Best Of Makeovers Bundle Part 64

Keegan's eyes narrowed and his cavalier att.i.tude vanished. "Maybe I'm just not sure you're doing this for the right reasons."

"Wh-what's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you doing this for your career or are you doing this to impress Reid?"

Dorothea interrupted them by clearing her throat dramatically. As soon as she had their attention, she p.r.o.nounced, "Marion Davies!" When Jane and Keegan merely stared blankly at her, Dorothea smiled broadly. "I've got it. I know how to help you."

"You do?"

"I do." Dorothea practically beamed. "It's Marion Davies."

Jane shot Keegan a confused look. "Who?"

"The actress," Dorothea supplied. "Marion Davies. She's the key."

"Wasn't she William Randolph Hearst's mistress?" Keegan asked.

"Oh, she was so much more than that! She was one of the most talented actresses of the time. A true comedic genius and great lady. I met her once, you know. Just as kind and generous as-"

"What's this have to do with Jane?" Keegan asked, cutting Dorothea off.

"Why, everything. Don't you see? Marion Davies spoke with a stutter. In the golden age of silent films, her stutter was never an issue. But, when talkies came out, everyone feared her career would be over."

Jane's heart tightened with compa.s.sion. She could imagine Marion's plight only too well.

"So what happened?" she asked.

"In nineteen twenty-nine, Marion starred in her first talkie, Marianne. She sang, she danced, she even spoke with an accent. And she never stuttered once. You see, Marion Davies stuttered, but her character Marianne did not."

"So what you're saying is-"

"All you have to do is create a character to play. An alternate persona, if you will. One who doesn't stutter."

Jane felt her breath catch in her throat. Could it really be that simple? Could this really be the answer, after years of stuttering, of awkward silences and pitying glances, of avoiding words she thought might trip her up?

But- Keegan snorted loudly. "This is the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

Dorothea shot him a smug, sly smile. "You just don't like it because you didn't think of it."

"No." He shook his head. "I don't like it, 'cause it doesn't make any sense. The idea is for Jane to impress these bigwigs at work, right? But if she gives this presentation dressed up as some alternate persona then nothing has changed. If people don't know it's her doing the presentation, then Jane still isn't getting credit for her work. Besides, won't the people at Butler be confused when Jane comes to give the presentation dressed up like some person who doesn't even work for Forester+Blake?"

As Keegan ticked off each of his objections on his fingers, Jane looked to Dorothea for answers. Dorothea merely chuckled, patting Keegan's hand rea.s.suringly.

"Oh, you silly boy, you've misunderstood me completely. Of course we want Jane to get credit for her ideas. I'm not suggesting she try to fool other people into thinking she's a different person. She only has to fool herself. Her persona will be all up here." Dorothea tapped her temple. "If she believes she's not going to stutter, then she won't."

"Sure, I guess." Jane didn't even bother to try to sound more confident than she felt.

Dorothea's heavily made-up face beamed with antic.i.p.ation. "Of course, you'll need a new haircut. New clothes. A whole new look, I believe."

Keegan rose and headed for the door. "If y'all are going to talk about clothes, I'm outta here."

Jane frowned as she watched him leave. What was up with him?

Before she could give it any more thought, Dorothea carefully deposited Sasha on the floor, then pulled Jane into the hall bathroom to face the mirror. Sasha followed, mewing indignantly over her mistreatment.

As Dorothea ran an arthritic hand through Jane's long hair she murmured, "Something short, I think. And blonde."

"Blonde?" Jane squeaked.

Instead of answering, Dorothea grabbed a handful of fabric from the back of Jane's shirt, bunching the fabric so it stretched taut across the front. "And some decent clothes to show off your marvelous figure."

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Darling, life's too short to wear such ugly clothing. Besides, you need a costume to help you get into character."

Jane eyed Dorothea warily. "Why do I suspect this 'costume' will involve a lot of skimpy clothes I normally wouldn't be caught dead in?"

Dorothea quirked one elegantly penciled-in eyebrow. "This presentation, you're giving it to men, correct?"

"Yes."

"Men are hardwired to respond to short skirts and low-cut dresses. Why not use that to your advantage?"

Jane was pretty certain her stridently feminist mother could have come up with some excellent reasons why not. But Jane was about to face her deepest fear. She needed all the help she could get. Still...

"I don't know," she hedged.

"What's not to know? You have a gorgeous figure. Frankly, I'm appalled you haven't been using it to your advantage before now."

