Grooming Mr. Right Read online

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  TONYA

  KAPPES

  Grooming

  Mr. Right

  A Bluegrass Romance

  Book One

  For The Man Who Saved

  My Life ~ My Eddy.

  Special acknowledgments: Thank you Erica Massman (owner of Pampered Pooch Mobile Pet Spa) for driving to my house every eight weeks to groom my boys. Thank you for answering my grooming questions and allowing me to pick your brain for research.

  Why You Pay More To Get Your Dog Groomed

  Than Your Own Hair Cut

  (Taken from Barkleigh Company)

  10. Your hairdresser doesn’t wash and clean your rear end.

  9. You don’t go eight weeks without washing or brushing your hair.

  8. Your hairdresser doesn’t give you a sanitary trim.

  7. Your hairdresser doesn’t clean your ears.

  6. Your hairdresser doesn’t remove the boogies from your eyes.

  5. You sit still for your hairdresser.

  4. Your haircut doesn’t include a manicure or pedicure.

  3. Your hairdresser only washes and cuts the hair on your head.

  2. You don’t bite or scratch your hairdresser.

  1. The likelihood of your pooping on the hairdresser is pretty slim.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  About the Author

  Also by Tonya Kappes

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  “I’ll have a Java Chip Frappuccino in a Trenta cup, 16 shots of espresso, a shot of soy milk, caramel flavoring, banana puree, strawberry puree, vanilla beans, mocha powder, protein powder, and a drizzle of caramel and mocha.” I smiled as I rattled off the high-dollar drink to the cashier behind the Starbucks counter. It was exactly what Sasha ordered every single day when she sent her errand girl to go get it. I had memorized it by heart.

  The high-priced coffee was a stretch for my budget, but would be well worth the payoff.

  “Hold on.” The cashier’s mouth dropped open and her eyes narrowed. She looked back at the drink menu that hung on the wall and scratched her head. She turned back around and held up her finger. “One minute.”

  She reached over and tapped one of the baristas on the arm, and then nodded for her to come over.

  “What was that again?” The barista’s lip curled up. She was holding a paper cup with a cardboard sleeve in one hand and a Sharpie marker in the other.

  I repeated my order verbatim, spewing off the ingredients like I had bought it a million times, only I hadn’t. This was my first time. It was exactly how I had rehearsed it and exactly how I had pictured the reaction.

  “Can you slow down, please?” The barista leaned to one side and raised an eyebrow.

  Slow down? There was no slowing me down. There was no time to slow down. Sasha Designs’ new spring clothing line was waiting to have my signature on it. And my big corner office overlooking the fashion district was waiting for me. I could see the bright shiny doorplate now: Luvie Beiderman.

  The time had finally come. My time.

  A couple of months ago, Sasha Designs, which was my employer, put out an all-call for designers to send in their fresh-sketch ideas. I gave Pete, my boss and Sasha’s right-hand man, my entire book of sketches. They were announcing the winner this week and I still hadn’t gotten my book back yet…which can only mean one thing. It’s my time.

  “Java Chip Frappuccino in a Trenta cup,” my mouth opened wide with each pronunciation. I paused until the barista caught up and slowly went on, “Sixteen shots of espresso, a shot of soy milk, caramel flavoring, banana puree, strawberry puree, vanilla beans, mocha powder, protein powder, and a drizzle of caramel and mocha.”

  I ran my hands down my new and expensive (but on sale) baby-blue Sasha pantsuit that fit my five-foot-nine slender frame perfectly, and looked down at the tips of my black heels peeking out from the cuffs. A perfect fit. I looked up at the barista and smiled. This was going to be a fantastic day. I just knew it.

  “Name?” She cocked her right eyebrow.

  “Luvie.”

  “Luvie?” She questioned me as if I had lied.

  “Yes, why?” So my name wasn’t exactly one that was heard on a regular basis, but it was my name and it made me unique. At least that was what my dad said to make me feel better about it when I was a kid.

