“Thank you, darling.” He clicked the mouse. A really sad-looking redhead appeared on the screen. Ruddy skin, frizzy hair, a face as round as a dinner plate. “Amanda Richly. Before.” Click. “And after,” he said proudly.
The second image was the same redhead. But the same redhead, transformed. Now her hair was thick and wavy and completely unfrizzed, her skin pink and perfect, her blue eyes framed by long, lush red-brown lashes. She was no longer sad. In fact, her happy smile brought out the cute dimples in her cheeks.
“Wow. Way to go, Jonathan.” Sam elbowed him in his itty-bitty ribs.
He almost fell over sideways. But not quite. “Please don’t hurt me, darling,” he said drily. She laughed. And then he preened, “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“I can see that.” She shared a nod with Travis, who remained by the wet bar, polishing off his apple.
Jonathan clicked through several more transformations. Each one was amazing. Sam was impressed and she told Jonathan so.
Finally, he snapped the laptop shut and frowned at her. “If we are to work together, I need to be able to be perfectly frank.”
“Go for it.” She braced herself for the bad news.
“You’re a disaster, my sweet.” He caught her hands, turned them over, gave a small gasp of pure distress. “Look at these. What have you been doing with them, scraping barnacles off a ship’s hull?”
“Close,” she confessed.
He shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. I don’t need specifics.” He turned her hands over again, set them on her knees, and patted the backs of them. Next, scowling, he touched her hair. And then he caught her face between his soft, warm palms. “We must get you to the spa immediately,” he announced. “You will need everything. It’s going to take a while. And the peels, the scrubs, the masks and the mud wraps, the hair, nails and makeup are only the beginning. There will be shopping. Intensive, goal-centered shopping. I will go with you, of course, give you guidance, save you from yourself should you try and buy another unfortunate pantsuit.”
She winced and looked down at the pantsuit in question. “Unfortunate? I bought it yesterday. I know it’s not great. But I thought it was better than just unfortunate.”
He wiggled a finger at her. “Remember. Absolute honesty.”
“Yeah. All right. Hit me with it.”
He caught the fabric of her sleeve, fingered it and shuddered. “You must learn to buy clothing made from natural fibers, my love. It not only looks so much better, but it also lets the skin breathe and doesn’t trap odors.”
“Odors,” she echoed weakly, way too aware of the lingering dampness beneath her arms.
“I noticed you had just that big black bag.”
She shrugged. “Well, I only brought a couple of changes of underwear and some pj’s. I thought we would be buying the rest.”
“Very good. Excellent. Out with the old and all things polyester. And in with the new. By the time I’m through with you, you won’t be afraid of five-inch Manolo Blahniks, or a little color.”
She wasn’t a complete idiot. She knew who Manolo Blahnik was. She’d watched a few episodes of Sex and the City back in the day. “Uh, Jonathan. Maybe you didn’t notice. I don’t wear high heels because I’m already taller than just about everyone else.”
“Yes, you are. And your height is spectacular.”
Travis folded his big frame back into the wing chair. He was grinning. “Yep. Absolutely spectacular.”
She blinked at him. “Uh. It is?”
Jonathan patted her arm. “You also have excellent bone structure. Fabulous cheekbones.”
Her sagging spirits lifted. She pressed her fingers to the cheekbones in question. “Well, that’s good.”
“And I can see you are in prime physical condition. We can use that.”
“Er…we can?”
“Oh, yes. Gone are the days when a pretty woman had to be tiny and delicate. It’s okay at last to be a woman of substance. Muscles, wide shoulders, strong calves and hard thighs are the height of fashion now.”
Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. She dared to grin.
Jonathan frowned, shook his head and then smoothed his acres of hair carefully back into place. “Don’t become overconfident, my love. You’ve got a lot to learn. And a limited amount of time to do it in.”
At Jonathan’s request, Travis got up to go a few minutes later.
“You will not see Samantha until Saturday evening,” her coach announced in what Samantha considered a very grim tone. “For the final test.”
“Test?” Sam piped up weakly.
“Don’t ask.” Jonathan remained deadly serious. “Not yet. We are only beginning. And there’s a long way to go before we’re ready to discuss the final test.”
Travis gave her a hug at the door. That was the second time he’d hugged her that day—first, in the lobby, now here, as he was leaving. As a rule, she and Travis didn’t hug much. Especially the past few months when they’d been working on the rig together. Hugs would not be professional.
But now, with his strong arms around her, she realized how much she enjoyed getting the chance to lean on him. He was a couple of inches taller than she was, and even broader in the shoulders and deeper in the chest. It felt good to hug him. She knew she could hug him hard and never hurt him. For a girl of her size and strength, that was a rare thing.
He took her by the shoulders and held her away from him so he could meet her eyes. “You going to be okay?”
She nodded and forced a smile for him. “Go on. I’ll be fine.” She stepped back from the comforting circle of his hold. He opened the door and went through it.
Instantly she wanted to reach out and grab him back. She’d always found his presence reassuring—and she could really use some reassurance about now. She took a step out into the hallway and watched him stride confidently toward the elevators.
It was kind of funny, really. She risked her life just about daily on the job. An oil rig, after all, was a pretty dangerous place. But she’d never been as scared as she was right then, in that hotel suite, watching Travis walk away from her. The very idea of having to learn to get her girly on freaked her the hell out. It would be easier if Travis could stay.
“Shut the door, Samantha.” Jonathan’s voice was almost tender.
She stepped back into the room and did what he told her to. And then she leaned her forehead against that door and thought about what a good friend Travis had been to her over the years.
At the end of the first year of their friendship, just before she turned nineteen, he’d helped her get her start in the oil business. He’d spoken up for her when she tried for her first job as a roustabout on a land rig. They didn’t want to hire her because she was a woman and what woman could hold up under the grueling physical labor that would be required of her?
Thanks to Travis, she got that job, as what they called a “worm,” the lowest of the low in the rig pecking order. She got that job and she kept up with the men. She did it all. She hauled pipe and dug trenches, cleaned up mud and oil and whatever else got all over the equipment. She cleaned threads, scraped and painted the various rig components. She worked her ass off and she never shirked.
That first job was where she’d met a certain roughneck, Zachary Gunn. She’d fallen in love with Zach—fallen in love for the first and only time in her life. And when Zach turned out to be a rotten, no-good bigmouth jerk who told everyone what he’d done with her and that she’d been really