Under My Skin Read online

  Under My Skin

  City Girls Book 2

  Rhonda Bowen

  ~~~

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright (c) 2015 by Rhonda Bowen

  Under My Skin

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the written permission of the author.

  The characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another individual, please purchase an additional copy per recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the efforts of the author.

  For more information about Rhonda Bowen visit:

  www.rhondabowen.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other Books by Rhonda Bowen

  Chapter 1

  “Take your clothes off.”

  “Huh?”

  Morgan watched the media mogul’s eyes widen like saucers as he second guessed her words. She didn’t flinch.

  “You heard me.” She took a step closer. “Take it all off. I want to see what you’re working with under there.”

  His voice dropped as he leaned closer, his eyes glancing around. “Here? Right now? In the office? What about everyone...”

  “Trust me.” Morgan slipped her hands into the lapels of his jacket, easing it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. “It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.”

  She watched as he unbuttoned his shirt. His eyes stayed on her the whole time. His usual confident swagger diluted with uncertainty. But when the shirt came off, she was too busy sizing up his physique to notice the look on his face.

  She sighed. “This is not going to work for me. You have to hit the gym. Immediately.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come on, Bryan.” Morgan picked up a clipboard from the nearby desk. “You are the nightly news anchor for a major local syndicate. You cannot be walking around with a paunch.”

  The tall raven haired man snatched up his shirt, shoving his hands back into the sleeves. “I do not have a paunch.”

  “Okay fine,” Morgan conceded. “Not a full paunch, but it is definitely undefined. And you cannot be New York’s nightly news heart throb without at least a four pack.”

  Bryan frowned as he buttoned quickly. “You know, Morgan, I respect your opinion. You have helped me a lot with my career, but I think you’ve gone too far.”

  Morgan walked over and put her hands on his shoulders. “Bryan, how many years have we worked together?”

  “Two.”

  “And how many times have you been promoted since we’ve worked together?”

  Bryan pursed his lips. “Three.”

  “And how many endorsements have you attracted since I stared working on your image?”

  He let out a breath. “Six. But...”

  “But, I know that you are looking for that CNN anchor position. You think Anderson Cooper has belly flab?”

  Bryan bristled, but Morgan held him firm.

  “Trust me on this one,” Morgan met his eyes. “Looks aren’t everything, but in your business they’re at least seventy percent - and that’s not just a pretty face. That’s the whole package.”

  Bryan shook his head and tucked his shirt into his dress pants. “You are lucky I like you, Morgan.”

  She grabbed her clipboard and scribbled quickly. “And you’re lucky you’re one of my favorite clients. I want to see you make it to CNN. Then there will be at least one person on the network I can trust.”

  Bryan cracked a smile. “Alright boss, so what do I do?”

  Morgan tore the piece of paper off her clipboard and handed it to Bryan. “Call this guy. He’s an amazing personal trainer. A little pricey, but he will have your body looking like Channing Tatum’s by the end of the summer.

  Bryan took the slip and looked at it. “That good, huh?”

  “So good you’ll end up in the gossip columns.” Morgan said backing into the hallway. “I have to run up to a meeting. But go see Tori in wardrobe. We picked out a couple styles for you, and an outfit for the Daytime Emmys.”

  “You’re the best, Morgan.” Bryan’s voice floated out to her from the room.

  “You’re welcome!”

  Morgan headed down the hallway of the basement floor of Chrysalis, passing by hair and makeup, wardrobe and accessories. The open eclectic layout allowed her to see everything that was going on across the floor lovingly called the beauty warehouse. This was where most of the company’s hands-on work took place. Where makeover concepts for clients went from ideas to reality. It was where she had started out as a makeup artist some four years ago. She had moved up since then, metaphorically and literally. She waved at a few girls before stepping into the elevator headed for the third floor. The doors were about to close when a hand shot out to stop them. Morgan quickly pressed the door open button and fought the tiniest twinge of annoyance at having to share the elevator.

  “Morgan! Looks like we’re headed to the same place.”

  Morgan smiled as the lean olive toned man stepped into the elevator with her.

  “Looks that way, Clay,” she responded. “Headed to the client meeting?”

  “That I am...”

  Clay was saying more but Morgan missed it because she was too distracted by the creature that stepped into the elevator after him.