  “Of course.” There was a smirk on her face as she looked me up and down. She scribbled something on the side of the cup.

  “Wait!” I shook my hands out in front of me. “It’s not for me, so…no name.”

  “Too late.” She turned and set my cup next to the line of cups waiting to be filled.

  I didn’t come to Starbucks often since I was on a strict budget, but that was going to change after today. Still, I had forgotten they print your name on the cup. I’d be sure to use a marker at work to scratch it out and replace it with Sasha.

  After all, yesterday, after Sasha told me to be at the office for an important meeting, I knew it was because I had put in so much hard work that finally the time had come to promote me to trials. Actually, she didn’t tell me; she sent a memo through her assistant, who told my boss, who told me. Still it was as good as Sasha telling me herself.

  “What people would pay for a cup of coffee,” the barista murmured and shook her head before she turned to get the pumps.

  There were a few snickers heard behind the thick glass barrier and a few glances from the other baristas, but I didn’t pay any attention to them.

  A copy of New York Magazine stuck up out of my Prada Saffiano computer bag, which was my first purchase after I got that amazing credit card deal when I walked off the bus from Kentucky on my first day in New York City—that I still happened to be paying for after three years.

  I’ll show them, I glared at the women who snickered at my fancy cup of joe, and looked lovingly at the magazine where there was a picture of my new uptown condo I planned to purchase as soon as I got my big promotion today.

  Even the furniture was on my list to buy . . . and the guy in the ad. I ran my finger over the guy sitting on the couch who was obviously a model. Too bad he wasn’t for sale; I’d buy him too. The new promotion would open up a little more time for me to focus on my love life, which at this moment was nonexistent.

  Patiently, I waited for the cashier to finish tapping on the cash register. “That will be fifty-five dollars.” The cashier raised her brows.

  Fifty-five dollars? I crinkled the magazine in my fist.

  The cashier could obviously see my surprise because she said, “If you can’t afford it, you shouldn’t order it.”

  “Afford it?” I glanced down at my wrinkled condo and shoved it back into my bag. I laughed, “Of course I can afford it.” I gulped and pulled out my wallet to retrieve my
ever-mounting-balance credit card and handed it to the cashier.

  The cashier swiped the card, announced, “Declined.” And took out a big pair of scissors.

  The woman behind me wearing the new and fabulous Tory Burke black wedge pumps, not only made me envious of her shoes, but made fun of me as she turned and whispered loudly to the people behind her, “Her card was declined.”

  “Wait!” I put my hands in the air like a stop sign and begged the cashier before I glanced around. It was too late; everyone in line was getting fidgety and murmuring under their breath. I leaned in and whispered, “Please don’t cut up the card. I have cash.”

  Reluctantly, I reached into my bag and pulled out a Ziploc baggie that had rent printed on the front of it in bright red lipstick. Where was a pen when you needed one? The baggie was full of coins and dollars to cover my part of the rent in the 600 square-foot apartment that I shared with a girl I had found on Craigslist who was looking for a roommate.

  I had to scrape pennies to make up my part of the rent, which was one thousand dollars. This promotion couldn’t have come at a better time. Regardless, the Ziploc had the exact amount I needed for rent and I had to give it to my roommate after work. Not only that, but I was going to tell her that I was moving out and moving up.

  “The Jeffersons” theme song played in my head, we a-movin’ on up, movin’ on up, reminding me of my Granny. She kept her TV on the ME Channel that played the older TV shows and “The Jeffersons” happened to be one of her favorites. She is the only person I had texted about my big news. Maybe I was putting the cart before the horse, but the promotion was as good as mine.

  Without much more internal debate, I whipped a fifty and a ten out of the baggie and held it toward the cashier. The line of people behind me sighed with relief.

  “See?” I waved the cash at the woman behind me, and then slapped the money in the cashier’s hand. “Can I have my card back?”

