working and protecting him from his family’s matchmaking, and he hadn’t given one thought to the fact that she might want to have her hair done or buy a new outfit. He hadn’t given one thought that Faith was a woman with normal female urges, like desiring new outfits for social events.
Then again, during the entire time he’d known Faith, she hadn’t acted like other women. Why should he have thought this weekend would be any different? If he’d thought about what she’d wear, he would have said scrubs or maybe a hyper-masculine gray suit and a hairstyle any librarian would be proud of.
“What time is your appointment?”
She didn’t glance up. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll cancel.”
But beneath the clear lenses of her glasses, her eyes had grown shiny and his sense of guilt gnawed at his belly, threatening to give him an ulcer if he didn’t make amends. What was the aura about her that made him want to make her happy?
“Why did you leave your appointment until so late? Surely you could have shopped for a dress earlier in the week?”
Her mouth dropped and if glares were bullets he’d be six feet under. “Did you really just ask me that when you’ve had me at the office every night this week until after ten?” Realizing what she’d said, her jaw dropped even lower. “Not that I mind,” she recanted. “I like my job. It’s just … well …” She fumbled, taking a deep breath. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear to the wedding and I’ve been thinking about getting my hair cut anyway. I thought prior to the wedding would be as good a time as any.”
His gaze immediately went to her hair. She always kept her hair pulled tightly into the professional bun. He couldn’t recall ever having seen her hair down. Odd, considering how long they’d known each other.
What did she look like with her hair down?
He was struck with the need to know, the need to see her dark blond locks loose. Would the strands barely brush her shoulders or would they cascade down her back?
“Get your hair done.” He ran his gaze over the sleeked-back strands nestled at her nape. “But not short, okay?”
He wasn’t sure why he added the last. The length of her hair was none of his business. If she wanted to go bald, other than their patients’ reactions, he had no right to say a word.
“I probably wouldn’t have had time anyway, Vale. Thinking I did was wishful thinking.”
He’d give her time. He owed her that much. She was saving him from his family’s matchmaking.
“I’ll see your patients.”
Her face flushing, she shook her head, eyeing him as if he must be running a fever. “That won’t be necessary.” But it was necessary.
“Look, Faith, I’m a slave driver. There’s no question of that.” He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering why the spring air that had felt so good moment’s earlier now cut into him. “But you’re right. Your lunches are your own, even if I do monopolize them. Go. Get your hair done however you want. Buy yourself a new dress.”
“But—”
“Actually,” he withdrew his wallet from his back pocket. “Take the rest of the afternoon off and buy yourself a dress for tonight, too. On me.”
Her face pale, she stared at the cash in his hand. “I can’t take your money.”
“Sure you can,” he teased. “You do every pay period.”
“That’s different.” Her lips pursed. “I’ve earned my paycheck. This is different.”
“Look, it’s my fault you need new clothes and to have your hair done. It’s only fair I pay.” He shoved the cash into her palm, closed her hand around the money. How his fingers lingered, how he wanted to hold her hand for real, surprised him. He forced his smile to stay in place despite his unhappiness with his wayward fingers, despite his confusion over what the hell was going on with his reactions to Faith.
“Go,” he ordered. “Have fun, and I’ll pick you up from your place.”
“Yep, Yoda,” Faith agreed with the yapping dog bouncing around at her feet while she studied her new image in the mirror, “I barely recognize myself, too.”
She couldn’t believe the difference a decent hair cut, highlighting, and facial could make. A fairy godmother waving a magic wand and singing “Bippity-boppity-boo” couldn’t have conjured a more drastic transformation.
Faith hadn’t had time over the past few years to worry about her appearance. Instead she’d focused on studying for boards and becoming the best neurologist she could be. Then she’d landed a dream job with Wakefield and Fishe straight out of school, an opportunity of a lifetime she wouldn’t screw up.
So, no, her appearance hadn’t been a priority in eons, if ever, but, wow, an afternoon of pampering could sure make a huge difference in the way a girl looked and felt about herself.
Or maybe it was the contacts burning her eyes that only made her think she was seeing such a difference.
She’d worn disposable lenses during high school and as an undergraduate, but during medical school she’d gone almost exclusively to her glasses. She’d bought the contacts at her check-up a couple of weeks ago during lunch when Vale had been in a meeting with Marcus. But she hadn’t taken time to even pull them out of her handbag. When the make-up artist at the salon had complained about Faith’s glasses, she’d surprised him by producing the sealed vials containing the lenses.
Then there were the clothes. Clothes as in plural.
She hadn’t wanted to spend Vale’s money, had felt guilty taking the cash. She could have found a way to slip the money back to him over the weekend. Perhaps she still would as she still wasn’t comfortable with the thought of him paying for her shopping trip even if, in a way, he was right. It was his fault she’d needed a new dress. She certainly wouldn’t have gone shopping if he hadn’t pressed her into accompanying him.
She hadn’t just bought a new dress. She’d bought three. And new underwear that made her feel delectably feminine and a bit of a siren at heart. Really, would she like the black thigh highs and garter belt quite so much otherwise?
Then there was the daring bikini she’d let the sales clerk talk her into, even though she’d never have the nerve to wear the deep red triangles in public.
She’d also bought a few semi-casual outfits. She wasn’t really sure what Saturday’s schedule would require, but she felt prepared for whatever came up. Of course, she’d had to drag out the largest of her suitcases to fit in all her purchases, but that was a small price to pay for being prepared.
Then again, maybe she’d gone overboard and Vale would read her make-over as a desperate plea for him to notice her as he had the night before.
Was her make-over a desperate plea for him to notice her?
She winced. No, if he hadn’t noticed her for the woman she was on the inside, she certainly didn’t want him to notice her for changes to her outer appearance. Not that the changes were that glamorous, anyway. Not in comparison to the supermodels usually draped across Vale’s
