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She pulled her cosmetics bag out of her purse. Before the makeover Maia had given her, she hadn’t worried about touching up her makeup and hadn’t carried a cosmetics bag in her purse. But since Austin had noticed her haircut, and of course, since Macks had waltzed onto the scene, it had become her armor.
Now she was glad she’d taken Maia up on the offer to find her a dress to wear for the ball. Maia did hair and makeup for beauty pageant contestants, and she was certain one of her pageant girls would be willing to lend a dress. Maia was like a dog with a tug toy when she set her mind to something like this. There would be no putting her off, no talking her out of it. Frankly, Felicity wasn’t about to ask her to stand down. She wanted the brightest, shiniest, most pageant-y gown Maia could find. She wanted Austin to look at her and think, there she is, Miss Fricking America.
Or at least in theory that’s what she wanted. She wanted him, despite the fact that she was too paralyzed to let herself take steps to make that a reality. Or maybe she fancied herself in love with him because he was unavailable—or at least not available to her.
She owed her love-related post-traumatic stress to her parents and their nasty divorce, a debacle that had left her mother alone and broken after the love of her life had walked out and left her high and dry for a woman fifteen years his junior.
Watching her mother suffer had left such a scar on Felicity that she would rather pine over a guy who was unattainable than give herself a chance with a guy like Kevin, who was interested enough in her that he was willing to look past her tepid reception of his attention and keep pursuing her.
The thing was, Felicity believed in love. She believed in love in a big way. She felt it every day, every time she looked at or thought of Austin. The problem was, she also knew that love that intense never lasted. It was like a match. In its purest, unused form, it held all the possibility in the world. However, once struck and ignited, it was only a matter of time until it burned itself out to a worthless nothing.
As she powdered her nose, touched up her bronzer and reapplied her lipstick, she made a promise to herself that she was going to give Kevin a chance tonight. She would force herself to give him her attention and not let her mind wander to Austin. She wouldn’t ponder the coincidental timing of Austin’s interest in Macks—after the flowers from Kevin had arrived for Felicity. She wouldn’t let herself sit there with Kevin and wonder if it been a huge mistake to let Austin know she was playing the dating game. That would assume Austin had feelings for her, too, because why else would he get jealous? She wouldn’t ponder what might happen if she went for broke and confessed her feelings to Austin since she was leaving Fortune Investments after graduation. No. Dinner the other night would’ve been the perfect time to do that.
It seemed pretty clear that ship had sailed.
As Felicity was putting away her makeup, her phone sounded a text message. It was from Kevin saying he’d be there in five minutes and asking if he could come in and visit the restroom. He’d tacked on a comment that it would be a good chance to see where she spent so much of her time.
I want to see if it matches the mental picture I have when I think of you at work.
Since Austin was still here, Felicity hesitated. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to let Kevin come up, but it wouldn’t be very nice to deny him the restroom.
* * *
Austin caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. When he looked up, he saw a guy who looked vaguely familiar standing at Felicity’s desk. All of a sudden, everything snapped into place.
Kevin Clooney.
That’s why the guy’s name sounded so familiar. He’d met Kevin Clooney before. About a year ago, one of the New Orleans television stations had sponsored a hometown version of the show Shark Tank to match up local entrepreneurs with possible venture capitalists. Austin had been one of the financiers. He had been flattered to be invited to be part of a panel that would hear pitches and possibly strike deals with the budding business creatives. He was jazzed at the thought of possibly having a hand in making someone’s dreams come true.
Of course, it had to be the right project.
He’d heard Kevin Clooney’s pitch. Sadly, it hadn’t been a very good one. He might have thought his idea for the Skin to Win burlesque food truck had sounded titillating, but it wasn’t viable for many reasons. The biggest reason was, even in New Orleans, the type of show Kevin wanted to produce alongside his food truck didn’t comply with city ordinances.
