The Makeover Surprise (Surprised by Love Book 2)

by Laura Burton

  “I’m awkward. I’ve only had one girlfriend before.” He says it in a heavy voice, like it’s a confession.

  “Didn’t go well?” I guess aloud.

  Wyatt smirks. “You could say that.”

  Our pace slows to a gentle stroll as Wyatt’s eyes glaze over and he loses himself in a flashback. At least, that’s my best guess at what’s happening. He’s either replaying memories or plotting a way to escape this conversation.

  “We grew up in the same town. She was my high school sweetheart. But we wanted different things. She’s a small-town girl. All she wanted was to skip college and settle down. I couldn’t wait to leave and start a life in the city.”

  “And you haven’t been with a woman since?” The tone of my voice is much more accusatory than I meant for it to sound. Wyatt’s cheeks redden and dimple like two strawberries.

  “I’ve been with women,” he says, standing more upright and furrowing his brows.

  Though there’s something about the way he says it that makes it difficult to believe him.

  “We’re close; I can hear the fountain.” I pick up my pace and turn the corner to find the center of the maze. The marble turtle statue sits serenely, shooting jets of water. But a haze of red catches my eye.

  “What’s all this?” Wyatt looks genuinely confused. I’m screaming on the inside.

  “Not what it looks like!”

  Leila’s been busy. She’s decorated the surrounding hedges with red roses and handmade bunting of pink paper hearts. There’s a white arch with garlands of ivy and lily flowers in front of the fountain. Hanging from the center is a sprig of mistletoe. To top it all off, a dainty, white metal table stands beside the arch featuring a huge white wedding cake, two stem glasses and a bottle of champagne.

  Just as I think it can’t get any worse, some cheesy 80’s power ballad starts to play.

  I groan. If Wyatt thinks this looks like a wedding display, he’s absolutely right. The only question I have is why on earth would Leila do this to me?

  This is the last time I ask her for help. Is this her idea of romance? It’s more like a neon sign saying, “Marry me! I’m desperate.”

  The timing could not be worse. I half expect to see a Wyatt shaped hole in the hedges, considering his request to take things slow and the bold faced lie I just told about not wanting anything serious.

  I can’t bear to look at him, but it’s just the two of us here. Wyatt blinks several times, taking in the scene.

  I could really use a sinkhole right now.

  My butt vibrates, and I don’t need to check my phone to guess who might be texting me. Helen is still bombarding me with messages about my article. When I tell her that Wyatt is cooling off, she’s going to be mad. Madder than the time someone ate her caramel popcorn. And after this, I can’t see Wyatt ever wanting to see me again.

  I need to salvage the situation.

  Think, Lucy, think.

  But before I can come up with a believable explanation that does not involve me and one of my crazy sisters, a collective chatter approaches us. Then Leila, Blaze, and a couple I don’t recognize appear. The man is short and skinny with a mop of ginger hair obscuring his eyes from view. A tall blonde has her arm linked with his and she’s resting one hand on his chest. The huge diamond on her finger almost blinds me as it catches the sunlight. Leila is the last to notice Wyatt and I as she continues her conversation.

  “And I really hope you appreciate the vision of what we are trying to achieve… Oh!”

  Leila’s muddy brown hair is swept up in a loose bun and she’s wearing a cream cocktail dress that has ruffles all along the bottom. She and I look at each other for a second, and then she scans the area, registering the situation.

  She bursts into a fit of laughter.

  It’s real too. Leila’s laugh is sort of horsey. It’s a mixture between a neigh and a whinny. She recovers herself and clears her throat.

  “Frank, Josie, this is my sister Lucy and…”

  Wyatt is the first to move. “I’m Wyatt Croft.” He steps in and shakes everyone’s hand while I stand rooted to the spot, hardly breathing. His second name sounds strangely familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve heard it before.

  Blaze towers over us all and his eyes narrow at Wyatt. The side of his jaw bulges as he shakes his hand. I’m guessing he’s got a few words to say to him but is holding back.

