Chrystelle wanted to climb out a window. Never mind that they were on the sixth floor.
“Oui, monsieur?” Roberto’s voice was more hesitant than his expression. “You wish to discuss styling for a new series?”
“That will come later. For now, I would like you to meet Chrystelle Bach.” Quint extended his hand to her.
Chrystelle rose and shook Brigitte’s and Roberto’s hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Roberto said as he took her hand and bowed.
Brigitte expressed her delight to meet Chrystelle.
“Why Chrystelle is here isn’t important at the moment,” Quint said and rose. Resting his chin between his thumb and forefinger, he strolled around Chrystelle, his eyes thoughtful.
Chrystelle fought against the panic pummeling the inside of her chest. Why was Quint scrutinizing her?
“Miss Bach has agreed to accompany me to an awards ceremony tonight.” Quint looked from Roberto to Brigitte. “What she’s wearing now is the nicest outfit she owns.”
“Ah, such a pity.” Roberto clucked his tongue. “And such a beautiful girl.”
It wasn’t that bad. Chrystelle tightened her mouth.
“Brigitte, do you have something in wardrobe she could borrow for the evening?” Quint asked.
Brigitte’s mouth twisted and she rested her hands on Chrystelle’s shoulders, turning her left then right.
“And Roberto,” Quint said, “she’ll need some time in hair and makeup.”
Brigitte stepped away from Chrystelle.
Roberto pressed a finger to Chrystelle’s chin. He squinted one eye before whirling about and clapping his hands. “Monsieur Fairchild, this may look like an insurmountable task, but it can be done.”
“Insurmountable?” Chrystelle choked.
“Splendid,” Quint said. “We leave in one hour.”
“Oh, monsieur, you don’t give us much time.” Roberto looked wary. “But we’ve faced tougher schedules with more challenging subjects in the past.”
“You think I’m a challenge?” Chrystelle’s face burned more from embarrassment than anger. She fisted her hands against her hips. Her jacket sleeves bunched around her knuckles.
Roberto smiled and patted her cheeks. “You are an adorable challenge. Come.” He whipped his hand into the air. “We haven’t a moment to lose.” Taking her hand, he pulled her through the doorway, past the army of assistants who were still talking into their headsets and typing and led her down the hall.
She stumbled after him, her free arm flopping in her wake. “You don’t need to do too much to my hair and makeup. I’m not a fancy person.” Her voice jarred with each step.
Roberto stopped in front of a door. “Mademoiselle, in one hour you will gaze into a mirror and gasp.”
She gasped now. “That doesn’t sound like a good—”
Roberto opened the door. His hand on her elbow, he escorted her into a well-lit room. Something bumped the back of her knees and she dropped into a chair as soft and snuggly as Quint’s conference room chairs.
A team of perfectly coiffed men and women wearing gray lab coats surrounded her. They squinted and murmured as they inspected her face. Another team removed her hat and finger-combed her snarled hair while they whispered to each other.
Roberto clapped his hands. “Come, team, come. You’ve had more than enough time to devise a plan. Let us begin the project. Mr. Fairchild awaits the result.”
Chrystelle sank into the chair. What about her? Didn’t anyone want to know what she thought about this project? After all, she was the subject.
The team scattered and Chrystelle heaved a sigh of relief until the group returned armed with brushes and toner and facial scrub and hairdryers. Descending on her, they washed her face and hair. With so many people touching and probing her, Chrystelle thought she would faint.
Time seemed to drag yet it passed in a flash.
“Assez. Enough. Enough.” Roberto’s raised voice silenced the conversations. He parted the crowd and stared at Chrystelle, his face scrunched in consternation.
Chrystelle’s heart pounded. She was sure he hated the way she looked. Air rushed out of her lungs. If they had to start over, she’d scream.
A moment passed, then Roberto’s face relaxed. “Magnifique.” Smiling at Chrystelle, he kissed his fingertips. “You like?” His eyes hopeful, he nodded at her.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen anything yet.” Dear God, what did she look like?
“Come. You shall see.” He gestured for her to follow him.
Chrystelle rose from the chair and teetered to the side. What was she wearing? Never in her life had such high-heeled shoes covered her feet.
“Careful. Careful.” Roberto righted her. “Now we have the great reveal.” His hand wrapped around hers, he led her to a three-way mirror.
Chrystelle’s jaw dropped. Staring at her was the most glamorous woman she’d ever seen. Her hair flowed over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her skin glistened and her eyes shone. A dazzling gown hugged her curves. Jewels sparkled at her ears and around her neck. She reached a trembling hand to the mirror. “I’m that woman? How on earth did you do that?”
The hair and makeup team stood behind her. Several members clapped while others laughed and hugged each other.
“That is you.” Roberto beamed and rose on his toes.
“I’ve never looked like this.” Chrystelle spoke slowly. “I grew up in a small town and wore jeans every day of my life.” Mostly.
“When you wear jeans, you look one way.” Roberto smiled softly. “When you wear a ball gown, you look like this. Come. Your prince awaits.”
“Thank you all so much.” She looked at the team who clasped their hands and smiled. She opened her arms to hug them.
“Ah, no hugging.” Scowling, Roberto shook a finger at her. “Mustn’t smear the makeup or muss the hair.”
Chrystelle gave a soft moan of disappointment. She had to show his team her appreciation.
“Then please accept this virtual kiss.” Chrystelle air-kissed her palm and waved it over the crew.
They giggled and caught the kiss.
“Shall we?” Roberto offered Chrystelle his elbow. His head high, he escorted her back to Quint’s office.
Quint stood behind his desk. Frowning, he studied a tabbed sheaf of paper in his hands.
Chrystelle’s heart leapt at the sight of him. During her makeover, he’d found time to shower and change into a tux. His face shone as if he’d freshly shaved. His hair was still damp. What was he studying that made him frown? Was it her script? She fought against a rising bubble of panic.
His head came up. He blinked in surprise. The admiration in his eyes filled her with warmth, and she forgot about her script. Even on her prom night she hadn’t looked this beautiful. Her mother and her sister had fussed over her all day for that event and she’d looked good, but not Fairchild makeover good.
“Chrystelle.” Quint murmured her name. His gaze swept over her.
Never had she wanted a man to be pleased with the way she looked. She was wary of the raw hunger flickering in his eyes, then the expression was gone. An emotion she didn’t understand heated her, and she dropped her gaze. “Do you like the dress?” She touched trembling fingers to her throat and the shimmering necklace.