Heath chuckled. The stench was dreadful. There wasn’t much about this situation that wasn’t dreadful. But tonight had given him hope their luck might have taken a turn for the better. Okay, so he had to sell goop, er, makeup to do it, but the promise of some money, any money, was well worth the potential for humiliation. Desperate times and all. It also didn’t hurt that this Wanda woman, who’d be his regional color supervisor, wasn’t hard on the eyes. No matter how he’d tried to ignore it, because he was definitely in no position to be lusting after a woman, she had this appeal he couldn’t take his eyes from. Not to mention, her cheese log was kick-ass.
And so was her ass.
She was a little thinner than what he’d found himself typically attracted to, but the round shape of her back end when she’d bent over to pick up the napkins from the floor had left him with his mouth hanging open. She was sort of snippy and defensive about this makeup gig, but he’d never met a woman who could resist him for long, and he wanted in on this Bobbie-Sue gig.
Heath assessed Archibald’s jawline, scrutinizing his work before it was “lights out.” “You know, I’m not half bad at this color wheel thing. It seemed pretty easy to me.”
“I applaud your gift for making a woman’s complexion sing.” Archibald pulled away from Heath again, his dark eyes glittering. “However, mine has had quite enough. If this weren’t our last hope, sir, I’d tell you to stuff it.That we’ve sunk this low, Heathcliff, that I’m allowing the application of cosmetics on my person, is—well, it’s disturbing.”
Heath slapped his friend on the back, shoving the liquid foundation and sponge applicator back into the gift bag he’d snared at Wanda’s party. “Ah, you mock, but I’m telling you, it could be much worse. We could be flipping burgers or giving out samples of food at the mall.”
Archibald expelled another breath, long and suffering, pushing off and settling on his cot for the night. “If only we could have mastered the fine art of wearing those ridiculous hats at Chick-fil-A, we’d be employed.”
Heath smiled in the semidarkness of the room. “Doesn’t matter. That hat wasn’t in your color wheel anyway.”
“Oh, sir . . .”
“Don’t ‘oh, sir’ me like this is beneath us, Arch. We have to do what we have to do to survive, and if it means me mastering a color wheel and offering color consultations or whatever the hell they call it, that’s how I’ll roll. You read the ad, too. You saw the kind of cash we could make in a month. I don’t know about you, but I’m willing to give it a shot, because our options right now are shit at best. What do we know about a nine-to-five? Not a damned thing, that’s what.” Heath rolled to his side, taking in Archibald’s full length, cramped and too long for his assigned cot. “Now, speaking of jobs at the mall, how’d you make out today at that job interview? Short-order cook, wasn’t it?”
Highlighted by the perfectly blended line of Lively Lavender Eye Shadow Heath had so carefully applied, Archibald’s white eyebrow rose with haughty disdain. “They told me I didn’t have enough experience for Chili’s. I’ve cooked for kings and queens in my time, and they had the audacity to declare I wasn’t worthy of making baby back ribs? And this from the manager. A boy no older than a pair of my best trousers. It was demeaning, to say the least.”
Heath put the top of his fist over his mouth to keep from barking another chuckle. Archibald had taken his duties as Heath’s manservant very seriously over the years. Any perceived slight to his work was considered high on his list of insults. “Don’t you worry, Arch, brighter days are just over the horizon.”
“Oh, indisputably, sir. Unquestionably you’ll find yourself on the road to cosmetic prominence in no time, and we’ll once more rule the kingdom known as Jefferson with you at the helm, making color charts for all the fair maidens in the land.” He snickered.
“Wheels. It’s color wheels, and can the sarcasm, funny man.You can’t even get a job at Chili’s. And after being turned down at not one, but three of the major fast food joints, plus Wal-Mart, we have a trend going on that isn’t exactly what I’d label upwardly mobile. I’m the only shot we’ve got right now, and if what that ad says is true, we just might get the hell out of this hole. So knock off the pessimism and show a little team spirit.”
Archibald clucked his tongue and offered blandly, “Of course. Hoorah, sir. Go team Jefferson.”
