arched a brow at her. “You work with celebrities?”
“Sometimes. I’m a personal consultant. I help them look, act and sound better.” A fib, not an outright lie. She had helped her friend Liza get ready for that audition. Liza had nabbed the part, so surely that counted.
Brad started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until Parris was quite tempted to shove him off the pier and leave him for the sharks. “What’s so funny?”
“You. Helping people. What do you do? Bully them?”
“For your information, my clients are very happy with my services. I have many success stories.” Okay, that one was an outright lie. She’d barely worked in the business since her father had turned Hammond Events and Consulting over to her and Jackie. But she was sure, given the right chance, she could do a good job. Probably. “I could even make you over. Not that it wouldn’t be a challenge, but—”
Brad took a step forward until he was inches away from her. Up close, he didn’t look so bad dripping wet. His clothes clung to him, accenting every plane and muscle. She’d been wrong about his lack of manliness. If anything, he was more male than any man she’d ever known. Too bad he drove her up a wall.
He pointed at her chest. “You are the most aggravating woman I have ever met.”
Give a man some beauty tips and he turns on you. “And you have all the personality of a wolverine.”
He glowered at her. She glowered back.
Brad opened his mouth to speak again, but Parris wasn’t going to listen to another personal attack. She’d had quite enough of that, thank you very much. She thrust out her arms and shoved him as hard as she could.
Too late, the words he’d started to speak permeated the anger in her mind and she realized he’d been saying he was sorry. Before she could do anything to stop it, he stumbled back, arms wheeling, and fell into the Gulf.
Again.
Whoops. Not the best way to repay him for rescuing her.
Parris peeked over the pier and caught Brad’s reddened face and narrowed eyes. His ball cap had fallen off his head and was floating away, just out of reach.
He didn’t seem sorry anymore. In fact, he looked pretty mad. From the boat, Gigi let out several barks.
“Do you, ah, need some help getting out of there?”
“Not from you!” He started swimming for the ladder.
“Listen, I’m really sorry. I acted without thinking. If there’s any way I can ever make it up to you—”
His answering glare told her he wasn’t interested in any favors. Probably better to leave. She had a feeling he didn’t want her within ten feet of him right now.
“Well, thanks for the ride. And hey, look at the bright side,” Parris said. “If a squid happens by, you’ll be in the right place!”
Chapter Two
Brad Smith wasn’t a fisherman, but he was one of the few men Merry figured could stand toe-to-toe with Parris and win. She closed her magical cell phone, blessing the powers that allowed her to keep tabs on her matchmaking efforts from afar, and settled back in the deck chair.
Getting Parris a happy ending wasn’t an impossible task. But it wasn’t going to be an easy one, either. Still, she’d done quite well with Jackie and Steven, and Ruthie and Diego, who would be celebrating their marriage soon. Maybe this wasn’t out of her reach.
And maybe Miss Prissy Parris could learn a lesson or two about life, love and acceptance out of the whole thing. A real happy ending.
Yes, Bradford Smith and Parris Hammond. It could work. Right?
Brad stepped out of the shower and swiped the steam off the mirror. He stared at the reflection before him and realized a hard, sad truth. Parris Hammond had a point. One he’d done a good job of ignoring until she’d gone and brought it up.
There wasn’t a hell of a lot of difference between Brad the sea-roughened marine biologist and Brad the cleaned-up version. He still looked like something that had washed up at low tide with the kelp and dead crabs.
Aw, hell. The meeting with the research foundation was only ten days away. His research was good and solid, the specimens he’d collected well preserved, but the biologist…well, Brad had to admit he’d gotten a little rough around the edges lately.
He rubbed his beard. Okay, a lot. Jeez, no wonder Parris Hammond had recoiled from him like a third-grader from brussels sprouts.
Problem was, Brad wasn’t the kind of guy who cared a hell of a lot about appearances. His own or other people’s. Hell, he worked with squid all day. That alone was a clue to his regard for the company he kept. If there was an uglier animal on the planet, he’d yet to see it. But it had been enough to garner a comment from Parris, so maybe it was time he did something about himself.
He left the bathroom of the studio apartment connected to his research offices and went into the main lab. Jerry, his assistant, and the only one he could still afford to pay now that his first grant had just about run out, sat at the counter, making notations in the log.
“Jerry, tell me the truth. You think I need a little help in the, ah, appearance department?” Brad asked.
Jerry looked up from his work, cast a quick glance at Brad’s T-shirt and khakis and shrugged. “The squid don’t care what you look like and neither do I. Or are you asking me for some other reason?”
“Yeah. That research foundation thing. If I go in there, looking like this, I doubt they’ll take me seriously.”
The fish didn’t care if he showed up in a tux and tails or a duck costume when he went out to do his research. But if he went into the meeting with The National Aquatic Research Foundation looking like something Jacques Cousteau had dragged out of the depths, he had zero chance of getting that grant and continuing his funding. If there was anything a committee liked, it was a good-looking scientist they could parade in front of the media. That and someone who sounded like they were professional, on the ball—and ahead of the research curve.
“Well,” Jerry said, running a hand through his red hair. “You could use a new look.”
“What do you suggest? I chuck my wardrobe and go shopping for some black silk pants and bow ties?”
“Uh, I dunno. I’m not exactly the one to ask.” Jerry patted the front of his Real Men Belch T-shirt.
“I see your point.”
“What about your mom? Isn’t that the kind of thing moms live for? To dress up their kids like their own personal Barbie dolls?”
Brad got to his feet and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. After sitting there in a hot pot all day, the liquid had metamorphosed into something dark as night and almost unrecognizable as java. “Calling my mother is not a good idea.”
“That’s right. She’s not exactly the president of your squid fan club, is she?”
Asking
