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But Jo the stylist had a whole closet full of clothes that didn’t happen to fit at the moment. And she and Noel were the same size. Noel collected her cell phone and made the fashion equivalent of a 911 call.
“I need wardrobe assistance,” she said, hardly giving Jo time to answer.
“The rats didn’t work?”
“No. And he’s over at Mrs. Bing’s right now, making her an offer she probably can’t refuse.”
“That sucks. Hey, if you need a place to stay while you’re looking for a new house, you can stay with me.”
“That’s really nice of you,” Noel said, “but I intend to stay here. I’m going to talk him out of buying my house.”
“Sounds like it’s too late for that.”
Deep down, Noel had the awful suspicion that her friend was right. “I’ve got to try. Maybe I can convince him to take back his offer.”
“Ah, so when you say wardrobe assistance, you’re thinking wardrobe malfunction.”
“Nothing that extreme,” Noel said. A vision of sexy Ben Fordham tugging at her top and setting a boob free à la Janet Jackson set her face (and other body parts) on fire. Oh, no. We’re on a mission. We’re not going to think about costume malfunctions and sexy men with brown eyes and a black heart. And she certainly wasn’t going to think about those big, strong-looking hands. He probably had big...everything.
Whew! Had Mrs. Bing turned up the thermostat? She walked over to check it. Nope, still set on sixty-eight. So the only thermostat getting turned up was hers. “I just want something sexy. I know you’ve got a lot of great stuff in your closet and we’re the same size.”
“We were, once upon a time, before I morphed into a whale,” Jo said. “Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning. I can fix you up.”
Fix you up, fixer-upper. Yes, she was the human equivalent of a fixer-upper. Her work wardrobe consisted of pajama bottoms and old sweaters, and even when she dressed up no one ever stopped her and asked where she got that cute...anything. No wonder Jo had suggested going to the mall.
“You just need some polishing,” she told herself. Hopefully, Jo could get her good and polished. A hot look combined with a bribe...that might be enough to melt Ben Fordham’s cold, cold heart.
Riley came over to pick up the rats the next morning, and when she learned about Noel’s scheduled makeover, invited herself along. “I don’t have anything else going on,” she said, and her lower lip wobbled.
“It’s okay. You will,” Noel assured her. “We’re going to have a great Christmas and a fabulous New Year’s no matter what.” Even if they were manless and homeless. Don’t think about that!
So, not thinking, Noel drove to Jo’s place, Riley and the rats following behind.
Jo took in Noel’s ancient coat, sweatpants and Uggs when she and Riley walked through the door and frowned. “Does your mommy know you’re out looking like this?” she said, and hauled Noel inside and upstairs to her bedroom, where her bed was covered with all manner of sartorial delights—camisoles, Victoria’s Secret bras and panties, jeans, leggings, blouses, jewelry, tops, sweaters, dresses.
“Better than Nordstrom, huh?” Riley cracked.
“I only need one outfit,” Noel said.
“No, you need a wardrobe. Take off those disgusting clothes.”
Noel obliged, and Jo began grabbing sweaters and blouses and holding them up to her. “No, no, not that... No, not sexy enough... Hmm, might be too small. Oh, yes!” she finally said after holding up a black, bell-sleeved winter top with a sweetheart neckline accented with crocheting around the neck. The crocheting also served as straps. Noel put it on and saw that it left her shoulders exposed and also allowed a peek at her cleavage. “That should do for starters.” Jo handed Noel some tight jeans. “Now, try these on.”
“Maybe we’re not the same size, after all,” Noel said, struggling into them.
“We are. You’re just used to pajamas,” she said, eyeing Noel’s discarded sweatpants with revulsion. “Honestly, I didn’t know they even made those anymore.”
They probably didn’t. Noel had found hers at a thrift store a couple of years ago. “I don’t wear them when we’re out doing things,” she protested.
“You shouldn’t wear them at all. And the way you dress when we’re all out doing things is barely a step above.”
She’d heard that from Jo on more than one occasion.
“It’s okay,” Riley consoled her. “She says stuff like that to me, too.”
“I only speak the truth,” Jo said, frowning at her sister’s jeans and tennis shoes.
As the oldest, Jo had tried to guide them. Maybe they were unguidable.
Noel zipped up the pants and Jo studied her carefully. “Oh, yes,” she said, nodding. “Now you’re starting to look like something this goon might want for Christmas.” She snatched up a pair of gold, chandelier earrings. “Put these on.”
Noel hesitated. “Isn’t that a little, um...”
“No, it’s not. Put them on,” Jo commanded. Noel obliged and she smiled approvingly. “Oh, yeah. Sizzle, sizzle.”
“Sizzle, sizzle is right,” Riley agreed. Jo turned Noel around so she could check herself out in the full-length mirror.
“Oh, my,” Noel said with a smile.
