Escape for Valentine's: Beauty and the Billionaire / Her One and Only Valentine / The Girl Next Door

“That you were painting your living room instead of working.”

“See that?” she gestured to the brushes, paint cans and tarps. “All evidence points to exactly the same thing. I am, in fact, painting my living room.”

“She also told me you haven’t taken a day off in eight years.”

Sinclair dipped the brush in the can on the ladder and stroked along the top of the wall. “Meaning I’m due.”

“Meaning you’re upset.”

“A girl can’t get upset?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened?”

“Nothing much.” The important thing now was to get the painting done, then go in tomorrow and see if her plan had worked.

“Do I have to come up there and get you?”

She laughed, dabbing the brush hard against the masking tape in the corner. “Now that would be interesting.”

“Quit messing around, Sinclair.”

She sighed in defeat. Being micromanaged was embarrassing. “You want to know?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Hunter. “I want to know.”

“Roger gave Chantal my Valentine’s Day ball files. She needed to review them because, apparently, we’ve all recognized her talents.”

“We have?”

Sinclair dipped the brush again. “Therefore, she’s ready to be the PR assistant. No. Wait. I think she’s ready to be the PR manager.”

“What exactly did Roger say?”

“Not much. He just gave her the files. He seems hell-bent on involving her in every aspect of my job.”

“Oh.”

There was something in Hunter’s tone.

Sinclair stopped painting and looked down. “What?”

He took a breath then paused.

“What?” she repeated.

“There’s something we should discuss.”

“You know what’s going on?”

“Maybe.”

Sinclair took a step down the ladder. “Hunter?”

He dropped his arms to his sides. “I have a theory. It’s only a theory.”

She climbed the rest of the way down. “What is it?”

Hunter took the brush from her hand, setting it on the paint tray just before it dripped on the floor. “Chantal asked if you used the mousse.”

He lifted the shopping bag. “I think that might be what Roger’s picking up on. Chantal’s, well, pizzazz.”

A sick feeling slid into Sinclair’s stomach.

Roger thought Chantal knew better than Sinclair?

Hunter thought Chantal knew better than Sinclair?

“You have to admit,” Hunter continued. “She’s the demographic Luscious Lavender is targeting.”

“You sure you want to keep on talking?”

“We both know she’s not you. We both know you’re smart and talented and hard-working.”

“Well, thank you for that.”

He opened the bag to reveal the full gamut of Luscious Lavender products. “I think you should try these out. See what you think, maybe—”

“Right. Because all my problems will be solved by a good shampoo and mousse.” Her problem wasn’t a bad hair day. It was the fact that Roger, and maybe Hunter, too, preferred beauty over brains.

Hunter attempted a grin. “Don’t forget waxing.”

She reached down for the paintbrush. “I’m forgetting all of it.”

“Will you at least hear me out?”

“No.” Without thinking she waved the brush for emphasis, and paint splattered on the front of his suit.

Her eyes went wide in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she quickly blurted out.

“Forget it.”

“But I ruined your suit.” She could only imagine how much it had cost.

“I said to forget it.”

How was she supposed to hang on to her moral outrage when he was being a gentleman?

“It’s more than just a good shampoo,” he said. “It’s about relating to your customers. Having your customers relate to you.”