Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 2

'You won't look like a clown,' Lisa soothed. 'Just give me a free hand.'

'A free hand? Why does that phrase worry me?' Cyn asked.

'Because you're chicken.' Lisa stuck out her tongue. 'Bottom line, Cyn, you saved my bacon when I needed a friend. Now it's my turn to do the same for you.' She took a swig of coffee. 'So I'm going to be your fairy G.o.dmother. We'll get your hair done on Friday night-I'll refresh it Sat.u.r.day morning, and do your make-up. Nothing over the top, I promise-I'll keep it low key. You'd be surprised what a few lowlights, a tiny bit of foundation, mascara and lipstick can do. And we're going to go shopping tomorrow night and get you something to wear. Ooh, and new shoes. Pretty shoes.'

Cyn groaned. 'You're going to bankrupt me.'

Lisa grinned back. 'You might want to work some overtime before your credit-card bill comes in. You'll look a million dollars by the time I've finished.' At Cyn's raised eyebrow, she added, 'It won't cost you quite that much.'

'I'm less worried about that than I am about Prince Charming.'

'There's nothing to worry about. Max will be a perfect gentleman. You're not each other's type, anyway. He works hard and plays harder, and you just work hard and work harder.'

Cyn bit her lip. 'I just hope he doesn't think that going to a wedding with me will give me stupid ideas. Can you make sure he knows I'm not looking for a rich husband-or even a poor one?'

'I know, I know.' Lisa rolled her eyes. 'You're too busy with your career to settle down with anyone.'

Cyn scowled. 'You want everyone to be just like you. Happily engaged to be married, ready to settle down. Well, that's not what I want. My dreams don't involve a church, an aisle and a meringue dress.'

'I know.' Lisa gave her a sidelong look. 'Besides, you always have a computer screen safely between you and anybody male.'

Cyn got the implication and glowered. 'I am not scared of men.'

'Course you're not,' Lisa soothed-though her tone suggested the complete opposite.

Cyn thought, Was she scared? No. She just didn't want to make her mother's mistakes-and discover that every potential Mr Right was actually Mr Wrong. There was plenty of time to settle down. She liked her life the way it was. Work, the odd night out with colleagues, the odd night out with Lisa. Freedom to do what she wanted, when she wanted. Why change it?

'So I get a free hand?' Lisa asked.

Cyn capitulated. 'Yes. I know Max's going to the wedding as a pity date and a favour for you, but it'd be nice for it not to look like that.'

'Leave it to me,' Lisa said. 'Cynders, you shall go to the ball-and how!'

On Sat.u.r.day morning, Max rang the doorbell and waited. Cyn would be wearing a navy suit, he guessed. Something businesslike. She might have let Lisa do her make-up, but he'd bet it wouldn't be much. The bare minimum-maybe a bit of lipstick.

When she opened the door, he nearly keeled over. This wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. Cyn was wearing full make-up-subtle, the barely there look, but he knew from past girlfriends just how high maintenance it was.

The first time he'd met her, she'd worn a face-pack. This was yet another mask, he'd bet. Lisa had as good as told him that Cyn was a shy, mousy geek. Homely, even. He hadn't been able to tell anything from the fluffy dressing gown and face mask-but he really hadn't thought she'd look anything like this. This woman was a starlet. Five feet two inches of pure sultriness. Real curves-and her long bias-cut skirt, matching jacket and long-sleeved, round-necked top weren't in the slightest bit demure. Okay, so he couldn't see any actual skin below her collar-bones, but her clothes didn't hide her shape at all. They showed it off. And what that really made him want to do was unwrap her. Layer by layer.

Not good. He was there to play a part. He definitely wasn't getting involved with his PA's best friend; any crossover between his business life and his personal life would be a disaster. He'd already done 'disaster' with Gina. And he didn't repeat his mistakes.

'Hi,' she said, looking nervous.

He unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. 'Hi. Ready?'

'Yes. And thanks for doing this. I owe you.'

He shrugged. 'No worries. You can fill me in properly about the wedding on the way there.'

Who was it who'd said that living well was the best revenge? Today, Mich.e.l.le Wilson and her cronies would definitely get their comeuppance. Max Taylor was perfect. Slate-blue eyes that made your stomach flutter with desire. Broad shoulders, lean hips, and the kind of lower lip that made you want to take a bite. Good suit, white s.h.i.+rt, understated silk tie. It all said 'money' and 'taste' and 'breeding'. Things they'd said Cyn would never, ever have.

True, he wasn't actually hers. But they didn't need to know that.

And then she saw his car. 'This is yours?' Low-slung, two-seater, latest registration plate-a real boy toy.

'Yup.' He grinned. 'Like it?'

