Sweet Texas Charm (8 page)

She was certain the CEO saw things differently. Grayson had looked completely taken aback when Chuck flat-out told him the whole factory thought that he was a lousy leader. Surely, he must know that he hadn’t made a favorable impression on his plant employees. She finished the first half of her grilled cheese sandwich and washed it down with her soda. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Perhaps with her new influence, she could ask Grayson to take more of an interest in his employees. So many of them had nicknames for him that were less than favorable. Pretty Boy. Swanky Suit. Dip Shit, which was a deliberate play on words, given the product they produced.

Always quick to make fun of him, one employee had even dressed up as Grayson last Halloween, making a convertible out of cardboard and spray-painting it black. He’d pretended to drive around the floor with it all day, cutting people off.

That
had actually been quite funny.

She might have thought she was going into the lions’ den last night, hanging out with Grayson and his brothers, but the same could definitely be said for him if he attempted to step foot in the factory and stay there for any length of time. She took another bite of her sandwich. He might not get out alive.

She set her napkin on her plate just as Betty Lou came over.

“How’s the grilled cheese?”

“Fabulous as always.” She reached in her purse for her wallet and pulled out some cash, but Betty Lou shook her head. “It’s on the house. It’s the least I can do for all your help last night.”

“Thank you. Do you want me to give you a hand today?”

“No, I’m good. You go do something fun.”

Becca pulled her mango lip balm out of her purse, rubbing the soft orange ball across her lips.
Something fun.
She didn’t do fun. When she wasn’t working, she’d always spent time with her mother. Not to mention, until recently, she never had any discretionary income, living from paycheck to paycheck.

Now that she had more money than she knew what to do with, maybe she should infuse a little fun into her life—go shopping, or to the movies, or perhaps drive up to Houston for the day.

She wrinkled her nose. The problem with all those ideas: She’d never been fascinated with clothes and preferred wearing her worn-out T-shirts and comfy jeans to purchasing anything new; sitting alone in a dark theater sounded just plain sad; and she wasn’t quite sure if her old truck would make it to Houston.

She glanced out the window at Blue Baby, the nickname she’d given her beloved truck. It was her first big purchase after she started working at Guac Olé. Sure, it had had over fifty thousand miles on it at that time, but she’d been so proud the day she picked it up from the old used car lot off Route 24. It now had well over one hundred thousand miles on it, or at least she thought it did. She didn’t exactly know since the odometer broke two years ago. She should probably consider purchasing a new truck.

The thing was, she didn’t like change and was perfectly content running Blue Baby into the junkyard grave.

She sighed and gazed out the window. That would probably happen sometime before the end of the year. Like it or not, change was in the air.

All of a sudden her heart stopped as Grayson pulled up across the street in his Mercedes convertible. He stepped out in jeans and a casual white button-down shirt, sliding on a tan cowboy hat. Since when did Mr. Rhode Island wear something Texan?

He leaned against his car and rolled up his sleeves before folding his tanned arms. Had she really been in his embrace last night?

Stop it, Becca.
She grabbed her water glass to down the flames that reminiscing about their dance appeared to have ignited inside her. She glanced over again. Maybe she could run across the street and say a quick hello, apologize for last night, and find out what he planned to do about Chuck.

Good idea.
She hopped out of the booth and headed for the exit. But someone had beaten her to him.

Apparently Grayson had made a full recovery from Chuck’s punch. Becca stepped back and watched as he greeted Meg Murphy with a big hug and a peck on the cheek.

The Silver Spurs’ waitress was all smiles as she took hold of the arm he offered and they strolled down the street.

Becca put on her sunglasses and left the restaurant, keeping her head down and beelining it to her truck. Safely inside, she glanced down the street to see if she could catch a glimpse of Grayson and Meg, but the sidewalks were crowded with Founders’ Day Weekend visitors.

Were they having lunch together? Becca started her truck, scolding herself for even asking the question. So what if Grayson was enjoying his Sunday with Meg?

She hit the gas and sped down the road as far from the center of town as she could get.

Who he spent his free time with shouldn’t bother her in the least, but for some reason it did.