  It was brushing six feet and appeared to be male, though Morgan couldn’t be one hundred percent sure due to the growth on the lower half of his face and the fuzzy longish braids sticking out from under the black baseball cap jammed onto his head. What Morgan did know for sure was that this man was going in the wrong direction. Usually individuals entered the beauty warehouse looking like this, not leave it. With his crumpled plaid shirt thrown over a black t-shirt and jeans, he looked like the ‘before’ on a style by jury episode. His only saving grace were his sparkling tan high tops that looked like a twist on Timberlands. They were nice, like nothing she had seen in a store, and straight out of the box crisp.

  Nonetheless, even those couldn’t keep Morgan from wrinkling her nose and stepping back instinctively as he entered. It wasn’t that he smelled bad; he just looked like he should.

  “...remember, Morgan?”

  “Huh?”

  Morgan snapped back to the present when she realized Clay was still talking to her.

  “I said, remember we mentioned giving our new client a tour of
our offices before we met with them?”

  “Oh, yes,” Morgan said as her destination filtered back to her mind. So distracted by the appearance of the Rick Rubin look-alike, she’d almost forgotten she was on her way to a meeting with Clay, their boss Geoff, and a potential new client. As the senior image consultant at Chrysalis, she occasionally got called into these meeting to help prod an iffy client over the image management cliff. She was particularly excited about this new client. They were an up and coming brand that she was itching to work with.

  “Yes, did you do that already?” she asked as the elevator doors opened. Morgan stepped out and glanced back. She noticed the monster man had stepped out also. She was about to ask him if he was lost when Clay answered.

  “Yes,” Clay clasped the man’s questionably clean shoulder. “And I really am starting to think he’s getting a feel for what we do. Right, Derek?”

  Morgan’s jaw bounced a little when it hit the floor. She took a second look at the third member of their elevator party. She still couldn’t see his face clearly but she swore on her Prada slingbacks that he was smirking at her.

  Before she could form a response, however, the doors to their meeting room opened and Geoff ushered them inside where a spunky looking honey-colored young woman with bright red hair and lips to match was already waiting. In her fuchsia jacket and black and white zebra print pants, she looked exactly like what Morgan thought the head of an up and coming footwear brand would look like.

  “Looks like everyone is here,” Geoff stepped forward. “Let’s make the introductions. I think everyone here knows me. Clay is our client services rep and this is Morgan, our senior image consultant. These are two of our best team leaders at Chrysalis. If you do choose to work with us, they will personally be heading up your team.”

  Geoff turned to Morgan who by now had managed to stop staring at the breathing thing standing next to Clay.

  “Morgan, I think you’re the only one who hasn’t met everyone yet. This is Derek and Portia Wynters, the founders of Solid Step Footwear.”

  Morgan stepped forward and shook the hand of the stylish red haired woman, returning her mischievous smile. She would enjoy working with her. She couldn’t help the way her smile slipped just a little as her eyes slid over to Derek. With his hands in his pockets and a scowl on what she could see of his face, she knew she had an unwilling participant. She sighed as her eyes did another appraisal of what stood before her. She hoped Geoff had planned for a large makeover budget. They had their work cut out for them.

  Chapter 2

  On most days, Derek and his sister agreed on most things. It was probably the whole sharing a womb, born-three-minutes-apart twin factor. They might do things differently but where it really mattered they were on the same page. It’s what had made starting Solid Step so easy. Their visions and ideas seemed to just fit together like pieces of a larger picture that had been cut up and scattered but were just waiting to be assembled. Yes, most days Portia and Derek thought as one.

  Today was not one of those days.

  As Derek stared at the pretentious woman mentally listing his flaws with her eyes, he could still remember the conversation he and Portia had on the drive over. It was the same conversation - or disagreement - that they’d had ever since the name Chrysalis was first mentioned.

  “This is silly and you know it, P. We’re a shoe company not a political party. We don’t need image consultants.”

  “We do if we’re going to be serious about taking this company public,” Portia responded from the passenger seat of his Audi where she was touching up her eye makeup for the hundredth time. “People believe what they see and they have to believe that what they see when they see us, the heads of Solid, is worth investing in.”

  “You’re not going to be able to see anything if you put anymore of that stuff on your eyelashes,” he grunted.

  “Oh, stop. You know I look cute.”

  “I’ve actually forgotten what you look like seeing as I never see you without that mask anymore.”

  Without turning away from the mirror, Portia wacked him with her left hand. Derek just shook his head. It boggled his mind the amount of time and effort women put into making themselves look like someone else. Sure, sometimes the end result was beautiful but he always had the apprehensive feeling that what he was seeing was not what he was getting.

  “I really wish women would wear less makeup.” He frowned. “You all would look so much better without it.”

  Portia let out a laugh. “That’s what all men say until it actually happens. Then it’s all ‘hun, why don’t you doll yourself up like you used to’?”

