Hostile Makeover (6 page)

Twenty minutes later they were inside Nordstrom’s and approaching the shoe department. Shelley’s first whiff of leather was promising and so was her first sight of the racks of markdowns, but her sense of relief was fleeting.

“Blahnik . . . Spade . . . Choo.” Nina repeated the designer names like a mantra while waving the gorgeous spring concoctions under Shelley’s nose.

“It’s not working!” Shelley tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but she was completely surrounded by the best shoes in the universe and she didn’t have the slightest urge to whip out her charge card.

“Don’t give up. Here—” Nina ran to the next department and returned with a Furla handbag designed in the same bright pink and lime green as the sandals she’d just dangled in front of Shelley. “Look at this!”

Shelley tried to summon the appropriate level of enthusiasm, but it was no use.

“You’ve got to work with me here, Shel.” Nina dashed to the accessory counter and brought back a chunky necklace and earrings that complemented the shoes and bag perfectly. “What about these? Come on, admit it.” She held them up over the bag. “They’re perfect.”

Nina was right, but for some reason Shelley just couldn’t get excited about owning them. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m just not in the mood.”

Nina gasped. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Her friend studied the Nordstrom sales floor. “What about a spring makeover? The Trish McEvoy counter is right over there. Or we could go upstairs for a bite and then come back down to finish shopping. You are not leaving this store without a purchase; we have reputations to uphold.”

Shelley eyed her oldest friend, the one who’d preferred making mud pies until she’d been enticed into her first Little Miss Scarlett Boutique. If she didn’t buy something they’d be here all night. “OK.” She forced a cheerful tone. “I’ll take the shoes and the bag. And that pair of Ferragamos. But I think I’ll hold off on the jewelry.”

Nina’s eyebrow went up.

“Fine, I’ll take the jewelry, too.”

“That’s my girl.” Nina walked with Shelley to the register. “And you know what else? I think you should check your messages. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if there was one from Ross Morgan begging you to come back to work. Why, you’re an important part of Schwartz and Associates. In fact, you’re the main Schwartz now.”

Shelley felt a mild glimmer of interest. Despite her initial misgivings, the shopping and Nina’s company had cheered her up a little. If she kept hiding in her condo eating ice cream, she’d be too big to squeeze out the front door. She needed to go in and set things straight, but a little discreet begging from Ross Morgan would allow her to go back to work with her head up. After all, she had to do
something
every day.

Handing her purchases to the salesclerk, Shelley located her cell phone.

There were messages from her mother and, unfortunately, a painfully shy Tommy Horowitz, but the message she’d been hoping for proved to be . . . not exactly what she’d been hoping for.

“I understood you taking off while your father was in the hospital,”
Ross Morgan’s voice boomed.
“But where are you now? Shopping? Accessorizing?”

OK, so it had been a lucky guess.

“I can hardly wait to hear.”

Shelley signed her name to the credit card slip, but her attention was riveted by Ross Morgan’s matter-of-fact tone.

“We both know I can’t fire you. But part of your salary’s coming out of my pocket now, and I think it’s time you started earning it.”

There was a pause and in the brief silence Shelley could hear her anger build. It was loud and crackling and it burned away the icy apathy that had gripped her all week.

Seeing her face, Nina reached for Shelley’s shopping bags. “I’ll, uh, just step over there and look at the, uh, ties. Let me know when you’re done.”

Shelley barely heard her. Every one of her faculties was completely focused on the voice coming to her through the receiver. And the asinine things it was saying.

“I’m assigning you your own client list, and I need you to come in and get started. Tomorrow. In the morning. Like a normal employee.”
There was another pause and then,
“I’ll expect you in my office at nine
A.M.
”

Shelley waited for her head to explode. It felt as if it might just shoot right off her shoulders, kind of like those cartoon eruptions that were accompanied by the sound of train whistles.

Ross Morgan was an interfering, business-stealing pain in the butt, and she could hardly wait to tell him so.

She’d get on it first thing in the morning. Right after she finished shopping. If she was going on the offensive, she was going to do it in a knockout outfit.

chapter
7

T
oo keyed up to sleep, Shelley spent the night lying in bed with her jaw clenched and her fists gripping the sheet while Ross Morgan’s words replayed themselves in her head.

In the predawn light she showered and dressed, using concealer to camouflage the dark circles under her eyes and gel to tame her normally curly hair into a chignon. Standing in her walk-in closet, she pulled out the Chanel suit she’d bought, and paired it with her fabulous new Ferragamo pumps. Nana Rose’s antique pearls went around her neck.

She suspected Ross Morgan thought that she wouldn’t show up, or that if she did, she’d come in weeping and wailing like a hysterical female. But Shelley intended to be icily genteel. Elegantly intimidating. Untouchable. Calm. In fact, she was going to do Grace Kelly with a touch of Katharine Hepburn; a persona that would allow for plenty of looking down her nose at him, even if she had to get a ladder to do it.

At 8:59 she swept past Ross’s secretary, Mia, and into his office, grateful he hadn’t yet moved into her father’s office. Closing the door behind her, she posed just inside, her shoulders angled, her chin elevated. When she had his complete attention she walked to the seat across from his desk, carefully channeling both Kelly and Hepburn, then lowered herself into the chair. Crossing her ankles, she swiveled her legs to the side, folded her hands in her lap, and gave him a regal nod. She opened her mouth to begin. Only he beat her to it.

“Queen Elizabeth,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re doing Queen Elizabeth, right?”

She blinked in surprise.

