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Naughty girls look the part.
“I just want something different.”
“Be more specific, please.”
“I’m not exactly sure what,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m placing myself in your capable hands. I want a new look.”
Julienne expected exultation, or enthusiasm at the very least. After all, Ramón had been after her for the entire five years of their acquaintance to do something…anything with her hair.
But he only eyed her skeptically above the slices of black eyeglass frames resting low on his nose.
“How new?”
“New-new. Just not anything too short or too crazy.”
He circled her slowly, assessing, reminding her of Uncle Thad whenever he stepped inside an old building to assess the construction of walls and decorative moldings for restoration.
“What prompted this sudden need for a new you?”
“I just turned thirty.”
“Okay, a milestone birthday. What else?”
“What do you mean ‘what else’?”
He frowned.
“I’m just ready for a change.” She wasn’t about to tell him the truth.
“Does this sudden inspiration have anything to do with Dr. Whiteside?”
“Ramón, what kind of question is that?”
“A personal one I need an answer to, before I’ll touch my scissors to this mop you’ve been growing forever.” He sniffed haughtily. “Once I cut into the length, it’ll take decades to grow back out if you don’t like it. I don’t have the patience to listen to you sob the whole time.”
“Oh.”
She could understand caution. She’d lived a whole life filled with it. And she really had no reason to be uncomfortable about fessing up to Ramón. He’d been styling her hair ever since Ethan had insisted she make an appointment with his stylist. Besides…
Naughty girls feel good about feeling naughty.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Ethan does factor in a little. We called off our engagement six months ago and I’m ready to move on with my life. I’m ready to head in a new direction.”
Curiosity finally sparked in Ramón’s expression, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the back of the chair, his face so close she could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave mingling with powerful traces of permanent wave solution from an earlier client. “A new direction, hmm? How new?”
“New-new. I plan to enjoy myself.”
There, you said it and you didn’t even blush. See, girl, twenty-one days of self-hypnosis are paying off.
“You’re booked in for the whole day,” Ramón said. “You want more than just a new hairstyle, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Facial, makeup and image consultation? The works?”
She nodded again.
Ramón bolted upright as if he’d been shot from a gun, making Julienne jump in the chair.
“Celeste, round up the troops,” he bellowed toward the front of the salon. “Jules’ll be leaving here a new woman.”
A new woman! That’s exactly what you want to be. Now sit back and enjoy the transformation.
Julienne didn’t have a chance to sit back and enjoy anything before being herded into a dressing room, instructed to strip out of her suit and don a black salon overcoat.
The troops arrived. Kathy the skincare specialist and makeup artist. Stephanie with the body spa. Judith, the salon’s colorist, though Ramón assured her he’d be doing her color himself. She already knew Katriona, the six-foot-two manicurist, who dripped gold spandex and flaunted her cake makeup and razor-stubbled cheeks proudly.
“Well, hey, sister,” she said. “What’s this Ramón said about real nails? Tell me you’re finally giving up that modish farmhand look you’ve been sporting since the dawn of time.”
To Katriona real nails meant acrylic and lots of it, along with sparkly gems, traffic-stopping colors and gold jewelry that resembled Barbie-doll sized nose rings.
“Just something feminine for tonight. I can’t wear them too long or I won’t be able to work. I’ve got my interns taking samples at a one hundred and thirty-six-year-old church this week.”
“Fascinating, I’m sure,” Katriona said in a decidedly bored drawl. “But what’s happening tonight? Something more lively than scraping paint chips off rotting floorboards, I hope.”
“The closing performance at the Risqué Theatre.”
“The Risqué?” Ramón asked, his fingers coming to a sudden halt in her braid. “You’re joking.”
“No,” she said, unsure why he was so surprised. “The Risqué Theatre is a building of architectural and historical significance. I’ve been there lots of times.”
“With your uncle?”
The subject matter performed at the Risqué was on the racy side for her sweet, but whole-other-generation uncle. “Ah, no.”
“I know you didn’t go with Dr. Whiteside.” Ramón frowned. “I can’t imagine him stepping foot inside the place no matter how architecturally or historically significant it is. The Risquéisan erotic theater, Jules. I’ve seen performances there that made my hair curl.”
A feat in itself, given that as far as she could tell his perfectly coiffed hair looked as smooth as a pin. While Julienne had never attended any hair-curling performances herself, she’d seen some very provocative ones. “Well, um, I usually go by myself.”
