After Hours Bundle

by Karen Kendall

  “Are you insane?”

  “No. Are you so insecure with your manhood that you can’t handle people knowing the truth? That yes, you’re a partner but you’re also doing your best to make the place a success—so you take appointments. Where’s the shame in that?”

  “I am not the least bit insecure in my manhood,” Alejandro declared.

  “Yeah? Then why do you care what anyone says?”

  “You don’t understand Latin—and especially Peruvian—culture. It’s simply not acceptable for a straight man to be a manicurist.”

  “That’s so silly!”

  “It’s not. They will think I’m gay, like Nicky. The soccer team—they wouldn’t allow me in the locker room or the showers.”

  “But why not, if you explained?”

  “I am telling you, there is no explaining!” Alejandro searched for a way to make her understand. “It would be like…like…a church finding out that its head Sunday-school teacher was also a dominatrix and wore black rubber panties with a slit crotch.”

  “Oh, puh-lease, Alejandro. It couldn’t possibly be that bad.”

  “It is. I don’t know how to make you believe me. But it is.”

  “Whatever.” Peggy put her hands on her hips. “But you can’t go canceling appointments every time someone who knows you comes into the spa. You wouldn’t let me do it, and I’m not going to let you do it. Understand?”

  He stared at her, trying to remember why he was angry with her to begin with. Because he was, and it didn’t have anything to do with tonight, but the pisco had fogged his brain. “Fine.”

  Then he remembered, and glared at her. “But by the way, we need to have a little talk, Miss Underwood. I can’t believe that you and Marly actually suggested to Kate that we use After Hours as the business for our marketing class project! Are you deliberately trying to embarrass me in front of her?”

  “If you hadn’t lied to her in the first place, you’d have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Peggy said, with maddening logic.

  “That is not the point!”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No. The point is that you two maliciously plotted to make me crazy, and I don’t appreesh—appreeski—mierda! It wasn’t very nice.”

  Peggy neatly sidestepped that issue. “If Kate truly cares about you, then the fact that you give manicures and pedicures shouldn’t bother her.”

  “Well, what if it does?” he asked belligerently.

  “Then you’re better off without her and we’ve only done you a favor.”

  Alejo frowned. He didn’t think he agreed. But he decided he needed more rum in order to make sense of it all. He looked at his watch. Only ten, damn it. He still had two appointments to go before they closed for the night. “Peggy, sweet Peggy?”

  “No,” she said, without turning around. She was, disturbingly, pouring water into the coffeemaker.

  “Have I mentioned that you look partickly lovely this evening?”

  “I am not doing your last two pedicures. You know I’d do them if you were sick, or if you had exams tomorrow. But you don’t—you’re just drunk. So have some coffee and sober the hell up.”

  What had happened to his woman-manipulating abilities? He’d better sharpen them before he saw Kate again. Gloomily, he wondered why he cared. After all, as her cousin had said, he was nothing but a cheap hunk, a fling to her, and he knew it. Sighing, Alejandro lurched forward and got a big mug.

  12

  “SO, WHAT IS your competition like?” Kate asked Marly and Peggy. After Hours had been way too chaotic the other day to take up their time, so they’d all agreed on an appointment when the spa was closed.

  Kate looked around the now quiet, empty spa, noting the eclectic Italian glass lighting, the beautifully hand-painted floors and the walls done in different Miami pastels. The whole place was hip and creative, the music international and energetic, cutting edge.

  She balanced a yellow pad on her knee and spun a ballpoint pen in her right hand as she waited for Marly and Peggy to answer. “And where’s Alejandro?”

  “I don’t know,” Peggy answered, looking at her watch. “But he wasn’t feeling so hot yesterday.”

  “Our competition,” said Marly, “is pretty fierce around here. A lot of rich and famous people have homes in Miami, so to meet their demands there are dozens of high-end salons. We don’t try to compete with the ones that cater to people like Madonna or Celine Dion. Our target customer is well-off, but not necessarily a millionaire. She’s looking to be pampered, but she’s also intrigued by a hip, party atmosphere. She’s not into whale sounds and total relaxation—she wants stimulation and excitement.”