  I exchange a nervous look with Leila, who gives me an apologetic smile. She’s told Blaze about the article.

  Of course she told Blaze.

  I can only hope the man is able to keep a secret.

  “I’m sorry if we shouldn’t have been here,” Wyatt says. I appear to have lost my voice. I nod lamely instead.

  “No worries,” Leila says, waving a hand. “Fred and Josie wanted to use the garden for their wedding and I thought this would be the most private place to show them my ideas.”

  I start to edge away. “Sure thing. We’ll leave you to it. Congratulations to you both,” I say. Wyatt and I walk casually round the corner, then scurry like a pair of giggling teenagers running from an awkward situation.

  “I’ve got to say, I’m so relieved. I thought that was some kind of set up,” Wyatt says through pants. I force a laugh. “Can you imagine?” I imitate his deep voice. “‘I want to keep things casual.’” Then I put on a high voice to be me. “‘Okay. Will you marry me?’”

  Wyatt and I share a laugh, but this one is a little awkward.

  When we rejoin the guests in the garden, a businessman starts talking to Wyatt about inflation. I catch a glimpse of Chessy twirling her hair, hovering by the dessert table. I walk up to her.

  “Do you know what Leila’s up to?” I ask through a fixed smile, looking around at the people socializing.

  Chessy gives me a look of confusion. “Why are you talking like that?”

  “I’m not talking like anything. This is how I always talk.” I give her a pointed look, my smile frozen in place.

  But Chessy’s brows furrow and she gives me her “I don’t believe you” frown.

  “You’re being weird,” she says.

  I jerk my head to the left and walk off into the house. Chessy follows. When we’re alone by the marble staircase, I let my smile drop.

  “Did you know she’s hosting weddings now?”

  Chessy shrugs. “Sure. Why?”

  I scan the area, looking for more decorations or random sprigs of mistletoe. “She told me she was going to get Wyatt and me to have our first kiss… and we walked into a wedding scene in the maze.”

  Chessy takes the wrong end of the stick. She grabs both sides of her face and squeals.

  “Oh! You two kissed? How was it? Did you feel anything? Are you not totally in love now? Wyatt is such a dreamboat; you two make such a lovely—”

  Chessy stops gushing at the sight of my raised hand.

  “No, Chessy, we didn’t kiss. In fact, he’s just told me he wants to take things slow. Keep it casual.”

  Chessy’s face twists like she’s sucked on a lemon. “Ouch. I’m so sorry, Luce. That’s rough.”

  I imagine someone like Chessy would be devastated if the man she’s dating didn’t want to move in after a week. But I like it slow. I always pictured myself marrying my best friend.

  And when I say best friend, I mean best guy friend.

  I don’t have one yet.

  The idea of living with someone, sharing my bathroom, my bed, my food with this person… It's overwhelming.

  But if it were someone I knew really, really well… Someone I can laugh with and snuggle up to without getting awkward and giggly. Someone I can really open up to…? Yeah. I can see myself with that guy.

  Is that guy Wyatt?

  I don’t know yet.

  My phone vibrates again. I pull out my phone to see text number nine million and one from Helen.

  I want a first draft on my desk Monday.

  I grit my teeth. It’s too soon. I have to talk to Helen and
push back the article. Maybe I can write it after a year. Or two years? If I can stretch it out that long.

  Besides, I thought I had two weeks. I poke my tongue out and bite down as I thumb a quick reply.

  Monday is only 10 days, I thought I had 14.

  Before I even have time to put my phone away Helen texts back.

  We go to print in 14 days. First draft by Monday. Or else.

  I swallow hard. Or else. That’s Helen’s favorite phrase because it suggests she means you’re fired without actually having to say the words. Hank, a graphic designer, once got told to send over his portfolio by Tuesday or else. He told Helen he had to take time off for a family funeral. When he left, he never came back.

  I guess Helen didn’t get the portfolio in time.

  Chessy glances at my phone and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Your boss is a jerk. She shouldn’t be harassing you like this.”