Jane frowned as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Funny, she'd always felt as if that "gorgeous figure" Dorothea was so impressed with didn't really fit her personality. It was simply too much. Too curvy. Too lush. And the few times in her life when she'd dressed to show it off, it had garnered her too much male attention.

Male attention in and of itself wasn't bad. But men had certain expectations of women built like her. They expected her to be flirty and charming. They expected s.e.x-kitten personalities in s.e.x-G.o.ddess bodies. But there was one thing she couldn't stand-the inevitable reaction.

Men wanted one thing, and what they got was her. A little quiet. A little shy. Even when her stutter didn't freeze her up completely, she tended to measure her words carefully. Men were inevitably disappointed.

She'd long ago tired of facing their disappointment.

Encouraged by Jane's silence, Dorothea blithely went on. "Of course, you still need to pick your persona. If you could be anyone in the world, who would it be?"

Sasha leapt to the counter, swishing her tail dramatically and forcing Jane's attention away from the nerve-racking prospect of life as a blonde.

As she watched, Sasha met her gaze in the mirror, practically hypnotizing Jane with her elegant blue eyes.

"Sasha," she said with sudden clarity.

"The cat?"

"Yes." Jane nodded, sure she'd found the perfect persona to emulate. "I want to be Sasha the cat."

As if she knew she was the topic of conversation, Sasha b.u.mped her head against Jane's arm.

"Think about it," Jane said. "Everybody loves Sasha, but she doesn't give a d.a.m.n about anyone. She's cool, confident, and in control of every situation."

Dorothea nodded. "I believe you're right. Sasha just might be the perfect persona for you."

Jane wanted desperately to believe it really was that simple. If she could overcome this fear of giving presentations, she wouldn't need Teresa anymore. She wouldn't have to worry about losing her job. Everyone at work would realize that her good ideas and her hard work were...well, hers.

She nearly laughed out at loud at her pathetic attempts at self-delusion. "Everyone at work." Right. That was who she was worried about. Her sudden desire for recognition didn't have anything to do with a certain s.e.xy CEO. Not a thing.

Yep. That was denial at its best.

Okay, so maybe she was delusional about her reasons for wanting to give this presentation. The question was, was she delusional enough to fool herself into thinking she was someone else?

Dorothea was true to her word. By the time Jane walked through the doors of Forester+Blake two days later, she looked so different, no one recognized her.

The day before at the salon, Dorothea had directed the cutting and highlighting of her hair. Now, blonde waves hung to just below her jawline in a s.e.xy tousle of curls. The style accentuated the delicacy of her chin and made her cheekbones seem more p.r.o.nounced. A choppy fringe of bangs framed her eyes, making them appear wider and more prominent. She looked...if not gorgeous, then at least far more striking than she ever had before.

Her years of quietly slipping under everyone's radar were coming to an end. Sasha would never be overlooked.

However, she'd been unable to replicate the hairstyle herself. So this morning Dorothea had arrived at her apartment to once again do her magic. As a result, Jane's scalp still stung from having her hair sculpted into place and her sinuses still twitched from the overspray of too many products.

As she worked her way through the break room she noticed Pete, who did graphics for their team, making his morning latte at the espres...o...b..r. He was chatting with some guy from Account Services as he waited for the machine to do its thing. He glanced in her direction, then did a noticeable double take.

At first, she merely laughed at his reaction. She still wasn't comfortable "in character", but it was too late to back out now. With that thought propelling her forward, she wove her way through the tables to the espres...o...b..r. Pete glanced to either side-to make sure she really was waving at him-then straightened, puffing out his chest as he smiled at her.

That was when it hit her. Pete hadn't recognized her. Even after she waved and crossed the room to talk to him, he didn't put the pieces together.

She reached around him for a coffee mug. "Hi, Pete."

"Hi..."

He seemed to be struggling for a name, so she supplied one. "Jane."

"Jane?" His smile strained, but didn't disappear altogether.

"Jane," she repeated. The machine squealed as it finished squirting foam onto his latte, so she removed his cup and handed it to him. Being the center of his attention worked over her nerves, so that when she opened her mouth she felt the familiar stiffness tightening her throat. "Jane Demeo. We w-work together. My cubicle is next to y-yours. That Jane."

Finally his smile cracked under the strain. He squinted at her, blinking rapidly. "Jane! What'd you do to yourself?"

She shoved her mug under the espresso machine's spout and pushed a few b.u.t.tons. "A friend gave me a makeover. She thought it'd give me more confidence at the pitch today. Do y-you think it'll help?" she asked playfully, but when she glanced over at Pete, he was gaping at her. When he didn't join in with her laughter, his attention made her shift uncomfortably. "Pete, close y-your mouth. It's rude to stare."