  “Got it,” Kate said, busily taking notes. “Now, do your customers drive long distances to get to you, or are they mostly in Coral Gables and the surrounding areas?”

  Peggy pursed her mouth. “I’d say our clientele is mostly local. We do have a few women who drive from suburbs like Weston or Coral Springs or Parkland, but they represent only about twenty percent of our client base.”

  “So your customers are mostly women?”

  “Yes,” Marly said. “We’re starting to see more men coming for haircuts and massages. But roughly ninety percent are women.”

  “Very key point,” Kate murmured. “Are they married?”

  Peg thought about it. “About fifty-fifty.”

  “Age?”

  “Average age is from twenty-two to mid-fifties.”

  “Kids?”

  “Also about fifty-fifty. If our customer has children, though, she’s usually got help. She’s still very body-conscious and fashionable. Our Coral Gables mom is not your average soccer mom. She’s very likely to wear her spike-heeled mules and her Vuitton bag—with snug jeans—to the athletic fields.”

  “So there’s no letting yourself go after kids. Poor things,” Kate said. “They still have to be sex symbols?”

  Marly shrugged. “Well, it’s hot down here. Which means no hiding fat under sweaters and coats and layers of wool. Skin is in, and cellulite’s not popular.”

  “And there’s a lot of South American influence,” Peg added. “Those women are gorgeous and they take care of themselves. They’re sexy, even after four kids.”

  Kate wrote it all down. She chewed on her pen and swung her foot over her knee, bouncing it. She noticed Peg grinning at the state of her loafers. “These are Alejandro’s favorite,” she told her. “Nice and battered, no sex appeal.”

  “Hey,” said Peg, “I lived in Connecticut. I know about loafers. But since I moved down here, I’ve become quite attached to the fabulous array of slut shoes.”

  Kate eyed her dark brown stilettos. “If I took two steps in those, I’d fall and kill myself.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Peg said cheerfully. “You get used to them pretty fast. And they give you a built-in butt wiggle. Men love them.”

  Kate shuddered. “Where I come from, we don’t approve of butt wiggle.”

  “And that’s a crying shame,” Alejandro’s voice said behind her. He flashed his hypnotic white smile.

  It shot into her bloodstream like a drug, making her heart speed. Her brain was inundated with images of a naked Alejandro under her, on top of her, behind her, next to her…murmuring hot, sexy words into her ear until she whimpered for release. Spinneys didn’t whimper. Not ever. That was, by unwritten law, frowned upon even more than butt wiggle or tight spandex pants or thong bikinis. After all, Boston had been founded on tea, not sex.

  Kate had a theory that the weather probably did have a lot to do with it. As Marly said, it was hot down here. When settlers arrived in Florida, they’d probably almost died of heatstroke. When settlers had arrived on Plymouth Rock, they’d likely been frozen to the bone.

  So the Mayflower crowd drank a lot of hot tea and bundled up by the fire. And the Miami crew, she figured, had gone skinny-dipping. There you had it: the evolution of culture.

  “My neighbor would like Gracious back,” Alejandro said,
interrupting her train of thought.

  “Oh. I was really enjoying her. But I guess she has to go home. Do you want me to bring her over to you later?”

  “Yes, after we finish up here and we buy you some new shoes,” he said, looking pointedly at her toes in the flapping loafer.

  “How about a roll of clear packing tape instead? That’ll fix the problem and they’ll be good as new.” She grinned up at him.

  “No. Those were never good, and I’m not sure they were ever new, either. I think they’ve been passed down through your family for generations.”

  “Did I ask for your opinion on my footwear?”

  “You did not. But I have clearly won the Flirt-Off, and the price you pay is new shoes of my choice, remember?”

  “You have not won!”

  “Flirt-Off?” Peggy and Marly said at the same time.

  “I have definitely won. Come on, Kate, how can you even argue the point? Should I lay out all the details so that Peg and Marly can judge?”

  “Details?” they asked, hopeful gleams in their eyes.

  “No!” Kate glared at him.