  I smirk at her. “You’ve seen The Devil Wears Prada, right?”

  Of course she has. We’ve watched that movie at least a dozen times together. Chessy rolls her eyes. “Helen isn’t the editor in chief of some fancy fashion magazine. She likes to think she’s Estelle. But I heard that even Estelle treats her staff better than that.”

  I hum in disagreement. “I heard she has her own sweat shop in New York and is absolutely horrible to the staff.”

  “Where’d you hear that?” Chessy asks, her voice turning to a reverent whisper.

  “From me.”

  We both turn at the sound of a woman’s voice, surprised we’re no longer alone.

  A woman with long, free flowing blonde hair, wearing an exquisite lilac dress and white peep toe shoes smiles at us with such serenity, I almost curtsey, convinced I’m in the presence of royalty.

  Chessy recognizes her. “Oh my goodness, you’re Julie Jackson. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

  Julie Jackson. The world famous fashion designer who started out as a humble seamstress for Estelle. She was set up with Harry Jackson, the billionaire Hollywood producer. The two of them said it was basically love at first sight. Their whirlwind romance now features two children and their own island in the Caribbean. When Chessy says she’s a fan of Julie’s work, what she really means is that she’s a fan of her story. Whenever Leila and I warn Chessy over falling for a guy too soon, she plucks Julie’s name out of the air and shoves their fairytale romance down our throats. Of course, the second I point out the murder plot, death threats, and attacks the couple had to face, she changes the subject.

  Chessy does a sort of half bow to Julie but then throws her arms around the startled woman and gives her a bone breaking hug.

  Chessy is a hugger. She doesn’t understand that other people may not like being touched, not to talk of having their spine crushed.

  “Oh, you must be Chessy.” Julie awkwardly pats my sister on the back. I yank Chessy backward, giving Julie space again. Julie’s cheeks are flaming red. It’s probably the first time the woman has been hugged like that.

  No one hugs like Chessy. No one.

  Julie and Chessy talk to each other for a while. But their conversation flies right over my head. I’m busy trying to think of how to ask Julie what she did to get a guy to fall for her so fast. I could really use some pointers and my time is running out fast.

  But before I can summon the courage to get out my notebook and ask a million inappropriate questions, at least four of which will offend her, Wyatt enters the hall. There’s something different about him. His demeanor is fierce and urgent. This isn’t the calm and cool Wyatt I know. His shoulders rise and fall aggressively, and he’s breathing heavily. His eyes flash like there’s danger nearby.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and my blood effervesces but I can’t work out if I’m excited by this change in demeanor or frightened. No. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I know exactly what I feel.

  Thrill.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him as he joins us. His face breaks into a smile for a flash as he looks at Julie but then he’s serious again when his eyes settle on me. “I need to talk to you.”

  His gaze flickers to Chessy for half a second. “Now.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lucy

  Too stunned to speak, I follow Wyatt out of the front doors and stand next to him on the steps with my arms crossed, trying not to chew my lip. “What’s up?” I try my best to sound chipper, but my voice breaks, totally giving me away. I retrace my steps in my mind. Every conversation we had at the party, every step I took. Maybe he mistook my squinting from across the garden for the stink eye. I’ll have to explain to him that I’m still getting used to wearing contacts. But even that seems too small of a reason for Wyatt to turn into the big bad wolf. He’s fuming. His breaths come out in short bursts through his nose as he paces in front of me. Then he looks at me, and the ferocity in his eyes sends another excited shiver through my body.

  Part of me loves a bad boy. I’ve never been very interested in a hero promising to save me from the evil world. I’d much prefer one who’d destroy it for me instead.

  Clearly, I’ve been watching too many Batman movies.

  Wyatt speaks, and his voice is so low and gravelly, the longing to kiss him hits me all over again.

  “We have a problem.”

  Inside my head, I picture a car wreck happening in slow motion. Every single break-up I’ve been through started out with those words. Actually, the guy would say, “You have a problem.”

  Meaning me. I have a problem.