Meg turned her key and opened the glass door to the Loose Curls salon. “Go ahead and take a seat at the first station. I’ll get the lights.”

Grayson sat down and spun around in the empty salon chair. Spacious, the beauty shop had a row of six workstations. “Thanks, Meg, for doing this,” he said, and meant it. “I hope I don’t get you in trouble with the owner.”

The lights turned on, and she reappeared. “Nah, we’re good. The salon manager is also my cosmetology instructor. She lets us come in for a couple of hours on Sunday and practice on each other. My classmates Val and Mandy will be here any second to help.” She paused, adding, “But don’t you worry, I’ve sworn them to absolute secrecy. Told them you were doing this for a TV show, and it’s extremely important that your cover not be blown.”

“Thanks, Meg.” He smiled. He had gotten the idea from the popular reality show, but there would be no cameras, and he definitely wouldn’t be dishing out a boatload of money at the end of all this. No, he would be the one to gain getting the shares that rightfully belonged to him.

What he was asking Meg to do was a pretty tall order. When he’d told her that he needed her assistance in giving him an unrecognizable makeover and he’d pay her whatever it took, she’d laughed into the phone and asked if he was pulling her leg.

His idea was freakin’ brilliant. With the help of Meg and now a couple of her beauty school friends, they’d create a disguise that would allow him to go undercover and work in the factory. Since Becca conveniently had a line worker position open, he planned on sliding right into that spot, reporting to HR tomorrow.

Albeit crazy, if his plan worked he’d get the time with Becca he needed. His dad had a reason for giving her the shares, but Grayson was never going to figure it out if each time they were together turned into his wearing sticky food or him getting his ass kicked by one of her friends.

He took off the hat and studied his reflection in the mirror, raking his hands through his hair. Becca Nash wasn’t going to let her guard down around Grayson Cooper. That was clear. Spinning in his chair, he slid his hat back on. But perhaps she’d open up to out-of-towner Coop Jackson.

He’d come up with the name on the drive over, shortening Cooper for his first name and then being a little creative with the last name.
Jackson.
Jack—son. Jack’s son.

“Meg, what do you think of the name Coop Jackson?”

She came over to the workstation and smacked her gum. “Very sexy.”

“I wasn’t going for sexy.”

“You sure about that, cowboy?” She smirked in the mirror. “I think she’ll like the hat, too.”

A knock at the front door prevented him from asking who she meant, although he was pretty sure she was referring to Becca.

Meg rushed over to open it for her friends. “Hey, Grayson,” she called out. “I’m going to help Mandy and Val with some things they purchased for your makeover. We’ll be right back.”

“Sounds good.” Grayson powered up his iPad and put his plan into motion, first firing off an e-mail to his senior management team. He told them that he’d decided to take an impromptu trip to Cancun. Since it was summer, half his team had gone on their own vacations. His wanting to leave and recharge his batteries shouldn’t raise suspicion.

His fingers tapped out his elaborate lie. His family had a bungalow on a private island resort there. That he decided to take a spur-of-the-moment vacation was plausible.

Meg returned with her classmates and they set down the plastic bags and two pink suitcases they’d brought in.

“Nice to meet you, ladies.” He extended his hand to both. The two women looked to be around Meg’s age, both dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts. Mandy was a brunette and Val was a redhead, her hair was a little darker than Meg’s. “I’m sorry I took you away from your Sunday.”

“Not a problem.” Mandy took a seat next to him.

Val squatted down and began opening the two suitcases, adding, “We’re here every weekend.” She winked. “You’re our first real customer. Normally we just practice on each other.”

“Well, I’m excited to see what you do.” He leaned back in his chair. “Meg, my only request: Please don’t bleach my hair.” Coop Jackson was definitely not a blond surfer kind of a dude.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan, and it won’t involve making you a blond.” Meg patted his head. She then grabbed a rectangular cardboard box from Val and set it in his lap. “But first, you need this.”

“What’s this?”

“Your lunch.”

He opened the lid and stared down at the colorful assortment of glazed, chocolate, and powder jelly donuts. “Thanks.” He held the box up to Val. “Would you like one?”

