“Oh my God, I look like an Oompa Loompa!” Jamie grabbed the hand mirror and raced towards the window, hoping the natural light would make her foundation appear less orange. It didn’t.
“I could try to tone it down a bit, I suppose,” Willow offered, her shoulders sinking.
Jamie cringed. Sometimes her mouth ran away with her. “No, it’s fine. Maybe it will blend in more when it settles.”
Willow sat on her lounge floor, surrounded by a pile of expensive makeup and beauty products; a perk of her friend being a famous beauty blogger. “I doubt it, but thanks for letting me experiment. It’s supposed to be their palest foundation, too. I won’t be endorsing it on my YouTube channel, that’s for certain.”
She rubbed at her cheeks, but Willow had applied the foundation so expertly it didn’t even smudge. “Remind me again why I agreed to be your guinea pig?”
“Because you have fantastic skin and beautiful big eyes; the perfect canvas.” She grinned, then added, “And I promised to make you one of my special mojitos.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Jamie joked. “I’m going to need at least three mojitos.” She returned to Willow and scanned the pile of beauty boxes. “Haven’t you got anything there to take this muck off? There’s not one foundation that will ever match my alabaster skin. I should have been born a vampire.”
“I thought you preferred werewolves?” She referred to Twilight. Willow hated it but Jamie had a thing for the films years ago—she still had a sweatshirt with Team Jacob on it.
“I did, back then.” Her friend had no idea they existed for real, not that Jamie had ever met one. A witch and a warlock, yes, but a powerful werewolf, no.
“Maybe a bit of highlighter would help?” Willow picked up a makeup brush and went to dust Jamie’s cheeks.
Jamie leaned back to avoid more torture, laughing. “Leave me alone! I’m good with pale and interesting, thanks.” She preferred the natural look.
Her friend shook her head. “There’s no hope for you, is there?”
Jamie’s Chihuahua yapped as though to agree.
Her phone rang. She fished it out from her hoodie pocket and looked at the screen. “It’s my boss.” A witch; one of the good ones. “Sorry, I’ll have to answer.”
Willow stood. “I’ll go make that mojito.”
“Three drinks, remember?” Jamie answered her phone. “Hi, Harper. Is everything okay?”
“Hello, Jamie. No, it’s not. I’ve just had a phone call from a new client.”
“It’s my day off,” she reminded.
Her boss didn’t appear to hear her protest. “He could be really good for business. I wouldn’t normally ask, but…”
She did ask, all the time, above and beyond her normal employee duties, and Jamie always obliged. That was the trouble with working from home, she never really had a day off.
“Ask what, boss?”
“His name is Grayson Beckett.” Harper paused.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“I guess not. I thought you would with your connections, that’s all.”
“I don’t move in those circles anymore.” Her reply came out curter than she’d intended. Having a privileged upbringing was not all it was cracked up to be.
“Anyway, he’s a werewolf; an alpha too,” Harper continued. “You can handle a were, can’t you?”
Jamie checked Willow was out of earshot. Her friend and neighbour knew she worked as an online chat coach for a dating agency, but she didn’t know it was a specific website for supernatural beings.
“Yes, I can handle a werewolf,” she whispered. Thanks to her mum marrying a warlock—her dear dad barely cold in the grave—she was no stranger to the supernatural world most humans were unaware of.
“Mr Beckett tried to sign up online last night, while you were on the chatline, but he said he couldn’t fathom how to work it. Claims he’s a bit of a technophobe.”
She pressed her lips together. Signing up to Love Bites dating agency was hardly rocket science, but it was part of her job description to help new clients through the process. Dumb, overgrown dog.
“Although I find that hard to believe since he’s super-rich and CEO of several companies.”
Jamie wasn’t impressed by money, but if he owned businesses, maybe this Grayson Beckett guy wasn’t such a dumb dog after all. “Can’t Zarya help him? She’s on today.”
“No, he specifically asked for you.”
The vagueness in Harper’s tone made Jamie sit up. “Why would he ask for me?”
“He wants you to go to his house to help him sign up. I’m sorry, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“We don’t offer personal visits.”
“He’s paying ten times the normal subscription fee,” her boss told her. “He’s insisting you come today, within the hour. I would have gone myself, but there’s no way I can get there from London, and he lives not too far from you.”
She already hated the guy. Just because he was rich didn’t mean he could always get what he wanted by flashing his cash.