Heath cradled his head in the palms of his hands. “I know I’m probably the last person you’d think would even consider selling makeup, considering our lifestyle up till now, and if I could find work anywhere else, I’d do it, but we need cash, Arch. Soon.”
“I will say, Heathcliff, I must give you credit.You’ve definitely gone the longest mile. But it is makeup . . . Do tell, was this woman as surprised as I was by your foray into all things womanly?”
“To say the least, but you shoulda seen me, Arch, I worked us a deal. I wore her down. Just be glad I did, because we have no other resources at this point.”
“Shall I be the first to point this out, sir?”
“What?”
“I would venture she thinks you enjoy the company of men. It’s only natural, as most men aren’t the least bit interested in selling makeup—nor would one expect them to be as adept as you at it. And do forgive my blunt assessment.”
Now that would be awkward, considering women had once been his favorite sport. But it didn’t matter—his ego wasn’t so big he couldn’t live with the idea that she thought he was gay. He didn’t care about anything but getting them out of here. “Not all gay men know about makeup. That’s just a little inflammatory in this day and age, Arch.”
“Ah, but society does have their stereotypes firmly in place.”
Heath gave him a ragged sigh. “I don’t care what she thinks as long as cash is involved. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
“Filled with brightly hued color wheels . . .”
“Shaddup.”
“Good night, Heathcliff.”
“Night, Arch.”
Heath rolled over, tucking his too-long body onto the cot, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was definitely a new day. If it had to include eyeliner and whatever the hell that shit was in a bottle he’d seen on Wanda’s coffee table, then so be it.
It was game on.
CHAPTER 3
“Ms. Schwartz?”
Wanda held the phone to her ear, snuggling farther under her blanket. “Speaking,” she answered, sleep still lacing her voice. For the love of a good facial she was tired. Her dreams had been fragmented flashes of Heath’s face and the days left of her mortality written on a big chalkboard, each day gone crossed off with an invisible hand holding a white piece of chalk the size of a tree stump.
“This is Heath Jefferson.”
Wanda popped up, settling the phone on her shoulder. No. Way. “Uh, yes?”
“Are you ready?”
“Ready . . .” For?
“Remember our deal?”
She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. She remembered the deal, all right—in all its craptacularness. How he’d gotten her to agree to something so asinine would have to be excused by her weakened state of mind. But now it was time to stop the foolishness. “Look, Mr. Jefferson—”
“You’re not reneging, are you?” His deep voice rumbled the question, making her stomach wobble, and the memory of his big, muscled body come to mind. “Because if I’m hearing right, I’m hearing hesitation in your voice. That can only mean you’re reneging. Any good Bobbie-Sue rep wouldn’t do that, would she? I mean, if I’m not mistaken, and take this quote loosely, because I’m a little fuzzy after all the Bobbie-Sue literature I’ve consumed, but it does state on page thirty-eight, paragraph two of the Bobbie-Sue creed, honesty is the only policy, and as you’re such a fine representative of the Bobbie-Sue corporation, I’m going to assume you consider a handshake—which we did—your word. Am I right?”
Oh, stop. He’d actually read the Bobbie-Sue creed? Even she’d just skimmed th
e creed. It’d said some shit about always keeping your Bobbie-Sue persona in check, keeping in mind you represented one of the largest cosmetics corporations in the world, and then there’d been crap like color wheel integrity and the ten color commandments, but even she—as Nina called her, a fucking Bobbie-Sue juice drinker—hadn’t read the entire manual.
Wanda groaned and swung her legs over the edge of her bed, grimacing at the tug in her belly. She shoved the covers off and shrugged into her open-toed slippers, heading for the Bobbie-Sue manual on her dresser. She flipped to page thirty-eight and skimmed paragraph two.
Christ on a cracker. He was right.
“Ms. Schwartz?You still there?”
“I am.” Stunned, but still here.
“So you’re not reneging, right? Because that would just be bad Bobbie-Sue form.”
Her tongue felt thick, and her mouth was dry. Exactly whom did he think he was even hinting she’d renege on a deal. How insulting. But she fought to keep her voice on an even, calm Bobbie-Sue-like keel. “I said no such thing. I’d never do that.”
