The Makeover Takeover. Sandra Paul

toward the elevators.

      “Rafe—wait! I’m better now,” Lauren told him, trying to dig in her heels.

      “Glad to hear it,” he replied, but kept walking, pulling her along with him.

      When they reached the elevator, he still didn’t give her a chance to argue, pushing the button and pulling her inside before she could think of a way to convince him she was all right.

      The doors closed and he turned to face her. “You’re white as a ghost, Lauren.” Ignoring her protests, he slung the scarf around her neck. He wrapped it around and around to the mellow rendition of “Jingle Bells” seeping from the elevator speakers. “I’m taking you home. I don’t want you driving yourself.”

      Lauren pulled down the wool folds stacked up over her nose. “But there’s no need! Mr. Haley—”

      “Will understand. I left him a message explaining that you weren’t feeling well. Since it’s Friday, you’ll have the entire weekend to rest up.”

      Lauren opened her mouth to protest again, then shut it as she glanced at Rafe’s face. His tone sounded pleasant enough, but the look in his eyes told her he meant what he said.

      Lauren sighed, subsiding back into her scarf. She’d seen that look before, whenever he was working on a deal. Rafe was determined to get his way, and any argument she made would simply be a waste of breath.

      She decided to try anyway. “I can take a taxi. Or the bus. Or maybe Jay will give me a ride home.”

      He glanced down at her, raising his brows in question. “Who’s Jay?”

      “Jay Leonardo, the neighbor who drove me in this morning.”

      “What’s wrong with your car?” he asked, as the elevator lurched to a stop at the fourteenth floor. The mirrored doors slid open for another passenger.

      “I’m not sure,” Lauren told him. “It was slow starting and Jay offered—”

      “Why, hello Rafe,” a sultry voice interrupted.

      Lauren looked up. A blond woman was standing at the open doors, staring at Rafe with delight.

      His crooked grin appeared. “Well, hello, Nancy,” he drawled.

      The blonde slid into the elevator and immediately slunk up next to Rafe. Like a snake, Lauren decided. A busty one.

      So this was the Nancy she was supposed to buy a present for.

      Lauren faced forward as the door closed. Beside her, Rafe and the woman exchanged pleasantries as “Jingle Bells” ended and “White Christmas” began. Trying to avoid looking in the mirrors surrounding her, Lauren glanced up at the overhead lights, then down at her unvarnished nails. But finally she gave in. She might as well be invisible, she thought, staring at their reflections in the mirrored door.

      Rafe stood next to her, but he wasn’t looking at her; not at all. He’d fixed his entire attention on the woman on his other side—and the blonde’s was fixed entirely on him.

      Which, of course, was no surprise in either case. The woman looked beautiful in her expensive blue suit, fitted within an inch of her life. Flimsy-looking heels showcased her tiny feet, and a fur hung over her arm. Sleek, sophisticated, she had at least ten years on Lauren’s twenty-four and radiated the confidence those years had obviously given her. And as for Rafe…

      Lauren studied him, noting how his crisp white shirt made his hair and eyes look even darker. How the tailored lines of his charcoal suit contrasted sharply with his rugged face. He smiled briefly at the newcomer and his straight teeth gleamed. Beguiling creases appeared in his lean cheeks.

      Rafe looked…just fine, too.

      Lauren looked away from him to stare woodenly ahead at her own image. With her frumpy cloth coat, striped scarf, and serviceable low pumps—and her long brown hair hanging down in a tangle around her glasses—she looked like a stump. A furry, brown one.

      “What are you doing in this area of town?” Rafe was asking Nancy.

      “I had an appointment with my accountant on the fourteenth floor and thought I’d stop by your office to see if you wanted to have lunch. I haven’t heard from you for a while,” the woman murmured in a chiding tone, looking up at him from beneath long lashes.

      Ooh, bad move, Lauren thought. Rafe didn’t encourage his dates to visit him at the office. It made them territorial, he’d once told Lauren. Sure enough, the expression in his eyes cooled. But he answered pleasantly enough, “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy at work.”

      The blonde pressed again. “You still have my number, don’t you?” She reached out and lightly touched his arm.

      Rafe lifted a brow. “It’s on my speed dial,” he assured her.

      Lauren tried to turn her sudden snort into the semblance of a cough. “Sorry,” she mumbled, as they both glanced at her in the mirror.

      Rafe’s gaze met hers. She quickly looked away as his eyes narrowed a little, but could feel his gaze still on her.

      “This is my secretary,” he announced suddenly, as if he’d just remembered she was in the elevator, too. He put his arm around Lauren’s shoulders to turn her toward them. “I think you’ve spoken with her on the phone. Lauren, Nancy. Nance—Lauren.”

      Lauren politely stuck out her hand. The blonde had reluctantly grasped it, when Rafe added, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on lunch today. I’m taking Lauren home. She’s been sick—vomiting and all that.”

      Heat swept up Lauren’s face as the other woman snatched her hand away. Nancy stepped back, glanced around the mirrored box as if looking for a way out, then jabbed at the panel.

      The elevator jolted to a stop. “I need to—ah, get out here,” the blonde said, edging around Lauren. With a final, “See you, Rafe. Call me!” she disappeared down the hall.

      Rafe pushed a button. The doors slid shut again. A distressingly upbeat version of “Sleigh Ride” came on. Lauren glared at Rafe’s pseudo-innocent look in the mirror, and her hands clenched by her sides. “I’d appreciate it,” she said icily, “if you wouldn’t use me as some kind of blonde repellent.”

      His eyes crinkled in amusement, but his tone was reproachful as he asked, “Now would I do something like that?”

      “Yes!” Annoyed with his antics, Lauren turned toward the panel. “And I have better things to do than to fool around, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to the office and—”

      He caught her hand to prevent her pushing the button just as the elevator shuddered to another stop. The doors slid open on the street level. Rafe latched on to her arm. He marched her through the lobby and out of the main entrance into the crisp December air.

      Horns blared, traffic roared by on the busy street in front of them. A Salvation Army Santa rang his bell with incessant cheerfulness in front of the building next door, making Lauren wince. Rafe paused on the sidewalk a moment to tug her scarf up over her ears, pushing her hands aside when she tried to stop him. Then, satisfied with his efforts at keeping her warm, he took her arm again, urging her toward the parking structure.

      Lauren’s feet slipped a little on the icy pavement. His grip on her arm tightened to steady her.

      “You should have worn your boots,” he murmured, glancing disapprovingly at her low heels.

      Lauren spat out her scarf and raised her chin as far as possible to tell him, “You didn’t give me the chance! They’re under my desk.” If that wasn’t just like the man, she fumed, retreating back into the wool as the cold Chicago wind nipped her nose. To blame her when he was the one at fault….

      He caught her hand as she slid again, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Tucking her under his shoulder, he almost carried her across the frozen sidewalk. “And what about your gloves?” He