“Oh, no.” Meg blocked his attempt to share the donuts. “They’re all yours.”

“All twelve?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yep. First thing Coop Jackson needs to do is put on twenty pounds.”

Whoa.
That wasn’t happening. His hand tapped his washboard abs.
Still there.
He took pride in his trim physique and worked damn hard on his six-pack. Even five pounds would undo years of crunches. “How about one donut and no weight increase?” he asked, picking up a glazed one and taking a bite. “Why do I need to gain weight, anyway?”

Meg steadied her arm on his chair, and her eyes met his in the mirror. “Because suit-wearing CEO Grayson Cooper doesn’t have love handles.” She turned the chair away so he could no longer see his reflection. “But working-class, beer-guzzling-after-a-long-day Coop Jackson does.”

“Wow. You’ve given this a lot of thought.” He hadn’t really had a clue about his alias other than having a different hair color.

She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks. Now, eat.”

“Okay, then.” One donut wouldn’t kill him, and he was hungry. Between bites he asked, “So, Meg, what do you have in mind for my disguise?”

“The girls and I’ve been talking. We think the best thing to do is keep your own hair, but fit you with a wig.”

“A wig?”

“Don’t worry. It will look very real.” She ran her finger across his chin. “And a sexy beard. Both brown, and much lighter than your own dark hair.”

“Why do I need a beard? Won’t the wig be good enough?”

She spun him back around and took her two pointer fingers, pressing into each side of his mouth. “Sugar, it’s your dimples.”

He smiled in the mirror, and there they were.

“I can’t fill those with makeup, but the beard will help conceal them.”

“Wow, you’ve thought of everything.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed. “Okay, ladies. Let’s do it. Make me Coop Jackson.”

While Meg went to work on his hair with a paintbrush, dipping it into what she explained was a special kind of adhesive for the wig, Val came up with a small, black case.

“What’s in there?” he asked.

“Well, if you are going to lose some of your well-known features, we’ve got to do something about your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Contacts.”

“Why can’t I just wear glasses?”

Meg started laughing as she began to fit the brown wig over his head. “Because you’ve got the bluest eyes south of San Antonio. Any woman who’s ever caught your gaze will know it’s you.” She bent down, whispering in his ear, “And there’s one five-foot-four Guac Olé factory worker who has definitely been the recipient of those baby blues.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said but conceded. It was probably a good idea to change his eye color. “Fine. Let’s try the brown ones.”

“After we finish your hair.” Meg spun him around again so he wasn’t facing the mirror and took her scissors to his new wig, synthetic strands falling to the floor. She was going for the shock and awe factor, apparently, since she told him he’d have to wait to see until she was done.

“How long can I keep this on?” Grayson asked, dying to turn the chair around.

“For about three weeks. You can wash it as you would your normal hair. I’ll want to check in with you once a week and see if we need to make any touch-ups.”

“Sure. We should probably do that at my condo.”

As soon as she finished his hair, Mandy came over and began applying his new beard. The hair itched his skin, but he sat still as Mandy trimmed it. “I can’t believe I’m going to have facial hair.” He’d always prided himself on being clean-shaven.

“You’ll get used to it,” Meg said, and Val came over to admire their work.

“Well? How am I looking?” he asked.

“See for yourself.” Meg spun him around and his mouth flew open.

“Holy shit.”
Gone was his short, spiked dark hair. He now had a light brown, wavy mop and a matching beard. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to swear, but wow …”

Meg chuckled at his response. “It is quite impressive, but we’ve got to get rid of your electric blues.”

Val took her cue and came over with the contacts case. “Have you ever worn contacts before?”

“No.” He listened as she showed him exactly what to do, then held a mirror up so he could try it himself.

It took him a few attempts, but he finally got them in. He’d have to get used to the strange feeling of having something covering his eyeballs.

He blinked a few times before looking in the mirror. “Unbelievable,” he said, running a hand over his beard. For a fake one, it sure felt real. “You ladies should skip working for Loose Curls and go straight to Hollywood.”