Teague.
Perfectly coy. She tucked the card into her pocket. When she was serving the clam linguine special a month from now, she’d need some proof to convince herself this had all really happened. She braced herself against the dark granite countertop and wondered what next?
“Do you like them?”
She looked up at Teague, who was all smiles and hotness. Damn him . “Perfect diversion for the press.” She motioned toward all the strangers in the kitchen, with its terra cotta tile floor and gleaming stainless steel appliances that looked like they’d never been used. The kitchen, dining room, and living room in Mama’s house would probably all fit in this one room. What did one person do with so much space? But the space was filling up with strangers.
“Who are all these people?” she asked. Apparently it was going to take a small village to make small-town Kate Riley Hollywood ready.
Teague set his hands on her shoulders. “I think you’ll be a lot happier the next time the press catches us together.”
Trying to ignore the heat of his hands on her skin, she glared at him. But that only made him smile more, and that smile only made him look more gorgeous. She let out a little “hmph.”
A woman came at her with scissors and a smock. “Take a seat, this won’t hurt a bit. I’m Monica.”
Kate flopped down in a chair.
Monica rubbed Kate’s hair between her fingers. “What do you think about some highlights?”
“No,” Teague said. “I like her hair. It’s a beautiful color.”
“Well, we need to cut in a few layers, give it some movement,” said Justine, the slim stylist, coming up behind them. Kate wanted to offer her a snack so she wouldn’t disappear into thin air before this whole makeover thing was done.
“But not too short,” Teague said.
Why was he so concerned about her hair?
Justine and Teague circled around her like she was on display.
Kate blushed, angry at his presumption that he had any say in how her hair looked, and way too pleased he thought it was a beautiful color. “Do I get a say in this?” Tonya would kill her when she found out someone else had messed with her ’do.
“Of course,” Teague said.
Justine wedged herself between them, being so skinny and all. She pushed her cropped red hair behind her ears, releasing a whiff of something that smelled stupidly expensive. “Kate.”
She knew that look; she used it on students complaining of a stomachache before finals. Nice try, sister.
“Kate, I don’t know how this unorthodox relationship blossomed, but if you care about Teague and his career, then you need to understand that the press expects his girlfriends to have a certain . . . look. A certain style. I hope you can cooperate with us.” She smiled again, like it hurt to move her lips. Which it probably did. They were way too puffy to belong to that little body.
Kate plucked a piece of fruit from the counter and handed it to her. “Would you like an apple, darlin’?” she asked, sweet as pie.
Justine winced. “Are you going to cooperate with us?”
Kate sat back, closed her eyes, and bit into the fruit. Wave the white flag already, she was surrounded, outnumbered, defeated—done. “Fine. Like Teague said. Cut it a little, but don’t change it too much.”
By the time she was trimmed, plucked, powdered and polished, she thought she looked like her long-lost, sophisticated twin sister. Teague had watched the whole thing, just to make it extra super-duper fun. Kate saw him behind her in the huge wrought iron mirror in the living room, looking at her. She wondered what he saw.
“Quite an improvement,” Justine said, walking over with an armful of gowns. “Now, we need to get you properly dressed.” She motioned for her to take off her clothes.
“Right here?” Kate looked at Teague, who sprouted a big smile.
Justine snorted. “What? It’s not like you’re showing him anything he hasn’t seen.”
Oh no, girlfriend, the horse has not
Perfectly coy. She tucked the card into her pocket. When she was serving the clam linguine special a month from now, she’d need some proof to convince herself this had all really happened. She braced herself against the dark granite countertop and wondered what next?
“Do you like them?”
She looked up at Teague, who was all smiles and hotness. Damn him . “Perfect diversion for the press.” She motioned toward all the strangers in the kitchen, with its terra cotta tile floor and gleaming stainless steel appliances that looked like they’d never been used. The kitchen, dining room, and living room in Mama’s house would probably all fit in this one room. What did one person do with so much space? But the space was filling up with strangers.
“Who are all these people?” she asked. Apparently it was going to take a small village to make small-town Kate Riley Hollywood ready.
Teague set his hands on her shoulders. “I think you’ll be a lot happier the next time the press catches us together.”
Trying to ignore the heat of his hands on her skin, she glared at him. But that only made him smile more, and that smile only made him look more gorgeous. She let out a little “hmph.”
A woman came at her with scissors and a smock. “Take a seat, this won’t hurt a bit. I’m Monica.”
Kate flopped down in a chair.
Monica rubbed Kate’s hair between her fingers. “What do you think about some highlights?”
“No,” Teague said. “I like her hair. It’s a beautiful color.”
“Well, we need to cut in a few layers, give it some movement,” said Justine, the slim stylist, coming up behind them. Kate wanted to offer her a snack so she wouldn’t disappear into thin air before this whole makeover thing was done.
“But not too short,” Teague said.
Why was he so concerned about her hair?
Justine and Teague circled around her like she was on display.
Kate blushed, angry at his presumption that he had any say in how her hair looked, and way too pleased he thought it was a beautiful color. “Do I get a say in this?” Tonya would kill her when she found out someone else had messed with her ’do.
“Of course,” Teague said.
Justine wedged herself between them, being so skinny and all. She pushed her cropped red hair behind her ears, releasing a whiff of something that smelled stupidly expensive. “Kate.”
She knew that look; she used it on students complaining of a stomachache before finals. Nice try, sister.
“Kate, I don’t know how this unorthodox relationship blossomed, but if you care about Teague and his career, then you need to understand that the press expects his girlfriends to have a certain . . . look. A certain style. I hope you can cooperate with us.” She smiled again, like it hurt to move her lips. Which it probably did. They were way too puffy to belong to that little body.
Kate plucked a piece of fruit from the counter and handed it to her. “Would you like an apple, darlin’?” she asked, sweet as pie.
Justine winced. “Are you going to cooperate with us?”
Kate sat back, closed her eyes, and bit into the fruit. Wave the white flag already, she was surrounded, outnumbered, defeated—done. “Fine. Like Teague said. Cut it a little, but don’t change it too much.”
By the time she was trimmed, plucked, powdered and polished, she thought she looked like her long-lost, sophisticated twin sister. Teague had watched the whole thing, just to make it extra super-duper fun. Kate saw him behind her in the huge wrought iron mirror in the living room, looking at her. She wondered what he saw.
“Quite an improvement,” Justine said, walking over with an armful of gowns. “Now, we need to get you properly dressed.” She motioned for her to take off her clothes.
“Right here?” Kate looked at Teague, who sprouted a big smile.
Justine snorted. “What? It’s not like you’re showing him anything he hasn’t seen.”
Oh no, girlfriend, the horse has not
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