Ramón relinquished his grip on her braid and motioned to his crew with a smug smile. “Jules, sweetheart, that man was the root of all your troubles. I am so happy you’ve finally broken free. Once we get you a new look, we’re going to have to work on getting you a new guy.”
Julienne had a new guy in mind, but she didn’t intend to share that with Ramón and company. Which was just as well since Ramón began conferring with his crew again in a rush of instructions that made her head spin.
They circled her. They freed her almost waist-length hair from its braid. They held swatches to her cheeks and discussed color choices. They generally consulted on her new look.
Ramón reassured her with a smile but Julienne mentally chanted her key phrases and breathed like she’d sprinted a quick mile by the time they’d arrived back at his station. He issued orders like a drill sergeant to an assistant, who opened tubes of haircolor and mixed various thick pastes in bowls.
“I’m going to do a little highlighting and lowlighting to frame your face.”
She wasn’t sure what lowlighting was, but she knew highlighting well enough to ask, “You’re not making me blond, are you?”
“Perish the thought.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re a natural auburn, Jules. Way too red to ever lift you through all the brass. And I don’t do brassy blondes, thank you. Think subtle strands of deeper and lighter red woven around your face. Think naturally enhancing this incredible color. Think everyone who sees you will ask what genius did your hair and you’ll give her one of my cards.” He winked and reached for a thin sheet of foil. “I’ll make sure Celeste sends you home with a stack.”
Julienne laughed, all nervousness about her hair fading away, but in its wake came an unsettling thought. “Ramón, does Ethan still get his hair cut here?”
“Mmm, hmm,” he replied around the long-tailed comb he currently clamped between pursed lips.
Julienne took that to mean yes. “You’d never… I mean, you wouldn’t repeat anything we discussed—”
He flipped the comb out of his mouth and speared it into her hair with a ruthlessness that made her wince. “I’m quieter than your confessor. Trust me. Just because I take the man’s money doesn’t mean I like him. It’s business, and he’s a good tipper, especially at Christmas. Did you know he books his next appointment before he even walks out the door?”
“Organization was always one of his strengths.”
“I’m all for a little chaos myself, but I’m glad he referred you to me. I’m tremendously fond of you, and Uncle Thad. I knew one day you’d come to your senses….”
Julienne wasn’t exactly sure dabbling in self-hypnosis and letting Ramón renovate her from the ground up could be classified as sensible, but she’d spent the past twenty-one days preparing to put her plan into action. Tonight was the big night, her debut as a woman daring, beautiful and confident enough to catch a hot-blooded man’s attention.
The Naughty Handbook called it starting off with a bang, jumping feetfirst into her future as a woman who enjoyed her sensuality and made no apologies for it. A healthy sexual appetite was a natural, healthy thing.
Naughty girls have the courage to explore their desires.
But no matter how often she chanted key phrases and practiced suggestibility techniques, Julienne knew she could never start off with a bang by flirting with a total stranger. Uncle Thad was a very noble gentleman from another era and Julienne had lived with him since she’d been barely six years old. He’d raised her to be a moral, upstanding, good girl, and while she appreciated his efforts in shaping the woman she’d become, she had some work to do putting good into perspective.
She’d flirt tonight, but within comfortable parameters. Nicholas Fairfax wasn’t a stranger. Not exactly. Though she’d never met the man, she’d read every article and treatise he’d ever written. She’d studied his work so much that she could identify his subtle, yet aggressive technique on any building at a glance. She knew his credentials as a nationally recognized expert in the historic preservation field, every board he’d ever served on—and he’d served on many—and every lecture he’d ever given.
But she hadn’t known a thing about his personal life until his appointment last year to the President’s Advisory Council, a federal agency that oversaw and advised on all national historic preservation matters.
His presidential appointment had placed him under the media’s scrutiny and she’d learned that the founder of the renowned Architectural Design Firm, one of the largest preservation organizations on the West Coast, was not only a brilliant and ambitious architect, but an incredibly virile man.
If she could believe one-tenth of what the papers reported, the man she’d revered for his architectural brilliance was a naughty boy personified. And lucky for her, this naughty boy had accepted the commission to renovate the Risqué Theatre and would arrive for the closing performance tonight.
To her knowledge—and Julienne believed herself very knowledgeable about Nicholas Fairfax’s work—he’d never renovated any buildings in Savannah, which meant his black book might not be all filled up when he got off the plane.
She wanted her phone number to be his first entry.