'Er-yes.' Though it was hard to climb into a car this low down when you were balancing on heels, particularly when you normally wore flats. But then she was in, the door was closed, and he was sitting beside her. His arm just brushed against her as he leaned over to do up her seat belt, and her whole body was suddenly on red alert.

Suddenly, this seemed like a bad idea. A really bad idea. If just a light, accidental touch could have this effect on her, how was she going to cope when Max started pretending to be her boyfriend?

'Let's go.' He was sensible enough to stick to the speed limits-but he also manoeuvred the car into little gaps Cyn would never have dared to go for. And he seemed to know exactly where he was going?

'Um, don't you need directions?' she asked.

He gave her a sidelong look. 'You told me where the ceremony was. I plotted the route on the Internet.'

No arguing with that. Though she noted that he hadn't printed out the route. Obviously he had an excellent memory. Well, Lisa had said his mind was really sharp.

'So, this wedding...tell me about it,' he invited.

'There isn't much to tell. I went to school with the bride.' Cyn shrugged. 'I haven't seen Mich.e.l.le Wilson in years.'

'So why did she invite you?'

'She invited practically everyone in the village.' Cyn sighed. 'I was going to say I couldn't come because I was working abroad, but my mum wanted to go.'

'Your mum?'

'My mum,' Cyn said quietly, 'used to be Mrs Wilson's cleaner.'

'Does that matter?'

'It did at my school.'

'Village schools aren't normally like that.'

She knew that. Which was why she wished she hadn't let the head persuade her into accepting the place. 'It wasn't a village school. It was a private school.' She squirmed at the memory. 'I was a scholars.h.i.+p kid.' His silence showed he really didn't get it. 'My uniform was second-hand, and they all knew it.' Still silence. Nope, he didn't understand-she just hadn't fitted in. Wasn't part of that set. 'I didn't do ballet or pony club, like the rest of them.'

'So that's why you wanted a trophy boyfriend. To fill in the chip on your shoulder.'

'I beg your pardon?' She stared at him in disbelief.

'About being from the wrong sort of background,' he said. 'Which is ridiculous. Lisa told me you have a First from Cambridge. That's enough to shut anyone up.'

He really didn't get it, did he? 'Not them. And it's not me I'm worried about. I would have just binned the invitation and sent a very short note thanking Mrs Wilson for her kind thought but saying I was unable to attend,' she said stiffly.

'So why didn't you?'

'I told you,' Cyn said. 'Because my mother wanted to go. Why she wants to see a witch like Mich.e.l.le Wilson waltz down the aisle, I'll never know-but she does. And if I don't turn up, the whole b.l.o.o.d.y village will be gossiping about why. They'll turn me into some frumpy old maid who can't get a man and is too embarra.s.sed to show my face, and they'll make snide comments that my mum's meant to overhear. I don't want them using me to be nasty to her.'

Max frowned. 'You're an IT whizkid, according to Lisa. You probably earn more than any of that lot.'

'That doesn't matter to them. They judge you on your relations.h.i.+ps, not your career. It'll be years before I'm ready to settle down-but they'll think I'm on the shelf because I'm twenty-seven and single. For your information, I don't give a d.a.m.n what they think about me. But I do care about them getting their knives into my mum. She's already had to put up with enough from them and their sn.o.bbery.' Cyn gritted her teeth at the memories. 'So, yes, I admit, I wanted a trophy boyfriend for today. Someone they'll all be jealous of. And then they might just start showing my mum a bit more respect. The respect she deserves.'

Max exhaled sharply. 'This is supposed to be the twenty-first century, not Victorian times!'

'This is a small village we're talking about. Where everyone knows everything about everyone, and your background matters more than who you are as a person. If you leave, the hole you leave behind stays the same shape-so when you go back, you just don't fit any more. You've changed but they won't see it.' Cyn lifted her chin. 'So if you want to back out now, I'd appreciate you pulling over so I can get the tube home and collect my own car. If I'm going to the wedding on my own, I'd rather be on time.'

'I didn't say I was backing out. Just that your background shouldn't matter.'

'Well, it does.' She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes. This was the worst mistake she'd ever made. Turning up on her own would've been better than this. It was going to be so obvious that Max was virtually a stranger. And the witches in the village would gossip even more.

As if he'd read her mind, he said, 'If we're going to make this work, we need to get our story straight and stick to it. Best to keep as near to the truth as possible, so there's less chance of slipping up. So we met through Lisa-she's my PA and your housemate. We got talking one night, and found out we have a lot in common.'

'Like what? You're an architect and I'm an IT project manager. Our worlds don't even begin to collide.'

He shrugged. 'I imagine that building a city on a computer game's pretty similar to architecture.'

What on earth had Lisa told him about her? 'I don't write that sort of program. I do tailor-made business packages,' she said stiffly.

