“Quench readers don’t care about endless scores and stats on random players, especially when competitors cover the main market with that stuff.”
“But there’s a story behind each athlete. Think of what it takes to compete at that level. The dedication and daily practice. The sacrifices and regrets about what had to be given up to get better, usually with no guarantees. What if you studied your whole life and gave up everything else, just to have to perform perfectly for a few minutes or hours? What if you lost it all? Could you live with yourself?”
Her blue eyes widened. Ford waited for a teasing comment or for her to shrug off his passionate speech, but instead she narrowed her gaze more intently. “I don’t think I ever have,” she said slowly. “I mean, intellectually, yes. But not the way you described it.”
“That’s what your readers would love, T. The real guts of what a person gives to pursue perfection. It’s never about the stats or scores.”
There was a spark that flared from her gaze, a lightning bolt of awareness. Like she was seriously listening to him on a soul level. “That was beautifully said, Ford.”
He backed off, already doubting his instinct to trust her and this game; to trust she wouldn’t use the information in the future to tease him. “Sorry. Got carried away. My turn.”
She seemed to want to say something else but leaned back instead, sipping her wine. She showed no outward concern about any question he might ask.
“Why do you focus on makeovers as your main job at Quench? What do you get out of it?”
Ah, there it was. A flare of heat warmed her eyes, along with irritation. “I’m glad you asked. Because I was getting a bit tired of you mocking my career choice when you know nothing about it.”
He held up his hands. “Sorry. You’re right. I know nothing about what you do.”
“Makeovers are more than you think, and it’s not my primary job. My column went viral and became a backbone of Quench when I began choosing readers who reached out to me asking how they can change their lives and build their confidence. Most revolved around getting a job or proving they can do things others said they couldn’t, et cetera. I worked with a young girl who was really smart but completely unsure of herself. I treated her to a fun makeover—hair, makeup, and new outfits based on the fit of her body. Then I had her chat with a dating coach and a therapist for a few sessions, to dig into her main issues. I documented every step, and when it was done, she was a changed person. It only took a few people to believe in her, but you know what else it really was?”
“What?”
She shook her head. “It’s a placebo effect.”
He frowned. “But you really do change their appearance.”
“Yes, but especially with women, it may not take much to give us that needed kick to get to the next level. To spur a bit more confidence in our abilities just because we suddenly feel good about ourselves. No matter how bad we think it is, no matter how many articles are written about it, no matter how much women hate to admit it, how we feel when we look in a mirror is a big-ass deal. My goal was to try and tweak that, then build the rest of it.” A soft sigh escaped her lips. “Unfortunately, it’s begun to backfire.”
“What do you mean?”
A wall slammed down between them. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him, but Tessa had been open and now he was damn curious to know more.
“Never mind,” she said. “Let’s move on.”
“No, tell me. It’s just us, and what do I matter?”
She laughed then, collapsing deeper into the chair. “Ah, hell, why not? Basically, I’m getting tired of putting in the effort to watch a woman chase after a guy who’s never going to love her like she deserves. I expanded the column to help more women and was riding high on success for a while. I really thought I’d hit on something, until I began to realize most of the men they were going after weren’t worth the effort. My dream was to keep it pure, but like lots of things, I think the column got tainted along the way. All the readers really want to see is confirmation that if they change their looks, they’ll get the man. And it’s exactly the opposite of what Quench stands for.”
Ford scratched his head and pondered her words. “Intentions are good. But you’re probably giving yourself too much credit. Some makeup and a bit of confidence doesn’t mean the guy they want is gonna fall for them. The women figure that out eventually, right?”
A tiny frown furrowed her brow. “You don’t get it. I have a perfect rate of success with my reader column.”
“For what?”
Tessa gave a deep sigh, as if she didn’t want to explain, but finally relented. “Here’s the thing. At first, I took on a few readers who wanted to live a bigger life. It seemed authentic. Then, it seemed to slowly switch, and it became all about guys my readers loved from afar but didn’t have the confidence to approach. I took on a few of these cases, curious if I could make a difference. After only a few weeks, they made a connection and entered a relationship. I printed the results in the column, and suddenly, everyone wanted more. I was approached by thousands of readers asking me to help them. I swore to report on every woman I chose, even with unsuccessful results.”
“A reasonable plan. What are your percentages?”
“I told you. One hundred percent. I haven’t failed once.”
Fascinated, he leaned in. “You’re saying you did your magic stuff and the guy fell in love with the woman you helped?”
Tessa shrugged. “Love, lust, whatever it was, my reader always got the man they wanted and fell into some type of committed relationship.”
“Just from looking better?”
She gave an impatient sigh. “More than that, though you should never underestimate the power of a woman on a good hair day. Something inside changed, too, and gave them the confidence in themselves to believe they were worthy. That’s what the main attraction was. I may not approve of my reader’s choices, but each got what they wanted. I was able to give them that.”
He thought briefly to Patricia and knew he’d do anything to get her to notice him as a man, not a friend. If a makeover would help? Hell, he’d snatch up that opportunity immediately. But that wasn’t possible. He was positive Tessa was overstating her skills in creating a connection under her tutelage.
Ford tried not to sound patronizing. “Do you really believe you have that much power?”
He waited for her to laugh, but she shot him a dead-serious look. “Yes.”
He tried but couldn’t smother his laugh. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t believe it. Maybe these women felt bad for all you did for them, so they lied. Pretended they got the guy and it ended.”
Unbelievably, sympathy lit powder-blue eyes. “No, they didn’t. My current reader has been focused on this marketing director, who seems pretty superficial. She’s revealing her new look and revamped attitude at an office holiday party this weekend. I guarantee in about two weeks, he’ll be smitten and they’ll be dating.”
Ford snorted. “Yeah, right.”
She cocked her head and glared. “You don’t believe me?”
“Nope.”
The old rivalry between them seemed to catch and reignite. Annoyance swarmed from her in waves. “Wanna bet?”