Anything For You (4 page)

Scanning the mall, her eye was drawn to the glint of a mirror, and she crossed to stand in front of it. The woman staring back at her was plain-looking, with long straight mid-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing navy linen pants and a cream cotton shirt, and while both were of good quality and well-cut, there was no escaping the fact that she looked a little like a military nurse. Or a postal worker.

Her mind flashed to the eye-popping blonde she’d encountered outside the office that morning. No one would ever mistake Coco for a postal worker, that was for sure. And while Delaney knew she could never even begin to play in the same league as the epically endowed Coco, there was no reason why she shouldn’t make the best of her assets.

That’s what it was all about, after all, wasn’t it? Using what you had to attract the opposite sex. Then it was down to personality and compatibility and chemistry.

Once again she scanned the mall, this time looking for a hair salon. There were three to choose from, all situated close to one another. She spent a few minutes analyzing the cuts of the hairstylists in each establishment, as well as those of their clients, then she simply picked the one that looked the most expensive. She hadn’t had a haircut in months. Normally she tidied up her own bangs with the kitchen scissors, and just had the spilt ends cut off the back every now and then.

Approaching the counter, she smiled nervously at the receptionist.

“Hi. I’d like to get a haircut,” she said.

“Of course. We actually have an opening now, if you’re interested,” the girl said smoothly. “Someone canceled at the last minute.” She flicked a strand of perfect hair over her shoulder, and Delaney found herself following the silky fall of the woman’s multihued locks. Eyes narrowing, she assessed the receptionist’s haircut: shorter at the front, it gradually became longer toward the back, just skimming her shoulders. The choppy texture of the cut was emphasized by a mixture of brown streaks, ranging from darkest chocolate to cinnamon to a golden bronze. It was sexy hair, alluring hair. Nothing postal or military about it at all.

“Do you think they could cut my hair like that?” Delaney asked impulsively.

The receptionist tilted her head to one side and considered her. “Absolutely. Let me get Volker. He’s the expert,” she said.

Delaney found herself being ushered into a seat by a lanky hairstylist with a pronounced German accent.

“Oh, yes, we can do something with this,” he said approvingly as he freed her hair from its tie.

“It needs to be like hers,” Delaney said, pointing toward the receptionist who had once again resumed her station at the front of the store.

“It will be better,” Volker announced, no hint of ego or boasting in his voice—he was simply stating a fact.

Two hours later, Delaney decided he was right on the money. The woman staring back from the salon mirror was a stranger. Gone was her straight, no-nonsense fringe. Now her hair swept gracefully to one side of her face to fall in graduated layers onto her shoulders. Each layer was made up of a myriad of colors—russet, chocolate, ginger—so that when she ran her hand through it or shook it, her hair shimmered with light and movement.

“Wow,” the receptionist said when Delaney stepped up to the counter to pay her bill. The girl’s gaze flicked doubtfully to her own reflection in a nearby mirror and Delaney felt a dart of feminine pride. She had hair that other women envied! How good was that!

Her euphoria lasted for all of the five seconds it took for her mind to default to wondering what Sam would think of her new cut.

Stupid stupid stupid, she told herself, but it didn’t make any difference. He had been the sun her world orbited around for so long, it was going to take time to wean herself away from using him as her touchstone.

The realization drove her into the nearest David Jones department store, her step determined.

Another hour and a half later, she stuffed a dozen rustling shopping bags into the back seat of the MINI. She’d gone berserk. There was no other word for it. Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman had nothing on Delaney. She’d practically handed her credit card over to the sympathetic sales assistant and told her to go crazy. New makeup, perfume and underwear, six pairs of shoes, a pair of boots, three pairs of figure-hugging jeans in black, red and dark denim, and a host of skirts, dresses, tank tops, T-shirts…She honestly had no idea exactly what she’d bought. But it was all fitted. Tight, even. The skirts were either short and flirty, or short and figure-hugging. The dresses were triumphs of design, with minuscule straps and cinching belts and draping skirts that made her look willowy and elegant and mysterious. And the bras…Who would have thought that a bra could make such a difference? She refused to wear a padded bra, but the underwire balconette bra the saleswoman had shown her actually gave her cleavage. And the colors! She had a rainbow of silk and lace in her shopping bags. She’d oohed and ahhed so much she was sure the saleswoman must have thought she’d just escaped from behind the Iron Curtain. But the truth was, Delaney hadn’t spent this much time thinking about her appearance since she was a teenager and she’d made a single pathetic, misguided attempt to make Sam look at her as a woman. He’d laughed at her too-bright lipstick and her sister’s clothes and asked if she was going to a fancy dress, and she’d gone home and scrubbed at her face until it was red raw.

Since she’d long ago given up on Sam loving her, she’d relegated the art of allure and seduction to the dustbin. If a man was interested in plain old Delaney, she’d give him a whirl. But she had never gone out of her way to be sexy before. And this new wardrobe of hers was undeniably provocative.

Good, she told herself firmly. She was thirty years old. She only had a limited amount of time to meet a decent man, fall in love and start making babies.

She’d called Debbie from the hair salon to explain her long absence, and she stopped at the other woman’s desk to collect her messages on the way in to her office.

“Just three calls. Everyone still thinks you’re on holiday,” Debbie said absently, passing the chits over without looking up from her computer monitor.

“Thanks,” Delaney said, turning away.

“Get out of town!” Debbie suddenly squealed from behind her. “Delaney, what have you done?”

Delaney felt a stab of apprehension. She’d changed into the black jeans at the shop, matching them with a bright aqua tank top that made the most of her newly upthrust bosom. It was just like the time she’d dressed up for Sam—clearly she’d got it all wrong again. She closed her eyes for a second, then braced herself and turned back to face Debbie.

“Not good, huh?” she asked flatly.