“Just what every man wants on his tool belt,” Jo murmured. “Now, your feet.”
“I can wear those black boots we bought.”
Jo nodded. “That’ll do.” She pointed at the Uggs. “No, wait. Put those back on. They might work. Anyway, you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
Noel obliged, and Jo nodded again. “Actually, that’s kind of buff and sexy. I think they’ll be fine, for the first encounter, anyway. You can wear the boots another time. Now,” she said, turning back to the pile of clothes on the bed, “what about the outfit for your second encounter?”
Noel wasn’t sure there’d be a second encounter. She wasn’t even sure she could pull off a first encounter. Jo handed her a simple white shirt.
“This,” she said. “And leggings.” She picked up a pair of patterned black leggings. “And the boots.”
“How about this necklace?” Riley suggested, holding up a chunky stone number.
“Definitely. Third encounter wear the heels and this dress.” She handed Noel a black dress with a scoop neck. “Redheads look great in black.”
More jewelry, a Victoria’s Secret bra, a black cashmere sweater, a white blouse—a wardrobe basic according to Jo—a little faux fur-trimmed jacket and Noel was in business. “Thanks,” she said as they loaded her new wardrobe into the back of her car. “I really appreciate this.”
“They’re just hanging in my closet all sad and lonely,” Jo said. “They may as well be out there doing some good. And I hope they do,” she added and hugged Noel. “Wear the coat when you go see him, but make sure you shed it the second you’re in his office. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“And don’t forget to wear makeup. And perfume.”
Perfume. Oh, yeah. That. She had a bit of Viva La Juicy left.
So, she was going to look good, smell good, and bring something good as a bribe. Hopefully, by putting her best foot forward, she could impress him enough to convince him to reconsider buying her house.
She frowned, remembering his comment about price points. Bah, humbug!
Sunday afternoon she made her way to beautiful downtown Whispering Pines in search of the perfect wine for a house thief. Thanksgiving weekend kicked off the holiday shopping season, and it appeared that every business in town (including ones that often closed on Sundays) was open. She passed her favorite bakery, Hey, Cupcake, as quickly as possible, averting her gaze from the display of holiday treats. She’d indulged in eggnog at Jo’s, and Riley, who was in a manic baking phase, had brought her M&M cookies when she came to collect the rats. If she didn’t turn off the eating machine, she’d eat herself right out of Jo’s wardrobe before she even had a chance to use it.
She did stop by Wilton’s Hardware Store to pick up a few replacement bulbs for her Christmas lights. Mr. Wilton, Jo’s father-in-law, was behind the counter and gave her a friendly hello as she approached. He had circles under his eyes and she noticed he took in a deep breath while ringing up her sale, as if he was trying to draw in extra energy. She knew the signs of overwork. She’d done that to herself a few times, staying up late at night working on illustrations for her Marvella books, trying to meet her deadline. She wondered how old he was. Her dad’s age? Older? He had some gray hairs and wrinkles. Did he want to retire?
“Men never want to retire,” Dad often said. Poor Dad.
“Hey, Darrel, what are you doing still hanging around?” called an older man as he entered the store. “Thought you’d be in Hawaii.”
“With a grandkid about to arrive? Are you kidding?” Mr. Wilton called back. “Anyway, who’s got time?” he added with a shrug and a wink for Noel.
“Looks like you’re busy,” she said. The place was full of people, buying everything from chain saws to mechanical reindeer.
“Always,” he said. “And it looks like you’re going to be busy hanging Christmas lights, young lady.” He gave back her credit card.
Young lady, code for I don’t remember your name. Hardly surprising, considering how many people came into the store. She’d been there with Jo a couple of times, but other than that she only came to buy seeds and fertilizer for her flowers from the nursery section. And Christmas lights, of course.
“I like dressing my home for the holidays,” she said, and hoped this wouldn’t be her last Christmas there.
“Be careful hanging them,” he cautioned as he handed over her purchase. “Better yet, send your boyfriend up on that ladder.”
She smiled and nodded as if she did, indeed, have a boyfriend to send up a ladder.
“Us guys are expendable.”
Not as far as Noel was concerned. She thanked him and left with her purchases. Next stop, Cheese and Wine.
She entered the shop and was almost overwhelmed by the huge selection of wines for sale. One corner had a refrigerated case displaying a variety of cheeses, and boxes of crackers surrounded artfully displayed gift baskets on a table in the center of the shop.
Several customers were browsing. One woman was gobbling little cheese bits from a tray of samples. A large man in an overcoat, carrying his purchase in a tall bag, brushed past Noel. She walked over to a shelf and tried to pretend she knew what she was doing.
“May I help you?”
