She snorted. “Yeah. Right. First, not that I’m admitting to having any feelings whatsoever for Lu—Dr. Seeley, but you must be crazy to think I’d drop anything on some tenuous promise that you couldn’t possibly deliver.”
Now it was his turn to gloat. “Try me. I can sell anything to anyone, and I can certainly sell you. Believe me, if anyone knows what a guy like Dr. Seeley—or any guy, for that matter—wants in a woman, it’s me.”
She nodded. “Oh, that’s right. Because you’re a man whore. Of course you know what all men want, in your diverse and vast experience. However, I’m afraid Dr. Seeley is on a different level than you.”
He remembered the stocky blond guy who probably played quarterback in high school while running for school president and maintaining a 4.0 GPA. Your typical all-American high-school hero who’d grown up to become your all-American grown-up hero as a doctor—to children, no less. “Trust me. I know what that guy wants. What kind of woman he wants. And I know that with a little effort on your part—scratch that, a lot of effort—I can make you into that woman.”
The last dig might have been too much, the way she puffed out her chest like she was going to launch herself at him. But whatever she’d been about to say got caught in her throat, and instead, something else crossed that face of hers. Something that told him maybe they might have a deal.
Hope.
…
She’d known the moment he knocked on her door she should just ignore him. Refuse to engage with him until he’d had the chance to cool down after reading the letter—a copy of which she’d seen yesterday. But there’d been curiosity, an almost masochistic instinct to see his anger at an inconvenience that, for once, she’d caused him.
And it had been entertaining, up until Ella had come out into the hall to see what was going on.
But now, with this so-called proposition of his, she was at a loss. Was he even serious? Or was this some cruel joke to string her along until she’d dropped her complaints?
She studied him, his smooth polish even at this absurd hour in the morning. He’d retired his expensive refined suit for more relaxed jeans and a T-shirt that, unfortunately, made him look impossibly more debonair, which, if she didn’t hate him so much, would be disarming. But she loathed him with a deep and growing fire, the way he just thought he could smile that charming smile of his and get people to do his bidding. She’d seen the articles about him, the women, the parties that would inevitably follow him not just because of his professional success, but because of his standing as heir to Brighton Jewelers—one of the oldest and most reputable jewelry companies in the country.
But…she had to admit, he did make a convincing argument. He not only knew what men wanted, but he knew how to play people, to create the perfect package for whatever snake oil he was selling. Hadn’t she just been commiserating over how she was going to be alone unless she made a change? He could be a guru of sorts—if she could learn to tolerate him.
“I’m not looking to be dressed as some bimbo Barbie. Slapping on makeup and prancing around the office isn’t going to do anything but humiliate me.”
“Lord, don’t I know it.”
She wanted to kick him. “Forget it.” She should have known that even talking to him was a mistake. She stepped back, ready to slam the door in his face.
“Wait. Benny. Hear me out. I’m sorry, sometimes you just leave yourself open and I can’t resist the opportunity. But I promise, I’ll work on that—and keeping the music down to a respectable level and giving you access to your parking spot. Look, I know better than anyone that a decent hairstyle and a little lipstick aren’t going to make any difference if you can’t say two words without falling down in a faint, or running into a wall or whatever you do when he speaks to you. I’m going to give you the whole Henry Ellison treatment. When I’m done, you’ll be able to not only slay Dr. Seeley with your wit and unbounding charm, but you’re going to have him wrapped around your little finger after I verse you in the fine art of flirting.”
“You’re promising me a lot. But you have to be crazy if you think I’m going to drop my complaint now that I actually have your attention.”
“I’m so certain of my prowess, that I guarantee you’ll have a date with the good doctor by”—he scanned the contents of the letter—“August Twenty-Ninth. The day of the HOA hearing. That’s a little over a month away. If I can’t make you the walking dream this guy wants by then, then I’ll agree to pay whatever fees the board rules on at that hearing, and I won’t fight you any longer. But if I do prevail, then you’re going to march in there and tell them you made it all up. Do we have a deal?”
Five weeks. Five weeks where she could pick his brain, learn the subtle art and skill of not just flirting, but socially engaging any man and not dissolving into Jell-O at his feet. That was, if she could stomach being in the same room with this guy without killing him.
It was a lofty promise. But what did she have to lose? As things were going now, Luke Seeley was never going to see her as a woman. A woman he wanted. Not a cute, nerdy klutz good for a little laugh every now and then. A woman to love.
“And you’ll keep the music down and let me use my parking spot?” He nodded. “All right. Deal.”
He raised his hand toward her. He actually wanted to shake on it? She accepted it begrudgingly. “So. What do we do first?”
He dropped his gaze down her body, skimming over the loose but comfy scrubs and down to her favorite worn sneakers. “First you need to stop dressing like a seventeen-year-old tomboy. What time are you off work today?”
Chapter Five
This was a ba
d idea.
Never in a million years would she have gone into this store. This was the place where women like Payton and Kate, her beautiful sisters-in-law, would shop. Where Daisy would shop. Benny much preferred the low-stress ambience of Target. They had designer clothes, too, right?
She looked at the tall brunette that was hanging on every word Henry uttered. If she pushed her breasts out any farther she was bound to pop him in the eye with those things. Not that he’d be complaining.
“I don’t understand why we’re even here,” she said when Henry returned, taking a perch on the back of the chair where Ella was playing Angry Birds on Henry’s monster-size smartphone.
“Because I’m betting that your wardrobe consists of twenty shades of scrubs and more of those hideous sneakers you’re partial to. You don’t have to go glamour girl, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to look more feminine every once in a while. When was the last time you wore jeans?” She just stared at him. “You do own a pair of jeans, right?”