  And I do. I have many problems.

  Sure, I blurt out something socially unacceptable from time to time. I’m a stickler for being on time, so when we’re running late, I break into a nervous wreck and start slapping myself.

  My old boyfriend from college was like me. He hated loud music too. And he was always on time.

  But he couldn’t date me because I wanted to talk about something other than steam trains for five minutes!

  Not my problem.

  Their problem.

  But I thought I’d done a stellar job with Wyatt so far. What did I do to give myself away?

  Did he catch me stimming back at my apartment? I can’t help it when my fingers twitch. Pressing my nails into my palms is helpful in stressful situations.

  Did he think I was being awkward and stiff at the party?

  I never know when it’s my turn to speak. I get so lost in my head, I lose track of the conversation altogether and because of that I’m never sure whether I’m supposed to laugh or smile… or look sympathetic. Once, I guessed and went with a hearty laugh. Blaze’s friend had just been telling the story of how his beloved cat of sixteen years tragically died that morning.

  I clear my throat and hold my hands at my waist, bracing for impact.

  But Wyatt takes my hand and all my nerves turn to goo.

  “Gary is stealing from the other guests.”

  I freeze. The words sound foreign to me. It’s like Wyatt turned into a Klingon or something. I blink up into his big, serious eyes and hold my breath.

  “He’s not even being subtle about it,” Wyatt continues, clearly seeing that my ability to speak has gone out the window. “I saw him pocket Harry Jackson’s Rolex shortly after they shook hands.”

  “Why are you telling me?” I stammer. What am I supposed to do about Gary, Chessy’s boyfriend of two hours? Do I look like the secret service? What does he expect me to do? Charge into the house, grab him by the collar and kick him to the curb? The guy would crush me with his weight and run off laughing––not before taking my necklace no doubt. I’m suddenly reminded of the security guard at the grocery store. Now she could handle Gary.

  “Can’t you talk to your sister about it?”

  Which one? I hum in thought.

  “I guess it’s either that, or we just call the cops right now.”

  Wyatt shakes his head with a low groan. “No one wants the cops to show up here.”

  I survey his face
, wondering what his logic is. There’s a stranger at Leila’s house who is openly stealing. Why wouldn’t anyone want the cops here?

  Wyatt must have read my mind, because he answers my question. “Look at who’s here. Harry Jackson, Edward Marks, you know, of the Marks’ hotel. Estelle…”

  “Estelle’s here? As in, Estelle from the fashion magazine?” I cut in, excited. Wyatt gives me a hard look.

  “Focus.”

  I zip my mouth shut and give him a nod. Get your priorities straight, Lucy.

  Wyatt continues to list names of famous and wealthy people. Many of whom I haven’t heard of before.

  “Zane Masters of Got Cake?, France Perrier… he just got his own cooking show, you know.”

  I cock my head to the side. “You know an awful lot about all these people.”

  Wyatt’s temples redden but he keeps his face serious. “The cops at a place like this is bad press. It’ll be all over the news by morning.”

  Helen would love to get wind of this kind of scandal. A scoop like this in the gossip column would put Young and Me on the proverbial map.

  “Well, if we can’t call the cops, and I can’t physically throw him out… What can I do about it?”

  Wyatt starts pacing again. “I could take care of him, but it would cause a scene… I’d have to punch him. At least once.”

  I roll my lips inward and bite down, giddy at the thought of Wyatt punching the lights out of creepy Gary.

  Maybe I do like a hero after all.

  “I’m okay with that,” I say, grinning now. But Wyatt still looks troubled.

  “Do you think you should talk to your sister first?”

  Again. Which one?

  Leila will be more than happy to get rid of the scoundrel. Chessy will be horrified to find out her new beau is not as perfect as she thinks. But she’ll be over it as soon as she gets on the subway and locks eyes with another bachelor.

  Just as I’m processing it, the doors fly open, almost smacking me in the face.

  Wyatt’s reflexes are sonic speed. He pulls me to him and I face plant his chest instead.