“Great,” was his congenial reply. “Then I’ll be right over.”
“Over?” Here? Now?
“Yep. I’m at the pay phone across the street, and I’m swiftly running out of quarters.”
Her eyes bulged as she went to her bedroom window overlooking the street, pushing the filmy bronze fabric away and pressing her hand to the chilled glass. Oh. My. God. Indeed, Heath Jefferson was in the phone booth at Wartson and Son’s Bakery, cradling the phone to his ear, still in what looked like the navy blue suit he’d worn last night.
He turned suddenly, looking right at her.
Her heart pounded like a jackhammer in her chest when he lifted his hand and waved. If he had nothing else, he had a set of cajones being so friggin’ cheerful when she looked so damned bad.
Immediately her eyes went to her old, worn nightgown. Pink, and displaying a fuzzy white bunny with googly eyes that wobbled when you walked.
Fabulous.
Sheeit.
“Wanda? Did I mention I’m running out of quarters?”
“But I’m not even dressed!” She glanced at the clock, noting it was just eight-thirty. “And it’s not even nine o’ clock yet!”
“Well, I figured the early bird and the worm theory.”
Wanda traipsed to her bedroom and glanced in the mirror. Every hair on the left side of her head was mashed upward, and she had pillow marks on her face. For the love of all things decorous, she couldn’t let him see her like this. “What was that about a worm?”
“The early bird gets the worm, Ms. Schwartz. I have twenty starter kits to sell in seven days. I can’t afford to waste time if I’m going to keep my end of our bargain.You know the one. The one where you supervise me while I sell, sell, sell. Color wheels, that is. And the one where you give me the signal to shut up if I go too far with a potential client. That signal being two winks of your right eye and one with your left.Which seemed like it would look like a serious eye tic to anyone who didn’t know what you meant, but that’s what it said in the Bobbie-Sue Manual, so it must work. I did my homework just as promised. Now it’s time for you to keep your end of our deal.”
Wanda turned the taps on her sink and lined her toothbrush with a perfect ribbon of white toothpaste. “You know, I have to tell you, and forgive my brutal honesty here, but you’re pretty presump—”
“Aha! You are reneging. I gotta tell ya, that’s not very Bobbie-Sue-like,” he admonished, though his overly cheerful tone didn’t change.
Her face burned, and her cheeks turned bright red. Damn him for reading the fucking manual. And how dare he call her on her ethics. “I’m am not reneging. I’m just thinking you might want to renegotiate. Here’s a little heads-up from me to you. No one, and I do mean no one, not in the history of Bobbie-Sue, has ever sold more than maybe—maybe five, six tops, starter kits. I’m only trying to think of you and the degree of difficulty you’ll experience.” There. She was only trying to be realistic and in her realism, thus helpful. Any reputable Bobbie-Sue rep worth her salt would do the same. “I mean, you don’t want your dreams of Bobbie-Sue greatness to be crushed, do you?” She fought a snicker and ran her toothbrush under the water, jamming it into her mouth, then swishing it over her top teeth.
His response was to chuckle, low and deep with an almost growl. “I think I’ve got this in the bag. So don’t you worry about me and my feelings. I have to hang up now because my time is almost up. I’ll be right over.”
He hung up before she had the chance to sputter that she hadn’t even showered. Just as she was spitting toothpaste out of her mouth, her doorbell rang. She ran a hand through her messy hair, giving one last attempt at looking presentable.That she should care whether she looked pretty bugged the living shit out of her.
Grabbing her robe, she threw it on and ran for the door.
And there he was. In the same suit. Smiling. Maybe even hotter in the daylight than he’d been last night under the fluorescent lights of her kitchen. Her legs grew wobbly, and her heart began that slam dance in her chest again. He’d make this hella easier if he’d just not be so male. So supremely male. So—so, what was the word Nina used when referring to a man who was hot?
Fucktacular.
Yeah, Heath Jefferson was fucktacularly fucktacular.
