Free Beauty Bites by Mary Hughes Page B

contrite. “Hon, I don’t want us to fight.” Though we were solid; we could fight passionately and still be okay after. Fighting with Ric Holiday would be like that, passionately hot but okay after—and passionately hot aftertoo… Crap. “I learned to sum up people quickly to get an accurate medical history. My doctor sense tells me Holiday’s made up his mind. We’ll find another advertising firm—”
    “No. It’s got to be Holiday.”
    So much for the olive branch. Exasperated, I said, “Why?”
    Her cheekbones darkened. “He’s the best.”
    The blush and the broken record. She did the same thing around Nikos’s aversion to sunlight, or his amazing strength. My psych rotation said she was resisting something. My intuition said it had to do with Holiday and Nikos being of the vin rouge persuasion. “I see. And that’s the only reason?”
    She stared at the fire for a long while. A big snap, sparking red, broke her trance. As the logs resettled she sat forward. “I’d better be honest with you.”
    At last. She was going to come clean about v-guys.
    “If this gets out it might cause a panic, but you need to know—the Meiers Corners bank is under a consent decree.”
    Not v-guys. But the tightness in her tone said she was honestly worried. I needed to listen up. “What’s a consent decree?”
    “It’s when the feds take a closer look at how a bank’s being run. If the Sparkasse Bank doesn’t get more capital soon, or repayment on enough loans to rebalance their portfolio, well, they may get put up for sale.”
    “And that’s bad, why?”
    “Some very nasty people would like a toehold in our city.” Twyla rose and snagged the wine bottle from the kitchen. “Buying our main source of business loans would give them that and more.”
    “But a white knight—”
    “Synnove, I can’t go into it, but we’re being targeted, and all our defense eggs are in the tourism basket. Seemed like a sure thing at the time.” Returning with the wine, she topped off my glass, refilled her own and sat, curling her legs under her. Her dark eyes were serious. “We need to draw warm bodies with our Kinkadesque local color before our picture turns Gorey.”
    “Hey. I like the drawings he did for MYSTERY!”
    “You like cutting people open with a knife and digging through their guts. I question your grasp on charming and touristy.”
    “Viscera.”
    “What?”
    “Viscera, not guts. Sounds better. Less slimy. See? I can do charming.”
    “Lovely. The point is, after our great start with the off-Broadway musical, we need to get the word out or we’ll backslide. Which means Holiday.”
    “Why can’t we tout our own fudge shoppes and luncheon nooks?”
    She heaved a big sigh that said clearer than words that I was being a stubborn, short-sighted ass. “It’s not simply about pushing quainte shite. Research told me tourists are looking for walkability and multiday potential and ‘vibe’, whatever the hell that means. More than advertising, we need someone who understands advertising. We need Ric Holiday.”
    “Okay, got it.” I tapped my glass against my lips, thinking. Twyla wanted Ric Holiday. I wanted to avoid Ric Holiday. How could I get both? Hey, sometimes doctors did the impossible. They were called miracles.
    And I thought I might just have one. “This is more than wine can handle.” I set my glass down. “Where’s your chocolate?”
    “S’mores?”
    “No. Straight up.”
    “You’re going to do it.” She smiled. “You’re going back.”
    “Don’t sound so happy. You’re going to owe me so bad you’ll be my Favors Bitch for the rest of your life.” I rummaged around in the cupboards, caught the sting of cacao and found the giant extra-dark bars between a box of graham crackers and a bag of marshmallows. I cracked one in half without opening it, tore the paper in two and handed one to Twyla.
    “Favors Bitch?” She took her half, unwrapped a corner and bit into it appreciatively.