Page 72 of Hottie on Her Shelf
“You’re like a kid insisting we include their half birthday in their age.”
“Specifics matter. Plus, you’ve never once objected to my mom making you a half-birthday cake.”
“Here’s a specific. You’re a naturally pretty woman.” The brush clattered onto the metal tray. Megan framed Hallie’s cheeks with her hands and beamed at her. “Period. By anyone’s standards, but you don’t embrace it.”
“It isn’t part of my persona. I’m a nerd. A booklover. And time spent shopping, or trying out new looks, or deciding on eyeshadow palettes, well, that’s all time that could be spent reading.” After all, her days were packed.
There was the book to read on the elliptical at the gym. The breakfast book. The lunch book. The self-improvement after-dinner book. And then the book to read before falling asleep. Hallie had barely fit it all in before this campaign.
Now, with her research and speechwriting and strategizing, she was down to a scant two books a day. And when she’d been with Fitz over the weekend, for the first time in her life, she’d gone an entire day without opening a book.
Okay, she’d skimmed a few lines in the vintage Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland with the embossed gold letters on the burgundy leather cover on the mantel, but that didn’t count as reading. It was merely appreciating the ambiance.
“You’re also a woman in the prime of her life.” Megan pinched her cheeks before returning to the foiling.
Flashing a smug grin, Hallie said, “My life’s pretty darned prime right now, thanks to you-know-who.” Of course she’d told Megan all about her romantic getaway with Fitz. No need to swear her to secrecy; the stakes were obvious.
“This has nothing to do with your super hot fling,” Megan whispered in her ear. “I approve, by the way.”
“Thought you might.” Megan spent an inordinate amount of time trying to talk Hallie into joining her in flirting with the cruise ship crew. Or into dancing with a good-looking tourist at the pub. Those things had never sounded as intriguing as heading home to finish her current read.
Fitz, however… She didn’t want to read a book while she was with him. He was plenty fascinating and fun and enough for Hallie.
“I’ve been pushing a makeover all this time for your own self-esteem, so you know you look as good as you possibly can.” Megan flourished her comb at the mirror. “So that every time you walk by a window or a mirror, you see a woman at the top of her game. What if you were a book?”
Hallie buried her nose in the glass of sauvignon blanc. “I’d smell better than I do right now.”
After an appreciative snort, Megan rolled on. “You’ve ranted a zillion times about how the cover matters. The synopsis on the back—”
“The blurb,” she interrupted. “Do you not listen to me at all?”
“Whatever. I’m about to prove that I do. The blurb can be great and the reviews can be outstanding, but you say that the cover needs to pop to really sell it.”
Hallie did say that. Constantly. It was the only way to catch random browsers, whether in person or online.
Now she got it. There was an instantaneous flip from hating the makeover to realizing she both needed and wanted it. “For goodness sake, Megan. Why didn’t you put it in book terms from the start?”
“We’re sprucing you up for you. Not to win a man, but to win an election.” She brandished the color brush overhead in a Statue of Liberty pose. Impressively, without a single drip. “Because the cover matters to catch the eye of the random voter. You’ve got to put in the effort.”
It sounded like the time in the salon chair wasn’t all Megan had planned. Sure, she was pro-makeover now. However, it’d already been an hour. An entire hour without a book in her hand. Or her phone, rendering her unable to text Fitz. “Isn’t it enough that you’re putting in the effort today?”
“No. Think long-term, Hallie. You’ve got to do your hair and makeup and wear the outfits Ana and Randall are picking up for you.”
That was new information. Hallie didn’t like the sound of it one bit.
Ana’s style was Goth biker chick—which always looked incongruous in her shop surrounded by leather-bound first editions. And Randall was…bright. Bright colors, bright patterns. How could they be trusted to choose appropriately conservative and professional looks for a political candidate?
“Nobody said they were dressing me up like a Barbie doll.”
“Because we thought it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
Knowing them, she wasn’t surprised, but it was still presumptuous. And, in a backward way, highlighted even more that she might live in Swan Cove, but had the finances of a Crow Harbor native. “I appreciate the thought, but you’d better text them and call it off. My budget can’t handle a complete wardrobe redo.”
“We know.” Megan squeezed her shoulder beneath the black cape. “We’re each buying you an outfit as our contribution to your campaign.”
“Now I can’t be so much as peeved. That’s incredibly generous. Thoughtful. Sweet. You’re all wonderful.” Hallie sniffed. Blinked in triple time to avoid being that woman who bawled in the salon.
“You know what?” The woman in the chair next to her leaned over, despite the stylist holding a comb and curling iron in her thin helmet of gray hair. “You go ahead and text your friends, Megan. Tell ’em to add another outfit to the pile. On me.”