“Are you kidding?! You look amazing. Astonishing. Stunning!” Debbie babbled. “Rudy, come and check Delaney out!”

Of course, that meant everyone else came as well, Amanda and Justin and Sukie trailing Rudy out into the reception area. They all circled around her oohing and ahhing.

“Your hair is so gorgeous. I want to eat it,” Rudy said worryingly.

“Those jeans, Delaney. Wow,” Justin said admiringly. Delaney noticed he was having a hard time taking his eyes off her ass.

Sukie was staring at Delaney’s chest, and she winked knowingly. “Mademoiselle FiFi,” she said, naming the brand of Delaney’s new bra. Sukie patted her own perky chest with satisfaction. “I love her work.”

It was all salve for her ego, and she felt her confidence blooming. She should have done this ages ago. She’d always taken the line that what people saw with her was what they got, but she realized now she’d been missing out on a lot of fun. She’d liked putting on lipstick and a touch of mascara and eye shadow with the expert guidance of the woman in the beauty section of the department store. And testing the perfumes had been a hoot. It was nice to feel desirable and attractive for a change.

Her gaze kept flicking toward Sam’s closed door, but Debbie answered her unspoken question before she had to ask it.

“Sam left not long after you,” the receptionist said.

Delaney stomped on the absurd sense of disappointment she felt at Sam not being there to see her transformation. This was not about Sam Kirk! She had to get that through her thick head.

She registered that everyone had sobered. She guessed they were thinking about the news she’d given Rudy before lunch.

“Don’t worry, your jobs are all safe,” she said quickly. “No one’s going anywhere.”

Except for her, of course. But she was sure they weren’t worried about her.

“But it won’t be the same,” Sukie said, echoing Rudy’s earlier remark. “We like working for you and Sam. It will be weird without you.”

“You’ll get used to it. And it’s not like I’m going straight away,” Delaney said, moved by her employees’ sincerity. Maybe they were a little worried about her.

“Are you—are you getting married or something?” Justin blurted out.

Delaney blinked. “No!”

Justin turned beet-red. “I just thought maybe you’d fallen in love with some jerk who didn’t want you to work and maybe we could go around and break his kneecaps or something.”

Delaney was touched all over again. “There’s no guy, trust me. I just want to do something different with my life,” she assured them.

Offering up one last smile, she crossed to her office.

The smile faded when she saw the note Sam had left on her desk.

Gone to talk to lawyers. Will have answer for you by p.m.

Wow. He’d moved quickly.

She sat with a thump. Soon, it seemed, she’d get what she wanted.

So why wasn’t she feeling relieved or happy?

Because you’re a besotted idiot, she told herself. Determined to change that, she grabbed her phone messages and focused on work.

She had to be strong now, or suffer the consequences later. There was no other way.

SAM WAS SO WORKED UP when he got home from the lawyer’s office that he had to play five rounds of Grand Theft Auto on PlayStation before his stress levels were manageable. When he’d finally maxed out his personal best score, he shut the unit off and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge. Heading out onto the balcony, he gazed across the crowded inner-city suburb of Richmond as he sucked down some much-needed liquid calm.

The evening breeze was cool, and the sky was a faded apricot color by the time he lifted himself out of his lounger and padded back into the house.

He’d been so angry with Delaney earlier that he could barely think, but now a semblance of rational thought had reasserted itself. For some reason, Delaney’s biological clock had suddenly exploded. Personally, he blamed Claire and her three offspring. Clearly the kids—evil geniuses that they were—had implanted some kind of hormonal device in Delaney’s brain while she was on holidays and Claire was making hay while the sun shined. Women always wanted other women to have children. They were constantly encouraging each other to procreate—a maternal conspiracy.

So. Delaney wanted kids of her own. It wasn’t the end of the world. But it didn’t mean she had to get out of the business. When he’d been discussing things with his lawyer this afternoon, a number of options had been floated. The one that appealed the most was keeping Delaney in the business as a silent partner, and bringing in an advertising sales manager to handle Delaney’s role. That way Delaney was still a part of the business—still connected to his life—but she could go off and find Mr. Perfect at the same time. Everyone was a winner.

It was such a great idea, Sam decided he should just go sell it to Delaney on the spot. Plus, he’d never stayed angry at her for this long before, and it felt weird. And, of course, there was dinner to be considered. He couldn’t cook, Delaney could…. Again everyone was a winner.

Grabbing the remaining two beers from his fridge, he snagged his house keys and made his way downstairs to Delaney’s apartment. Her door was red where his was blue, but the layouts inside were identical. They’d bought the empty warehouse shells at the same time, and shared the cost of an architect to fit out both spaces. There were small, idiosyncratic differences, of course—Delaney’s bathroom was all white where his was dark grey. And her kitchen had a lot more stainless-steel equipment than his. But apart from that, the apartments were a matched pair. Like him and Delaney.

She took her sweet time answering his knock, and he was beginning to frown with impatience when the door swung open.

“Sam!” she said, clearly surprised to see him. He was too busy doing a double take to register the fact, however.

What on earth had she done to herself?

“What on earth have you done to yourself?” he demanded, eyeing her freaky new haircut uncertainly.

Since when did Delaney have soft layers of honey and toffee-colored hair gently framing her face? His stunned gaze moved from her new hair to her face itself as he realized that that looked different, too. Eyes bigger and smokier, mouth redder and poutier. She was wearing makeup! His Delaney was wearing makeup!

Then his eyes dropped below her neckline and he nearly had a heart attack. What had happened to Delaney’s signature crisp cotton shirt? Or the man-sized surf T-shirts she wore around the house? The tiny, teeny aqua thing she had on barely justified the words tank top. It was like the ghost of a tank top, an imprint that might be left behind when a tank top passed over to the other side.