He said nothing, and Cyn could have kicked herself. She was being oversensitive. Seeing every comment as a slight because she knew she'd hear dig after dig after dig at the wedding. 'But, yeah, you're right. Systems architecture works on the same principle. You need a solid foundation-your base code-or the whole thing will collapse when you try to extend it.'

'What sort of businesses do you work with?' he asked.

'Anything and everything.' She smiled. 'My favourite client was a chocolatier up in Scotland.'

'Why would a chocolatier need a specialist computer system?'

'Sales and stock control. Linked to their website, so they needed a shopping-cart facility and secure payment as well. Not to mention secure data,' Cyn explained. 'I didn't do the front end-the shop you see on the website-but I did the business end of it and the interface.'

'Right. So you build computer systems like that from scratch?'

'Yes. The client tells me what they want to do, and I build them a system that will do it,' Cyn said. 'The best way is to ask questions-if the suggestion for changes comes from the client, it saves a lot of grief.'

'Oh, I'm with you there. It's the same with architecture,' Max said. 'You need to know what the room's going to be used for so you can design it properly-an office needs completely different lighting to a living room, for instance. Also, a lot depends on the natural light, the position of the windows, and the lie of the land.'

Different problems, but the same principles. She knew exactly where he was coming from. 'Ah, but I bet you don't get to sample your clients' wares,' she said with a grin.

Max grinned back. 'No, but if I did I think a chocolatier would be my favourite, too. Especially if I got to try new flavours.'

'I did, and they were fabulous,' Cyn said. 'Though Lisa's desperate for me to work with a shoe shop.'

'She would be. Lisa and her shoes.' He rolled his eyes. 'I swear she keeps our local designer shop in business single-handedly.' He smiled. 'Lisa tells me you're always being head-hunted.'

'Um, yes. But I like what I'm doing now. If I worked for just one company, I'd have to stay put all the time and I'd only be able to work with one system. RCS is a consultancy, so I get to work with different systems, I design things from scratch, and I get to do the troubleshooting as well.'

'And that's what you like? The variety?'

'Absolutely.' She nodded. 'I love troubleshooting. Computer forensics-tracing your way through a problem back to the source, then fixing it. But I like doing the other stuff as well. I want to stretch myself, so I've applied for a promotion. What about you?'

'I used to work in a consultancy. But I went solo nearly three years back. This way I get to choose the jobs I really, really want to do. I specialise in listed buildings.'

'So you don't design things from scratch?'

'Not really. I work on restoration of buildings that have been neglected and need careful handling, or on designing extensions that are in keeping with listed buildings. Which means using original materials as much as possible.' He smiled. 'I can be very, very boring about my job. Let's just say I know every reclamation place and specialist contractor within a fifty-mile radius of London.'

She smiled back. The air was definitely clearer between them. 'So you're a traditionalist when it comes to architecture, then?'

'I can appreciate modern buildings,' he said. 'But old buildings are my real love. I would have paid to work on a property like Ightham Mote in Kent, where you got to see the craftsmans.h.i.+p of several centuries. I was lucky enough to see the restoration in progress. D'you know they didn't just work to the last set of changes that had been made to the building? They went right back to the original-and then made the changes exactly as they were done over the years. Even using the same methods and same materials. That's restoration at its best-how it should be done.'

Wow. This was a man who felt the same way about his job as she did about hers. 'Sounds fascinating.'

'Most people don't see the point-I mean, why build the original if you're only going to change it the following week? But restoring it that way gives the building integrity.'

'And that's how you do it?'

He nodded. 'Where I can. The good thing is, my clients feel the same way.'

'And if they don't, you don't tender?'

'I can't work with people who buy a building just to show they can afford a listed place, or who buy it as an investment. They have to love their building. Really care about it.' He shook himself. 'And I'm on my pet hobby-horse. I'd better shut up. What else do we have in common?'

'Music?' she suggested.

'Sounds good to me. I work to cla.s.sical music. Piano, mainly-Einaudi and Mozart.'

The complete opposite to her. 'Ah. I work to pop.'

'Slushy ballads. The stuff you were playing the other night.'

His tone of voice told her he couldn't stand it. 'So what do you listen to, for pleasure?' she asked.

'Rock.'

She groaned. 'As in dinosaur rock?'

'Cla.s.sic,' he corrected with a grin.

'At least you can sing along to it, I suppose. Which is marginally better than techno. I can't stand that drum and ba.s.s stuff.'

'Me neither,' he admitted.

'So there must be some middle ground. How about something ambient? Nick Drake?' she suggested.

'Works for me,' he said.

Her surprise must have been really obvious, because he added, 'He was a superb guitarist. Not that I play.'