“There’s something we should discuss.”
“You know what’s going on?”
“Maybe.”
Sinclair took a step down the ladder. “Hunter?”
He dropped his arms to his sides. “I have a theory. It’s only a theory.”
She climbed the rest of the way down. “What is it?”
Hunter took the brush from her hand, setting it on the paint tray just before it dripped on the floor. “Chantal asked if you used the mousse.”
He lifted the shopping bag. “I think that might be what Roger’s picking up on. Chantal’s, well, pizzazz.”
A sick feeling slid into Sinclair’s stomach.
Roger thought Chantal knew better than Sinclair?
Hunter thought Chantal knew better than Sinclair?
“You have to admit,” Hunter continued. “She’s the demographic Luscious Lavender is targeting.”
“You sure you want to keep on talking?”
“We both know she’s not you. We both know you’re smart and talented and hard-working.”
“Well, thank you for that.”
He opened the bag to reveal the full gamut of Luscious Lavender products. “I think you should try these out. See what you think, maybe—”
“Right. Because all my problems will be solved by a good shampoo and mousse.” Her problem wasn’t a bad hair day. It was the fact that Roger, and maybe Hunter, too, preferred beauty over brains.
Hunter attempted a grin. “Don’t forget waxing.”
She reached down for the paintbrush. “I’m forgetting all of it.”
“Will you at least hear me out?”
“No.” Without thinking she waved the brush for emphasis, and paint splattered on the front of his suit.
Her eyes went wide in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she quickly blurted out.
“Forget it.”
“But I ruined your suit.” She could only imagine how much it had cost.
“I said to forget it.”
How was she supposed to hang on to her moral outrage when he was being a gentleman?
“It’s more than just a good shampoo,” he said. “It’s about relating to your customers. Having your customers relate to you.”
She started up the ladder.
“They relate to Chantal in a particular way,” he said. “They see her look as an idealized version of themselves. These are people that put great stock in the value of beauty products to their lives, and they want to know that you put great stock in them, as well.”
“You’re suggesting I could replace an MBA and eight years of experience with a good makeover?”
What kind of a man would think that?
“Yes,” he said.
She stopped. She couldn’t believe he’d actually said it out loud.
“But,” he continued. “I’m also suggesting you’ll blow the competition out of the water when you have both.”
“You think Chantal is my competition?”
“I think Roger thinks she’s your competition. I think you could do a makeover with your eyes closed. And I think she’s only a threat to you if you let her be a threat to you.”
“So I’m choosing to have this happen?”
All she’d ever done was her job. She’d shown up early every day for eight years. She’d written speeches and press releases, planned events, supported her coworkers, solved problems and taken the message of Lush Beauty far and wide. If her performance evaluations were anything to go by, she’d been more than successful in her role as PR manager.
“You’re choosing not to fight it,” said Hunter.
“I shouldn’t have to fight it.” When had hard work and success stopped being enough?
“Too bad. So sad. Are you going to let her win?” He paused. “Do you want your career path to end?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She loved her job.
“I’m the one being ridiculous? Chantal’s nipping at your heels, and I’m the one being ridiculous?”
“Why do you care?”
There were a few seconds of silence. “Why do you think I care?”
Sinclair didn’t have an answer for that, so she finished climbing the ladder.
“I’m not saying it’s right,” he spoke below her. “I’m saying that’s the business you’re in. And you’re the PR manager. And, yes, I’m sorry, but it matters. And, as for why I care.”
He stopped talking, and she held her breath.
“I like you? I slept with you? You’re an asset to Lush Beauty? You’re family? Take your pick. But I’m about done fighting, Sinclair. If you don’t want my help, I’m out of here.”
She dipped her paintbrush, feeling hollow and exhausted. Hunter’s words pulsed in her ears, while paint dribbles dried on her hands. She pretended to focus on the painting while she waited for the door to slam behind him.
Emotion stung her eyes.
She didn’t mean to fight with him.
It wasn’t his fault that Chantal was prancing around the city like a poster child for Luscious Lavender. It wasn’t his fault that Roger was interfering in her management of the PR department. And what did Sinclair want from Hunter, anyway? For him to intervene with Roger?
Not.
She could take care of her own professional life.
Sort of. Maybe.
Because a tiny, little voice inside her told her some of what Hunter said made sense.
She focused on the paint, stroking it into the corner, listening for his footfalls, for the door slamming, for him walking out of her life.
“I’m sorry,” his unexpected words came from behind and below her. “I should have approached that differently.”
She stopped midstroke. Shocked, relieved and embarrassed all at the same time. She set down the brush.
“No,” she spoke to the wall. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
Silence.
“Will you come down then?”
She gave a shaky nod. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she started down the ladder. Maybe all of what he said made sense. Maybe she’d been hasty in dismissing a makeover. After all, what could it hurt to try?
What exactly was the principle she was standing on? She’d always wanted the world to take her seriously. She hadn’t wanted a free ride because of looks and glamour. But did she want to put herself at a disadvatange?
“I suppose,” she said as her foot touched the floor and she turned toward him. “It wouldn’t kill me to try the shampoo.”
“That a girl.” His voice was full of approval.
“It’s just that I never wanted to cheat,” she tried to explain. “I never wanted to wonder if a promotion or a pay raise, or even people’s reactions to me were because of my looks.”
“You’re not cheating.