“And it was good, too. The only thing missing was that little cupped-palm wave thing.”

Shelley clenched her teeth; she may have growled.

“No? Let’s see . . .”

“Ross—”

“Audrey Hepburn in
My Fair Lady
?”

He had to be kidding.

“
After
the transformation, but before he starts to appreciate her.”

This was not happening.

“Am I close? I don’t know why, but I just can’t seem to pin it down.”

Good grief. They were playing charades.

“I know!” He pointed a finger at her. “It’s Barbara Parkins, isn’t it? In
Valley of the Dolls
.”

Abandoning her pose, Shelley folded her arms across her chest. “Are you finished with ‘name that movie’? I’d like to get started.”

His eyes twinkled. They were bright blue and filled with amusement, damn him.

She waited for him to wipe the smile off his face.

“You asked me to be here and I’m here,” she said, her tone imperious, but not Elizabethan.

“Yes, and on time, too. I’m stunned.”

She ignored the jibe. “I’m here because it’s obvious that we need to clear the air.”

He nodded, but didn’t comment.

“We both know you don’t want me around. Well, I don’t want
you
around, either. In fact, I absolutely loathe the way you’ve horned in on my family’s business.”

So much for her problem with being direct. Too bad Howard Mellnick wasn’t around to witness her breakthrough.

Ross folded his arms across his chest. He was so calm she wondered if he’d missed the part where she told him she wished he’d get lost.

“Funny that you call it horning in,” he finally said. “I call it doing my job. Earning my paycheck. Showing up and putting forth effort. If you’d done a little more of that, there might not have been an opening to horn into.”

Shelley bit back a retort and tried to imitate his maddening calm. “You don’t know anything about my family’s dynamics. Or me. It’s not as clear-cut as you seem to think.”

“No,” he agreed. “I don’t know your history.” He paused. “Or why your father’s let you get away with this spoiled princess business for so long. How old are you now? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

She gasped.

“Well, however old you are, you’re old enough to pull your weight.”

She had a horrible feeling he was going to guess her weight next. Instead, he stood and walked around to stand between her and his desk. “Fortunately, we’re not family. And we don’t have any dynamics to speak of.”

Except, of course, that dynamic episode in the supply closet. “Thank God for small favors.”

“So we’re talking business here.” He gave her a look. “And personal pride.”

Her head snapped up. “Which you seem to think I’m lacking.”

“I can understand your anger and hostility, even though I think a lot of this situation is of your own making.” His reasonable tone was sending her right up the wall. “If you don’t feel like we can work together, I’ll understand.”

There was a wonderful moment in which she thought he was going to bow out. He reached across his desk and picked up a typewritten piece of paper. “In fact, I took the liberty of drafting a resignation letter.”

Her heart leapt at this piece of good news. He
was
going to step aside. Maybe he wasn’t as big a schmuck as she’d thought; maybe she’d misjudged him.

Ross passed her the letter and she skimmed it, curious to see what kind of excuse he’d come up with. Then she reached the signature line. “You want
me
to resign?”

He handed her a pen. “It would make things a lot easier for both of us.”

She considered doing a little palm-cupped wave right now. With her middle finger clearly extended. “Let’s see,” she said, still mimicking his dead-calm tone. “You’ve insulted my dress, my manner, my age,
possibly
my weight, my family, and my work ethic. And now I’m supposed to sign this paper so you can have the place all to yourself?” Sitting back in her chair, she folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He studied her right back and then reached across his desk to retrieve another piece of paper. “All right, then,” he said, still calm. “Here’s a list of clients. I want you to contact all of them, introduce yourself, and start setting up appointments.” He handed her the sheet of paper. “These are underserviced accounts that could produce a much greater revenue stream.”

“But I’m an account
supervisor.
I don’t service clients directly.”

“Actually, you haven’t serviced any indirectly or otherwise—at least not with any regularity. I think it’s time you take a step back and reacquaint yourself with how this agency operates.”

“But this would be a demotion.” And a humiliation.

Shelley skimmed the list. It included a string of funeral homes with the unfortunate name of Forever Remembered, a low-end contemporary furniture chain whose owner insisted on serving as talent in his own television commercials, her uncle Abe’s electronics business, a fledgling falafel maker who was in the process of franchising his operation, and something called Tire World. Those were the best ones on the list.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not.”

Their gazes locked as she confronted the obvious. “You’re trying to make me quit.”

He stared right at her out of those blue eyes. “I prefer to think of it as giving you a chance to prove yourself the good old-fashioned way.”

She wanted to throw the list in his face and stomp out of the room. Wanted to rip it into tiny pieces and shove them down his throat one at a time. Which would be playing right into his hands.

He waited quietly, clearly expecting her to utter those two magic words that would free him of her and her salary. But he didn’t know whom he was dealing with. Shelley Schwartz had spent a lifetime refusing to do what was expected of her. She’d been resisting her parents’ plans for her since she was ten; why would she change for the man who’d stolen her business out from under her?

Wrapping her anger around her like a shield, Shelley stood. Ross Morgan did the same. Then folding the list into a tiny square, she shoved it in her purse. He didn’t think she could do anything with this list. He didn’t think she’d even try. What Ross Morgan didn’t know about her could fill an ocean.

Extending her hand, she looked him straight in the eye, the blue ones that had turned a dark velvety color; the ones that were giving absolutely nothing away.

“Thank you so much for this incredible . . . opportunity,” she said in her best Hepburn voice. “I can hardly wait to get started.”

And then she turned on her heel and strode out of the room without a backward glance.