop.

  “Lauren,” he said huskily. “Look up.”

  Without thinking, she obeyed him. She saw the mistletoe, and then his eyes. She shut her own to escape his dark gaze and his mouth closed over hers.

  Kissing him again was like heaven—and like hell. His lips were coaxing, persuasive. Possessive. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it branded her deeply. And as soon as he lifted his head, she stepped away.

  He was still holding her hand. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I need to get back to work. To check the refreshments again.”

  But Rafe didn’t seem to hear her. He turned and, still holding onto her, led her through the dancers and right out the door into the hall.

  “Rafe—wait. Stop a minute.”

  He halted, then glanced around. He took a couple of steps toward a nearby door and opened it, tugging her inside after him. He pulled the door shut.

  For a moment, darkness engulfed them. Then Rafe released her hand and hit a switch on the wall. The overhead light flickered on.