Hell to the yeah.
He smelled good. He looked even better, and at this point in her life, she couldn’t even believe she’d taken note of anything other than what was now, what some would consider, her tragic fate.
Oy.
Her hands self-consciously ran along the sides of her hair, still kinda sticking out everywhere.
“You’re not ready.” He said it like she was some huge Bobbie-Sue failure. A real slacker. Who was helping whom here?
Ingrate.
Wanda held the door open, sweeping her hand wide to allow Heath entry. “Well, of course I’m not ready. I just woke up ten minutes ago.” The nerve of this pushy, overconfident man, shoving his way into her house and demanding she tutor him.
He grinned, and this time Wanda was granted the full, white, shiny perfection of his smile, minus the all-knowing arrogance. “But according to Bobbie-Sue, if what the manual says is true, in order to achieve the fresh, glowing Bobbie-Sue look, you should need no longer than ten minutes in front of a mirror.” He pointed to his watch. A Rolex, mind you. Go figure. Yet another piece of the strange puzzle that was Heath Jefferson. “It’s been almost fifteen.”
Wanda tightened the lapels of her bathrobe over her chest and grunted. “Yeah, most of which I spent on the phone with you. Now quit trying to impress me with your enthusiasm, and let me at least have some coffee before you start reciting chapter and verse from the Bobbie-Sue creed.”
His steps were sure when he strode past her, heading for the kitchen.The broad width of his shoulders filled out the suit, which fit him to perfection. His white shirt against his lightly tanned face had a healthy glow to it that even Bobbie-Sue makeup couldn’t achieve. He stopped in the doorway and paused, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make you another deal.” The glitter in Heath’s hazel eyes made her pause.
And tingle.
Bow-chick-a-wow-wow.
She rolled her eyes at him, trying to keep from pulling her bathrobe up over her matted hair and pillow-marked face. “What now? Maybe a case of free moisturizer, if you pull this off? A percentage of my stock in Bobbie-Sue?”
“You hold stock in Bobbie-Sue?”
“Yeah, and it’s not up for grabs, buddy.”
“Here’s the deal. I’ll make breakfast if you make haste.”
Wanda heard the imaginary hiss of the air leaving her protective bubble. He was making it damned difficult not to like him—punk-assed attitude and all. No man had ever made her breakfast. Her ex-husband sure as hell had never made her anything. But miserable, if one were to split hairs. “I don’t normally have much more than coffee in the
mornings.” Her protest was feeble. Just the idea that someone else was doing the cooking sounded good. Living alone, she didn’t cook much anymore. That this someone was so hot he made her eyeballs feel like they were singed and he was offering to cook her breakfast, had a decadent, almost sinful feel to it.
“Everyone should start their day with a good breakfast under their belts. It’s the most important meal of the day. It does the body good.”
Her brows knit together while she fought her naughty thoughts about him. “I thought that was milk.”
“Then I’ll make something with milk.”
“There really is no winning with you, is there?”
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Not when I want something. Besides, you’ll need your energy for where we’re going. Now go get ready.”
She lingered for a moment, rooted to the spot, crazy bed hair and all. “Hold on one second. About where you seem to think we’re going . . . call me crazy, you wouldn’t be the first, but exactly where are we going? I mean, a girl can’t be too careful these days, and while I don’t want to sound repetitive—you’re a man. Bigger, stronger, faster.You have what some would call the upper hand.”
Heath slid a hand into the pocket of his pants and gave her that fed up look. “Not the man card again. I thought we’d sailed over that hurdle and moved on to a more prosperous beginning to our working relationship.”
Wanda rolled her tongue over her dry lips and tried to find a sensitive, diplomatic way to express her misgivings. And then, in the spirit of Nina, and with a little nudge from the Grim Reaper, she thought fuck that. Life was too short, and in her case, a lot shorter than she’d planned, to take a risk that might end her time here on the planet before she was abruptly taken. She’d far prefer it was from her illness—not some whack job who’d bury her body in his backyard, or maybe his deteriorating great-aunt Ethel’s basement.
The Accidental Human Page 5