  “He is a Master Flirt,” Marly told her. “He has to be. Look at what he does for a liv—” She jumped as Alejandro put his arm around her and squeezed, smiling broadly.

  “I’m really at a loss as to why an accountant would need to flirt,” Kate said, puzzled.

  “So, what are all these notes about?” Alejo tweaked the yellow pad off her knee and examined it. He squinted. He turned it sideways. “What, were you a doctor in a past life? Or is this in a language I don’t know?”

  “Give me that,” Kate said, annoyed. “So I flunked handwriting in first grade. I still got into Harvard.”

  “One word looked like demigod. Are you referring to me? Because there’s nothing demi about Alejandro the Great, mi amorcito. You should know this by now.”

  “Demographics,” Kate said, through gritted teeth.

  Peggy and Marly exchanged a glance. “You slept with him,” they said. Peg added, “So he’s definitely won the Flirt-Off.”

  “Wh—? I—That is not true.”

  “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Alejandro murmured. “But I do see new shoes in your future today. Oh, yes, I do. I’m thinking snakeskin, five-inch heels, studded with rhinestones.”

  “Value,” said Kate, staring fixedly at the yellow pad, her face burning so hot that she was afraid her ears might blow off. “What does the After Hours customer value most? The service? The atmosphere? The price?”

  “Yes,” Alejandro mused. “Definitely rhinestones.”

  “Price isn’t really a big consideration,” Marly said.

  “No rhinestones, sport.”

  Peggy nodded. “It’s a toss-up between service and atmosphere.”

  “Sport,” Alejo spat. “No. You will not call me that.”

  “Then you will not threaten me with rhinestones,” Kate said sweetly. “Now, if you had to rank service or atmosphere higher, which would you pick?”

  Marly tugged on her long dark braid. “Service,” she finally said. “Especially Señor Maños.” She winked at Peg.

  Alejandro fell into a violent coughing fit.

  “Señor what? What does that mean?” Kate tapped her pen on the legal pad.

  “Mr. Hands.”

  “It’s a product that we use in the course of a manicure or pedicure,” Alejandro said smoothly. “Imported.”

  “Yes, from Peru,” Peg added. “Fabulous. The clients can’t get enough.”

  Service, Kate wrote down. Superior products. “And nobody else uses this?”

  “No. We’re unique when it comes to Señor Manos.” Marly smiled.

  “Great. Now, how do you set yourself apart from other salons?” Kate asked.

  “Well, the fact that we’re open until midnight, of course. And we serve wine and beer.”

  Open till midnight, Kate wrote. “Actually, I know of other salons and spas that serve wine, so you’re not unique on that.”

  Peggy and Marly nodded. Alejandro was uncharacteristically quiet. He seemed annoyed with the two women; she didn’t know why.

  “You still with us, sport? Or are you taking a mental coffee break?”

  He turned a malevolent gaze upon her. “Purple snakeskin,” he said. “With a matching belt.”

  “Okay,” Kate said briskly, ignoring him. “So then our conclusion is that in order to compete better in the salon and spa market, the one thing you guys can improve is your atmosphere. Correct?”

  They all blinked at her. “We think our atmosphere is pretty cool,” Marly said, gesturing around the place.

  “Yeah,” Peg backed her up. “Marly designed it all and did the floors and everything.”

  “The interior design is great,” Kate told them. “Perfect for Miami. I’m not talking about any changes there. But you’re pushing for a fun, sexy, almost nightclub feel, right?”

  They nodded.

  “Then let’s brainstorm how to push the envelope on that.”

  “Okaaaay…” They exchanged another glance and Kate had no problem reading their thoughts. What did Boston’s Kate Spinney, in her baggy khakis, man’s blue button-down and shredded loafers know about fun, or sex or hip nightclubs?

  For the first time, she looked down at her clothes and found them lacking. Peg and Marly looked hip and sexy, each in her own different way. Peg wore stilettos, a short skirt and a form-fitting top. Marly wore two of those double cotton tank tops over a long peasant skirt. She didn’t wear heels, but she did show a lot of glowing skin and some cleavage.