  “For the record, your lame boyfriend, Barry...”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Portia corrected.

  “...is not most guys,” Derek finished as he took the exit off the freeway. “I, for one, would prefer a woman who didn’t wear makeup.”

  “Would you also prefer it if she didn’t shave her armpits and dry-washed her hair?”

  “Hey,” Derek held up his hand. “Let’s not get carried away now.”

  Portia laughed as she slipped her compact back into her purse.

  “Why not?” She reached over and touched his past-due-to-be-done cornrows. “You don’t seem to comb yours.”

  He batted her hand away. “I haven’t had time. Besides, I spend all day in a backroom designing shoes or playing sports to test them out. No one cares what I look like.”

  “They will when you stand in front of them for shareholder meetings which we will happen if we go public. Hence, why we’re going to the image consultant.”

  Derek snorted. “That’s so shallow, basing judgment of someone’s capacity on the outward appearance. God looks at the heart. That’s what we should be aiming to do.”

  “Maybe,” Portia slipped on her sunglasses. “But that’s just a goal. Right now, we have to deal with reality. And the reality is that you walking around looking like Cousin It is not going to help Solid Step grow. You need to shave and cut those dang cornrows out. Or at least get them redone.”

  Derek grumbled some more but his sister had already tuned him out. He could tell by the fact that she was flipping through a magazine.

  “Ooh! Here she is!” Portia sat up suddenly.

  Derek glanced over at his sister before turning his eyes back to the road. “Who?”

  “Morgan Cox. She’s the top image consultant at Chrysalis and one of the best in the city. I hear she’s worked with a whole bunch of movie stars. She practically made Deacon Hill when she reinvented his image before his first album. Now he’s a multi-platinum artist known internationally,” Portia sighed. “She’s got the touch.”

  As Derek sat at the round conference table a couple hours later glaring at Morgan Cox sitting a few seats over, he couldn’t help but agree with his sister. Morgan had the touch all right, the touch of arrogance. He saw it the moment he stepped on the elevator with Clay when she scrunched up her tiny nose up and backed away from him like he was carrying anthrax.

  Sure, she was beautiful. He guessed you had to be to do a job like this. After all, who would believe she could make them beautiful enough to boost their sales if she herself didn’t look like a black Barbie. Flawlessly smooth mahogany skin, large cocoa eyes, cheekbones as high as mountain peaks and lips that belonged in a lip gloss commercial. For sure, she wouldn’t have walked past him on the street without pulling a second look. But that’s all it would be - a look. No turn around, no ‘hey what’s your name’ and definitely no upper level game. Not with all that arrogance swirling around her. Derek rubbed his generous beard. If what the Bible said about pride going before a fall held true, Miss Cox better pack herself a parachute.

  ***

  It oozed out of him like puss from a sore. And it was just as unwelcome.

  Resistance.

  Morgan had seen it before. People who thought what she did - what Chrysalis did - was nothing more than a department store make-over. This was why Geoff wanted her in
the meeting. She sighed and pulled herself up. Might as well nip it in the bud.

  “We’re hoping to do some expansion in the next few months and put an IPO out there in about a year,” Portia sat forward. “That seems far out but we would like to do some brand development between now and then to build credibility and awareness of the solvency of our company in the mind of the public. From there, we think we should be able to pull a strong initial showing.”

  “Not with that attitude, you won’t.” Morgan said.

  She had been quiet most of the meeting but spoke up for the first time, almost cutting Portia off. Every eye around the table turned to look at her, but her eyes focused on Derek. In her peripheral vision, Morgan saw Clay rub the bridge of his nose and Geoff glared at her like a mother on the choir roster warning a child in the front pew to stop talking. Morgan didn’t let it bother her though. This is what they brought her into these meetings for - the shock and awe effect. She was their hail Mary.

  “Excuse me?” Portia’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline as her neck went into full hood chick swing.

  “Not you, Portia,” Morgan said immediately. “In fact, I suspect you were the vision behind the idea of coming here. It’s clear though that your brother and business partner cares as much about a first impression as Kanye West cares about being on time.”

  This was a risky move, insulting the client. It usually worked better with men; a little scratch at their ego to make them spring into action. But with women you had to be careful. In this case, insulting Derek might turn Portia from an ally into a crouching tiger. When Portia responded however, Morgan knew she was safe.

  “Please excuse my brother’s appearance,” Portia pursed her lips. “He went dumpster diving for that outfit to prove a point. As you can probably tell he’s a little...hesitant about this facet of our brand strategy.”