Noel gave a start and turned to see a pencil-thin middle-aged woman, all dressed in black, her dark hair pulled into an elegant upswept style. She looked like a transplant from Paris. Noel took in the cashmere sweater and wool slacks, the simple gold jewelry and black heels. Another Jo Wilton. And here she was in yoga pants, her favorite ratty sweater and an old coat. She hadn’t wanted to waste any of her borrowed finery on a quick run downtown. Now she wished she had.
“I need a bottle of wine,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Did you want a red or a white?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t really drink it.”
This brought a look of disdain from the woman, but she quickly covered it with a smile. “We have some very affordable ones over here,” she said, moving Noel to the wine equivalent of a low-rent district. The way Noel was dressed, the woman probably thought she couldn’t afford much of anything. The woman probably thought right.
“Can I get something decent for twenty dollars?” Noel asked. She preferred to spend ten, but that might look cheap. A cheap bribe wouldn’t be good.
“I think so,” said the woman.
“Never be afraid to seek advice when you need it,” Mom always said.
“This is a gift. For a man. Would you recommend red or white?”
“You can’t go wrong with a nice red. We have some lovely ones from Walla Walla as well as the Yakima Valley.”
“Would you pick one for me?” Noel asked.
“Of course.” The woman plucked a bottle from the shelf. “Here’s a cab from Chateau Ste. Michelle, one of the oldest wineries in Washington. It has plenty of complexity and structure.”
And it was in her price range. “I’ll take it.”
The woman rang up the wine and put it in a cheery red bag with the shop’s gold logo. Perfect. Armed with wine and Jo’s new clothes, Noel would be a force to reckon with.
She hoped.
Monday morning she showered, washed and straightened her hair, put on makeup, and donned her man-killer clothes. Then, with the wine in tow and sprayed with enough perfume that he’d be able to smell her coming for miles, she drove downtown to the office of Fordham Enterprises. A big red truck sat in front of the building, just the kind of vehicle a construction guy would drive. So Ben Fordham was in the building.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her red bag and went into the enemy camp. The first-floor offices were occupied by the Realtor and the escrow company. The second floor held two offices. The name on one door read Elegant Interiors. The other was Fordham Enterprises.
She entered Ben Fordham’s domain and found that he had a guard on duty, a secretary. When Noel envisioned calling on Mr. House Thief, she hadn’t taken into consideration that she’d have to go through a secretary to get to him. She should’ve, though. Now, what to do? The woman was smiling politely but her eyes said, You look like competition, so I already don’t like you.
The secretary was only visible from the waist up, but Noel could tell that she’d also been to the Jo Wilton School of Fashion. She was wearing a very professional white blouse similar to the one Jo had lent Noel, and she’d gotten the memo about leaving it unbuttoned low enough to advertise. She wore a fancy gold necklace to fill in the gap and keep the professional vibe going. Her hair was an expensive shade of blond, complete with highlights and she, too, was wearing perfume. It wafted over to where Noel stood hesitating and smacked her in the face.
Was she a girlfriend or simply a girlfriend wannabe? More to the point, how was Noel going to get this wine to Ben the Bad Boy? If only Marvella would materialize and haul this fake blonde off her chair and out of the office.
“May I help you?” the secretary asked, her tone of voice adding, Not.
“I’m here to see Mr. Fordham.”
A delicately penciled eyebrow shot up. “Do you have an appointment?”
Crud. She was sunk. Now what? Get in touch with your inner Jo. What would Jo do? Noel raised her chin. “No, I don’t, but when I saw him last night he said to stop by.”
She was lying! Mom always said nothing good ever came of lying. But this was just a half lie. She had seen him a couple of nights before, so why quibble over details? And what man, if he knew he was going to get a bottle of wine, wouldn’t tell a woman to stop by?
The guard-secretary frowned. “Have a seat,” she said. “May I tell him who’s here?”
The woman whose house he’s trying to take.
Marvella arrived on the scene. Don’t frown. She’ll think you’re competition and that’ll set off her bitch alarm.
The red bag was most likely already doing that, but Noel pasted a smile on her face. “Noel,” she said and perched on the edge of a fake leather seat, part of a grouping of fake leather seats around a large coffee table strewn with magazines about home improvement. Would he remember her name? If he did, would he refuse to see her? “With his wine,” she added. That might intrigue him enough to lure him out.
The guard called the inner sanctum. “There’s a Noel here to see you.”
“With wine,” Noel prompted her.
“With wine,” the blonde said and scowled.
A moment later the door to the inner sanctum opened and out stepped Ben Fordham himself. He wore jeans and boots and a casual plaid shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He raised both eyebrows inquisitively at the sight of Noel. She probably had about one minute before he informed her that he had an important meeting or an appointment with the devil about interest payments on the soul he was selling.
Noel jumped up from her seat and quickly moved in Ben’s direction. “I thought I might find you here,” she said, keeping her voice light and friendly. Just one house-lover visiting another.