  Kate felt like a small man next to them. She didn’t like it at all. But purple snakeskin? She thought not. She steered her thoughts away from her appearance with a little leadership. “All right. When I say nightclub, what’s the first thing that pops into each of your minds? Alejandro?”

  “Shots.”

  “Peggy?”

  “Strobe lights.”

  “Marly?”

  “Loud synthesizer music.”

  Kate sighed. “None of those are going to work. Let’s do adjectives now. Alejandro?”

  “Tight, black, zippered.”

  “Peg?”

  “Sexy.”

  “Marly?”

  “Wild and crazy.”

  Kate nodded. “Okay, those are better. We can work with those.” She chewed on the end of her pen for a moment. “You know, I think I can do a better job on a new marketing concept if I hang out here for a couple of days and just observe.”

  Alejandro frowned. “Oh, surely that’s not necessary, Kate. You are a bright woman. You see the basics. I would hate for you to waste your time.”

  “It wouldn’t be a waste,” Kate told him. “I’d probably learn a lot and get some good ideas.”

  “What’s to learn? Marly cuts hair. Peggy gives massages. The, uh, nail techs do nails. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Yes, but I could observe some of your clientele in action,” Kate argued.

  “Tell you what,” Peg interrupted. “We’re actually doing a private party next weekend, a customer appreciation night. Why don’t you stop by then?”

  Alejandro said quickly, “Kate would hate that.”

  Kate stared at him. “Excuse me, but Kate would like that very much, thanks.”

  “I just meant…well, that you don’t have anything to wear. It’ll be dressy and Miami-sexy. You can’t show up in khaki pants and those loafers.”

  Kate folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I have it on the very best authority that I’m about to buy a pair of purple snakeskin stilettos. Am I not?”

  “Er…”

  “You know, Alejo, it’s almost like you don’t want me to come. What’s up with that?”

  “Of course I want you to come,” he protested. “I just thought you might not be comfortable, that’s all.”

  “Tell you what, sport. I’ll make the decisions regarding my comfort, okay?”

  “No problema, sport.” He gl
ared at her.

  Marly tried to disguise a smile behind her hand, while Peggy just outright snickered.

  “I’m so glad you find this entertaining,” Alejandro snapped at them.

  Kate capped her pen and stuck it in her pocket. “I’ll continue to brainstorm.” She elbowed her project partner. “And so will he.” Kate undid the flap of her poor abused Hermès bag and shoved the yellow pad inside, to the detriment of both. She made it fit and then shut the purse again.

  “But in the meantime, I’ve got some purple snakeskin pumps to buy with my fashion advisor, here.”

  13

  MIERDA,MIERDA,MIERDA! Alejandro was going to knock his partners’ heads together until they were flat on one side. How could they have done this to him? Kate couldn’t come to the customer appreciation night! What were they smoking?

  His cover would be completely blown. He’d be a laughingstock and Kate would never go out with him again. Not that he’d really taken her out yet. He needed to rectify that. But first, the shoes.

  “I was teasing about the purple snakeskin, Kate,” he said, as they left After Hours and walked out to the parking lot.

  “I know.” She headed straight for her car, which was, he guessed, the extremely dented, faded, blue 1970s Mercedes-Benz with the lacrosse stick in the rear window. “Where are you going?”

  “I thought we were going to buy a pair of shoes?”

  “We are. But I’ll drive.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I said I’ll drive. This way.”

  “What’s the matter, you don’t like being driven by a woman?”

  “That has nothing to do with it. I just happen to know where we’re going.” Actually, he didn’t like being driven by a woman, but he knew it wasn’t smart to admit that to her. He led her to his shiny black Porsche, and opened the door for her.

  “My, my,” Kate said, lifting a mocking eyebrow. “We do travel in style, don’t we?”

  Yet another reason for giving the damned pedicures. “Get into the car, Señorita Mercedes,” he replied.

  “That Mercedes was my grandmother’s.”

  “Congratulations. But if you are waiting for me to apologize for driving a nice, new car, you will be waiting a very long time. Just because your money is old, Kate, does not make it better.”