Kiss and Makeup (7 page)

He groaned as she got free of his embrace and pushed herself up off the bed.

“Fiona Masterson waits for no woman.”

“Fine,” he relented. “Get out of here already. I have a meeting to prepare for.”

“I'll see you back here when I'm done.” She grabbed a tube of lipstick from her purse and did a quick touch-up before heading for the door.

“Hey, Chloe?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Bet you wish you knew where all the emergency exits were now, huh?”

She was still laughing when she pulled the door shut behind her.

* * *

C
HLOE
TRIED
TO
control her grin as she approached the bridal suite, but it just kept slipping out. It had been a long time since she'd liked a man this much. And really, this was the perfect situation for her. A two-night stand. A vacation fling—no commitments, no expectations, just fun, flirting, and—

“There you are, Chloe! I've got to get down to the ballroom to make sure it's ready. Please go and keep your sister company.” Chloe accepted the key card her mother held out to her. “She's all alone in there—talking some nonsense about needing a minute to herself.”

“Well, we can't have that.”

“Exactly.” The word was so emphatic that Chloe almost laughed, until she realized the reason for her mother's panic. It had very little to do with Caroline, and everything to do with a Saturday afternoon four years ago. The insight sobered her. “I'll sit with her. Go take care of the catering.”

With a deep breath, Chloe unlocked the door to the massive bridal suite and stepped inside. Her sister was dressed in a white-satin robe with her brown hair pinned and curled into an elaborate updo. She was sitting at a mirrored vanity, looking beautiful and vulnerable, like some old-timey movie star.

“Mom, I'm fine. I promise. I just... Chloe! You made it.”

Caroline was so different than Chloe remembered, and it was more than the fancy hair and lack of makeup. Sure, they were friends on Facebook—she'd seen her little sister mugging for the camera in internet pictures, but they didn't convey Caroline's presence, her stillness. She seemed so grown up for twenty. Well, twenty-one.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Chlo.”

Chloe was surprised by the nickname. A remnant from grade school, when having matching four-letter nicknames that ended with
O
was the height of sisterly bonding—back when they used to get along. Caro and Chlo. It all seemed a lifetime ago.

“And thank you for coming. When Mom said your flight was delayed, I was worried you might not make it.”

Her sister's sincerity made Chloe feel a little bad for not wanting to come.

“I know we haven't seen each other for ages, but I need your help.”

Chloe laughed nervously. “Don't you have a half-dozen bridesmaids around to do your bidding? Where is everyone?”

“They'll be here soon. They're just finishing up in hair and makeup in the suite next door. I just wanted a few minutes to myself. Today's been flying by so fast I feel like I haven't had a moment to breathe. Besides, I didn't want them around when I asked you.”

“Asked me what?”

Caroline bit her lip, an old nervous habit. “Would you do my makeup?”

The question stopped Chloe dead. “What?”

“I want you to do my makeup. Like old times.”

She used to practice on Caroline constantly. At first, she'd done it against her little sister's will, bribing her to play guinea pig with sweets or toys or money. Then later, she'd done it at Caroline's behest, for dances and dates and parties. But all that had been many years ago.

“You want... I mean, didn't you hire a professional makeup artist?”

“You're a professional makeup artist. That's what you do at work, right? And on YouTube?”

Chloe blinked. “You've seen my videos?”

“Of course! And don't try to wuss out on me and say you don't have your stuff, because I'm sure that giant purse of yours is full of every color and cosmetic known to man.”

It was true, so Chloe didn't bother to deny it.

“You're sure?”

At Caroline's nod, she walked over and set her purse on the vanity, ignoring the way her sister's eyes lit up as she began unpacking her stuff.

Chloe's hand was shaking as she pumped some foundation onto a makeup sponge, and she forced herself to take a deep breath to still the tremor. She was just about to start the application when Caroline held out her hand to stop her.

Chloe raised her eyebrows.

