Never Too Late for Christmas

Excerpt:
Lauren Roberts, owner and manager of Imaginations, knew what most people thought of her chosen field. A way to help spoiled women indulge themselves.

She rejected the criticism, but didn't fight it. She'd learned long ago that fighting what you couldn't change only brought pain. So she did her job, and she did it well. If she brought a bit of beauty and joy into the world, she was content.

A satisfied smile curved her lips as she looked around her office. Color photos of smiling clients adorned the walls. Deep-cushioned teal sofas and chairs promised comfort. Freshly brewed tea and home-baked cookies sat atop a delicate pie-crust table.

Imaginations had been in operation seven years. For the first five of those years, she had served as assistant and then manager. After scrimping and saving every penny she could, she now owned Imaginations. Turning a pretty but nondescript woman into a beauty was fulfilling in a way Lauren had never dreamed. It was a far cry from the teaching job she'd planned, but it filled a need she hadn't even known existed.

It wasn't the outward changes she wrought in her clients that gave her the most satisfaction, but the inward ones as she watched a woman grow in confidence and poise. More men were coming to her as well, some curious, most embarrassed, almost all brought by wives or girlfriends.

Her friends knew work came first with Lauren. A few had even tagged her a workaholic. She shrugged off the label just as she had their well-meaning attempts to try and change her. Work--hard work--wasn't an illness as far as she was concerned. Not when you loved what you did. And she did.

"We've got a new client coming in at eleven," she told her assistant, Kath. "A seventeen year old girl."

"She make the appointment?"

"No. Her brother."

Kath rolled her eyes. "One of those."

Lauren understood. A client who didn't want to be there wasn't likely to be happy with anything they did for her.

"What do you bet we send her packing?" Kath asked.

"Lunch," Lauren said, feeling reckless. "If she stays, you buy."

At precisely eleven a.m., a tall man appeared with a slender girl at his side. He had his arm around the girl, whether in reassurance or restraint, Lauren wasn't sure.

The man easily topped six feet by a couple of inches. Dark hair pulled back in a stubby ponytail emphasized navy blue eyes. His sister was tall as well, five eight or nine, Lauren estimated. Her hair looked to be a pale blonde beneath the orange streaks, though, and her skin fair. Only their dark blue eyes proclaimed their relationship.

Lauren held out her hand. "I'm Lauren Roberts. Welcome to Imaginations." She resisted the urge to tug at her linen blazer or fuss with her hair. She'd long ago accepted that her looks would never be termed glamorous or dazzling. Cute was the best she could hope for with her small build and unruly mop of dark red curls. Those who made the mistake of calling her a pixie soon learned better.

He took her hand, holding it briefly before releasing it. A tremor skittered up her arm. "Drew Hunter. This is my sister, Ashley."

"This is his idea," the girl said, her voice sullen. "I like the way I look."

Lauren took in the details of her prospective client. Orange hair, triple pierced ears, and black-rimmed lips. She'd seen them all--and more--before. But it was the look in the girl's eyes that snagged and held her attention.

Insolent and vulnerable, scared and defiant. She recognized the expression. It had mirrored her own ten years ago.

It wasn't unusual for a parent or other relative to bring in a teenager for a makeover. It also wasn't unusual for Lauren to turn down such a job. Adults frequently wanted something for young people that they didn't want for themselves. Lauren's first duty was to her client, even if it meant turning that client away.

She sensed there was more going on here, though, than simply a reluctant client. "What do you want, Ashley?"

The girl looked surprised to be consulted. "I don't know. I keep trying things ... you know ... to like find out what I like."

Lauren hid a smile at the teenage jargon and touched the orange-dyed hair. "I think you want to look like you. The way you were meant to look."

"How would I go about doing that?" Ashley asked cautiously.

"I think together we could find the pretty girl under all the makeup and hair." Beneath the black lipstick and magenta shadowed eyes, there was the promise of real beauty. It was up to her to bring it out and perhaps help Ashley learn about herself along the way.

Drew spoke for the first time since the introductions twisting his finger through a corkscrew curl. "It was purple last week."

Lauren gave Ashley a conspiratorial smile. "We women like a change sometimes, don't we?"

A tentative smile touched Ashley's lips. "Yeah. Can I look around for a minute?"

"Sure," Lauren said. "Take your time."

"You sound like you've had lots of experience with teenage girls," Drew said after Ashley had wandered to the far end of the room.

"You could say that." Lauren took her time in studying Ashley's brother. His face was too strong for mere good looks, the cheekbones sharp slashes, his nose slightly crooked. No, she thought, it wasn't a face for a poster in a teenager's room. But it was a face to linger in a woman's memory.

Her gaze connected with his. For the space of a heartbeat, the air shimmered with tension. A rush of air signaled that she'd been holding her breath. She let it out slowly and felt the tension dissolve.

"I'll be frank," he said. "I read about your work with girls at the correction center. Ashley's had some trouble lately. Petty stuff like shoplifting."

"We're an image consultant business," Lauren felt bound to point out. "We can't--"

"I know what you do," he cut in. "I don't expect miracles. But I don't know where else to turn."

The simple honesty of the statement gripped her attention...and her heart. "No one can help Ashley if she doesn't want to be helped. But ... " She paused. "We'll do what we can."

"Thank you."

Ashley had joined them by then and looked from Drew to Lauren and back to Drew. "It's pretty cool here. Did you do all these women? You know, make them beautiful."

"I helped them find their own look," Lauren said. She turned to Drew. "Mr. Hunter, why don't you let Ashley and me get acquainted for the next hour? It's going to take some time for her to decide what she wants."

Drew looked doubtful.

Ashley patted his hand. "It's okay, big brother. I won't freak out or anything."

Drew looked from Lauren to Ashley and then back to Lauren. "I'll pick you up in an hour."

"So you gonna turn me into a lady?" Ashley asked once her brother had left. She couldn't quite conceal her curiosity as she wandered around the room.

Lauren's lips curved. "I can't turn you into something that isn't already there."

Ashley paused then turned to Lauren. "Are you saying I'm already a lady?" The faint sneer in her voice didn't quite hide the pain in her eyes.

"I'm saying you are whatever you think you are."

"I don't go for all that fancy stuff," the young girl warned.

"Neither do I," Lauren assured her.

Lauren didn't deceive herself that she had made any great headway with Ashley, but she felt satisfied by the end of the first session.

"Tomorrow," she said. "After school."

Ashley turned a surprisingly sweet smile on her. "I'll be here."

The first consultation had gone well, Lauren decided. Getting acquainted--learning what her clients liked and disliked, their lifestyles, their habits--was only the beginning, but it was a vital part of the process. Too many image consultants skipped over it, preferring to get right to work.

A makeover that the client wasn't able or willing to keep up wasn't going to help her. And so Lauren made sure that it fit each individual. She saw Ashley out then turned to Kath.

"You owe me lunch."