The machine sputtered out the last of her foam, and she snagged her mug, relieved to escape Pete's scrutiny. Unfortunately, Pete followed.

He caught up with her just outside the part.i.tion that separated their cubicles. He darted around her.

"Jane, I'm sorry. You just look really different."

Trying to hide how fl.u.s.tered she felt, she sighed as if exasperated by the delay. "Oh, for goodness' sake." Jane ducked under Pete's arm and into her cubicle.

This was not going as she'd hoped. Dorothea had sworn that this makeover would give her confidence. That a new haircut and a snazzy new outfit would complete her new persona.

Instead, they'd made her the center of attention. And it did not feel good. She had no more confidence than she'd had yesterday and her Sasha persona was nowhere to be seen.

Her new curls made her feel exposed, as did the outfit she'd borrowed from Dorothea-a short skirt and a double-breasted jacket. The skirt showed off her legs, the jacket nipped in at her waist, and showed way more of her cleavage than she ever wanted her colleagues to see.

Naturally, when she'd tried on the outfit, she'd protested. It was unprofessional. It was tacky. She'd probably catch a cold. But all her protestations had fallen on gleefully deaf ears. Dorothea had been thrilled. "Honey," she'd said, "with a body like this you don't need to look professional."

And if the way Pete was staring at her was any indication, Dorothea had been right.

Jane paused, her hand hovering over her keyboard. If Dorothea had been right about that, what else might she be right about?

Jane squeezed her eyes closed and tried to picture Sasha the cat. Her cool, silvery beauty. Her absolute confidence that everyone loved her. Her "you know you want to touch me, but don't you dare try it" att.i.tude.

If Sasha could convey all that with a single glare from her ice-blue eyes, then surely Jane-with her college education and years of writing experience-could manage a simple sentence or two that would put Pete in his place.

Jane crossed one leg over the other, propped her elbows far back on the arms of her chair and spun around to face Pete. She was acutely aware that her skirt rode up far higher on her thigh than she was used to. She was equally aware that her posture displayed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to their best advantage.

Though she'd never before used her body to get what she wanted, she knew Sasha would.

"Pete, be a doll and double-check the graphics. We can't afford to slip up on this."

Be a doll? Had she actually said that? She held her breath, waiting for him to laugh at her.

Instead, Pete nodded-without taking his eyes from her chest. The smile he sent her was a little dopey. "I'll get right on it."

Feeling baffled, she watched him leave. Was it really that easy? Could men really be won over with faux confidence and a low-cut blouse?

That was when it hit her. Just now, she hadn't stuttered when talking to Pete. She hadn't once felt her words stumble over themselves. Score one for Sasha the cat. Now if only her newfound confidence would hold through this afternoon's meeting. That would be the real test.

After all, Pete was easy. It was no great coup to snag the attention of a guy whose primary experience with women outside of work came from watching The Real World on MTV. The real test would come this afternoon when she had to fake her new confidence in front of the team from Butler.

Ever since he'd recognized himself in Jane's drawing, Reid hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. Since Monday, he'd gone back through her work for the past four years. He'd found references to himself in at least half a dozen of her ads.

In one, it was a pair of men's shoes discarded by his lover's bed-his shoes. In another, it was the cowlick on a man's head as he bent to kiss a woman-his cowlick. His brand of ballpoint pen scribbling a love letter. His briefcase. His car. His Aggie ring.

It was driving him crazy.

A week ago, she'd been just another employee. Someone he barely knew. Now, she was all he thought about.

Studying her work had given him a glimpse into her mind. Slowly he was learning how she thought. And it intrigued him.

She'd come up with some pretty s.e.xy stuff. And each time he caught sight of himself in one of her ads, it turned him on just a little bit more.

Which confused the h.e.l.l out of him. He'd spent his entire professional career keeping his distance from his employees. Given the high turnover rate in advertising, he'd always thought that best. He hated the idea of firing anyone, let alone a friend.

So, he kept his distance. He never wanted to be their buddy or pal. He didn't hang out with them after work. He sure as h.e.l.l didn't date any of them. Which meant he never would have looked twice at Jane. Of course, now that he knew what went on in that head of hers...

Now that he knew, he was in serious trouble. He'd been studying her. Walking by her desk in the middle of the day to see what she was wearing in hopes her clothes would hint at the body she kept hidden beneath her sack-like dresses. Making excuses to say h.e.l.lo or to chat with employees who had cubicles nearby.