“Listen, you're not going to do my makeup exactly the way you do yours, right? I mean, you won't use green or anything? And less eyeliner, okay? I'm not going to a rock concert. I'm getting married.”

Chloe laughed at that, and the overwhelming tension that had been tying knots into her shoulders since she'd stepped in the room lessened. “Shut up and trust me, brat.”

Caroline smiled and did just that.

Twenty minutes later, Chloe was pretty damn impressed with her handiwork. Her sister was glowing in soft shades of nudes and pinks, looking every inch the blushing bride. A second coat of mascara and she'd be ready for her big moment.

Chloe twisted the cap off the tube and leaned in to apply the finishing touch.

“I wanted to ask you to be a bridesmaid.”

Chloe's hand jerked at the admission, and the brush touched her sister's eyebrow. “Oh, God. Hold on, I can fix that!” She jammed the wand back into the tube with undue haste and started digging through her bag for her makeup remover. She didn't notice her hands were shaking until Caroline touched her forearm and she froze.

“Don't worry about the mascara.” The soft, understanding note in her sister's voice gave Chloe the courage to look at her. “I just wanted you to know that I wanted you here.”

Why was it hard to breathe?

“Mom kyboshed the bridesmaid idea pretty quick, I'm sure.” She was joking, so she hoped Caroline had missed the note of hurt that stained the words.

Her little sister shook her head, staring at her lap. “I—I decided not to ask you.” Caroline looked up, and once again, Chloe saw the woman she'd grown into. Nothing like the spoiled brat of her memories. “I figured the only way I'd get you here was to make you as anonymous as possible.”

“Really good guess,” Chloe managed to say.

“I needed you to be part of this, Chloe. I miss you. I know we didn't used to get along well, but I was a stupid teenager. I was jealous of my big sister, the rebel! Doing what she wanted, being who she wanted. And then you just left,” she said, voice trembling.

“Oh, God, don't cry. You'll ruin your makeup,” Chloe warned, but they were both far past being able to obey.

“I'm sure you've always thought of me as a goody two-shoes, doing what Mom and Dad wanted. And a lot of the time, you were right. I was. But not today. I'm not getting married to show you up. Or because Mom is friends with his mother. I don't care that he's going to be a doctor. I love Dalton. I love him and he loves me. I just wanted to tell you that. I'm going to be Mrs. Van Allen because I want to be.”

Chloe nodded, grabbing a tissue from the vanity for her sister, and one for herself. “I'm happy for you, Caro.” They both daubed under their eyes for stray tears. “Now stop bawling and let's fix your face.”

A cotton swab's worth of makeup remover and a few more swipes of mascara, and Caroline looked perfectly perfect.

“Oh, my gosh, Chloe. This is amazing! I never... I never thought I could look like this. I'm blown away.”

There was a knock on the door a moment before six girls in matching ice-blue dresses came rushing in, chattering like happy little birds, oohing and aahing over the beautiful bride.

That was her cue to leave. Chloe shoved all her stuff back in her bag, and headed for the door. She managed to catch her sister's eye through the crowd, and gave her a nod. Caroline managed a little wave before being swept toward the massive white garment bag hanging beside the window.

So far, today had not turned out anything like she'd expected. And as she stepped into the hallway, Chloe could honestly say that she'd never been happier to be wrong.

* * *

B
EN
STEPPED
INTO
Edward Burke's richly-furnished office and adjusted his suit jacket. As he mentally reviewed his pitch, he drummed a beat against his thigh and took in his surroundings.

You could tell a lot about a client by where they held their business meetings. Unlike the chrome-and-glass austerity of the Carson and McLeod offices, Burke's home base was a blend of warm colors, dark wood and surprising homey touches—he'd lay bets the colorful Afghan blankets that hung on the backs of the leather visitors' chairs were hand-knit.

Ben sauntered over to the far wall and was perusing the framed crayon drawings that hung there when Burke entered the suite. He pointed at the art. “Early Picasso?”

Burke smiled, drawing Ben's attention to his bushy white mustache. “Picasso would have sold his soul to be as prolific as my grandkids.”