Julienne knew she’d never catch a naughty boy’s attention looking the way she did now. Not that there was anything wrong with her looks. She’d always been very grateful for her natural, easily maintained appearance. But she’d never exactly been a fashion plate. Once she and Uncle Thad had settled in Savannah, she’d led the life of a busy student and an academic. She’d always leaned toward the conservative and hadn’t had the impetus to change.
Until now.
She clung to that thought through the color and shampoo process, a facial, a manicure and pedicure.
But when the first strands of hair to hit the floor were well over a foot long, Julienne’s anticipation veered sharply toward worry. “You won’t make it too short, will you?”
“Of course not.” Ramón exhaled sharply with impatience, spinning her chair so she faced away from the mirrors. “Don’t wig on me now, Jules, because you’ll look ridiculous if I stop. I’m only layering your hair to put some shape around your face. You won’t miss what I take off, trust me.”
Relax, girl. He’s brilliant and you know it, otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting in his chair.
Julienne tried not to cringe as the next chunk of hair hit the floor with a wet plop. She closed her eyes to shut out the stimuli of the busy salon. After all, her one-length hair had never been as much a styling preference as it had been a necessity.
Working in the field with Uncle Thad had taken them to some pretty remote parts of the globe, where regularly scheduled haircuts hadn’t been available. More often than not, schools hadn’t been available and as a result, her uncle and his crew had tutored her until she’d entered college. She’d only worn her hair one length because the style had been easy to pull back into a presentable ponytail. A comfortable style and since Julienne was officially done with comfortable…
“What kind of product do you have at home?” Ramón asked.
“I buy whatever you tell me to buy.” Eager-to-please Julienne. But no more. Opening her eyes, she resisted the urge to turn her head and peek in the mirrors.
“Shampoo, finishing rinse and an ends’ conditioner. That’s not enough. You need gel, mousse and spray now that you have shape, sweetheart. Celeste,” he called out and the tolerant receptionist hurried through the salon to join them. “Put a care package together for Jules. Basic styling products. Oh, and throw in some of the hair glitter, too. Pearlescent.”
“Pearlescent hair glitter?” Julienne asked.
“New-new, remember?” Shooing Celeste off, he poured a glob of what she presumed to be styling gel into his palm. “If you’re inhabiting places like the Risqué, you’ll need hair glitter, trust me. Now tell me what you’re wearing tonight.”
“I figured I’d decide after I saw the new me.”
“Tell me about the choices.”
As Ramón styled, Julienne told him about her formal-length black sheath and green velvet taffeta.
“I don’t like those,” he yelled over the roar of the blow dryer, motioning her to lean forward and put her head between her legs while he flipped the—gratefully—still considerable mass of hair over her head. “What else do you have?”
“A caviar-beaded skirt set.”
“What color?”
“Black.”
He snorted. “I thought you said you’d attended performances at the Risqué before. Sounds like all you do is go to funerals.”
Julienne might have scowled if she’d stood a chance of being seen, but as she was buried beneath damp hair with the blood rushing to her head, she could only correct him. “Black is a classic color for formal functions, not the only color I own. I have a pale-pink sequined ball gown I wore to a New Year’s party, but I think it would be too much for tonight.”
The blow dryer abruptly cut off and suddenly the curtain of hair parted to reveal Ramón peering at her upside down.
“Can you make time to visit Leona’s Boutique next door? She’ll have something that won’t make you look like Cinderella on her way to the ball.”
Julienne nodded. Cinderella in a ball gown was not a look to start her off with a bang. The time had apparently come to expand her wardrobe.
Naughty girls dress the part.
She’d read that in The Naughty Handbook, too, and tried to imagine what types of styles would be suitable for the new her, but as she hadn’t actually seen the new her yet…
“I’m a bloody genius.”
Ramón spun her chair around to face the mirrors with a triumphant laugh, and for a split second, Julienne didn’t recognize the woman staring back.
A cloud of hair, incredible hair, floated around her face, tumbled down her shoulders and reached halfway down her back in a mane of tousled waves. The subtle color change gave her hair a sunlight glint, which cast her skin with a creamy glow that couldn’t possibly be natural. And her face. Suddenly her cheekbones seemed less austere, her features not quite so sharp. She looked somehow softer…and a whole lot sexier with all that hair waving around her face.
“You are a bloody genius,” was all she could say.
He actually bowed with a grand sweep of his arm. “Remember that when Celeste gives you my bill. But the best is…” he lifted some of the fringy pieces around her face to reveal her scalp. “The foil technique I used means your regrowth will be so natural you’ll barely notice.”