Ben shook his proffered hand.

“Mr. Masterson, it's nice to finally meet you in person. Take a seat.”

“Call me Ben, please,” he insisted, accepting the offer to sit. “It's an honor to be in the room with you as well, sir.”

Burke undid the button on his brown tweed suit jacket before he took a seat behind his desk. He pushed a folder full of papers toward Ben. Judging from the bits he could see, many of them sported the gray-and-black Carson and McLeod letterhead.

“Frankly, Ben, I'm a little surprised you're here. I was expecting the firm to send a family man to try to pull the wool over my eyes—someone who could better understand my brand.”

Guess the niceties are over
. “Mr. Burke, I assure you, I am the man for this job.”

“I'm not denying that you're talented. Your campaigns are catchy, memorable and well put together. But they've all targeted young, single men. Hotel Burke is a luxury experience for the whole family. Traditional, not trendy.”

“I understand your concerns. But I've done massive amounts of research in preparation for this meeting. I know what you're looking for, and I wouldn't have flown all the way here if I didn't believe I could deliver it. Carson and McLeod will take Hotel Burke to the next level.”

There it was. That jolt, the excitement that came from figuring out a client, not what they wanted, but what they needed—and being confident that he was the one who could help them get it.
This
. This moment was the part of the job Ben loved. The rest was all white noise.

“I understand that tradition is important to you. It's obvious from the way you run your brand and the way you live your life. But as important as the past is, you have to ensure your future, as well. It's crucial that you reach the next generation of Hotel Burke guests. Let me show you what I've got in mind...”

* * *

T
HE
ROOM
WAS
empty when she got back, and Chloe used the opportunity to shower and dry her hair. For the wedding, she livened up her brown bob with some messy, rocker-chick curls. She also decided to forgo her usual smoky eye for something a little less dramatic. If her sister wanted less eyeliner, Chloe figured she could handle that for one night.

“Chloe?”

“In here,” she called, and Ben stuck his head into the bathroom.

“Hey. You're back! And your hair looks amazing.” He held up the garment bag slung over his shoulder. “Got my suit pressed, so I just need to jump in the shower and I'll be ready to go.”

“Okay. I'm almost done in here.” She grabbed a tube of lipstick and painted her lips a deep, luscious red.

There was something intimate and domestic about getting ready with a man—having him ducking in and out, hanging up his suit and laying out his shoes and socks as she put the final touches on her makeup.

“Okay, all yours,” she announced.

Ben pressed a kiss to her forehead as they traded spaces, and as Chloe stepped back into the room to finish getting ready, she found she was feeling pretty optimistic. Like maybe she was going to make it through this wedding after all.

By the time she'd pulled on her dress and buckled up her shoes, though, she wasn't so sure. Her reunion with Caroline might have exceeded expectations, but the hard part was still ahead of her.

The shower had gone silent, and that meant Ben would be ready to go in a matter of minutes.

Her stomach lurched with a stampede of butterflies at the realization that she'd be facing all those people imminently. People who'd been there four years ago.

It seemed like only seconds until Ben stepped out of the bathroom, showered and shaved and looking far too handsome for her own good. He was adjusting a cuff link as he walked toward her, but he froze when he glanced up.

“Wow.” Ben dropped his hand to his side. “Just...wow.”

Chloe gazed down at herself, self-conscious and pleased at Ben's assessment. “You think?”

“You look incredible. Like a warrior princess. The belle of the battlefield.”

Ben had no idea just how apt his description was, because she'd expected this event to be akin to warfare. In fact, it was part of the reason she'd chosen the shimmering gray dress.

Strapless and knee-length, she'd loved that the bodice's seams had vaguely reminded her of armor. The dress was edgy enough to make her feel like herself, but elegant enough that her mother shouldn't have too much to say about it. And then there were the shoes—strappy, studded gladiator stilettos.

“You look ready to kick ass and take names,” he said. “Or at least drink lots and avoid the chicken dance.”