  “Fine.” The cashier tossed me a glare before she held the card out for me to grab.

  “Luvie!” The barista screamed and put the marked up cup on the ledge.

  “Thank you so much.” I heard the words of my Granny in my head; kill them with kindness.

  Granny was right. The barista smiled as I left.

  Chapter Two

  What the heck, I threw my hand in the air. There was no way I was going to walk to the office or take the subway when I could afford a taxi. Well, I couldn’t officially afford such luxuries at that moment, but in an hour, I’d be able to afford everything I have ever wanted. Almost everything.

  “Taxi!” I screamed and backed up when the yellow car that was barreling down the street came to an abrupt stop.

  After giving the driver the office address, I sat back and enjoyed the scenery—not to mention the air conditioner.

  Within a few minutes, we had pulled up to the tall glass building. The excitement created flip-flops in my stomach. Unlike yesterday morning.

  I grimaced when I remembered the feelings I had had when I walked to the hunk of steel, not because I was a sweaty mess, but because I knew I was going to be doing the grunt work of grabbing new materials needed for Sasha’s upcoming spring line that was going to be on this fall’s runway. The deadline was looming and the entire office was on pins and needles.

  “Keep the change.” Since I had made peace with my Ziploc at the Starbucks, I was filled with giddiness. My new promotion was within my reach, and I wanted to share the love.

  I stepped out of the taxi and planted my feet firmly on the concrete jungle of the Fashion District. A newfound confidence rushed through me and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Sasha felt every day when she came to work.

  I took a deep breath. It was, at long last, the moment I had been waiting for. I wanted to savor every part of this amazing feeling before I took my first step into my future.

  “Move it!” The cab driver beeped at me and shouted out the passenger window.

  “Sorry.” I threw my hand in the air and stepped up on the curb.

  “Good morning, Luvie,” Hank, the doorman smiled. He also stood about five-foot-five and was as round as he was tall. The big “S” emblem that stood for Sasha Designs on his hat was perfectly polished and reflected like a flashlight when the sun hit it just right.

  “It is a great morning, Hank.” I winked. “And you look dapper as always.”

  “You bring a breath of fresh air to this old place every morning.” He held the door. “You look very nice today.”

  I smoothed my hand down my long red hair.

  “I thought I’d replace my work khakis with my new suit.” So I splurged on a Sasha suit from last year’s collection, but it was on sale, and still a stretch for me to purchase. With my new promotion, I wanted Sasha to know that I was promoting the collection. I held up my computer case that held all of my great fashion ideas. “I’m going places, Hank.”

  “You have no idea, Miss Luvie.” He tilted his head and gave a half grin. “No matter what happens up there today, I want you to know that I enjoy seeing you every day.”

  My heart stopped. Had Sasha already told everyone about my big promotion?

  “I’m always going to be the same old Luvie.” I assured him before hightailing it into the building. Being late was never on my agenda.

  I’ve seen it so many times before; when someone gets a promotion, they suddenly they think they are better than everyone else. Nope. Not me.

  Don’t forget where you were raised Granny always told me. Granny was one smart woman and I couldn’t wait to text the details to her about the promotion.

  “Good morning.” I wiggled a couple of fingers at Madison, the receptionist, and held up the fancy cup when I passed her.

  “Yes, it is.” She had a sarcastic tone. Her eyes peered over her reader glasses. Madison had always been a nasty woman. No wonder. If I had that brittle, frizzy hair, I’d be in a bad mood too.

  Madison had never liked me from the beginning. The day I came in to fill out an application, I had to beg her to let me have one. Granted, I didn’t graduate with honors or in the top of the class in fashion design school, but I had a heart for it.

  After all, I had been designing clothes all my life. Well, clothes for a dog. I’d had to find something to do with my time since I grew up on a horse farm in the middle of nowhere. And I could say my dogs were so cute dressed in the outfits I designed and sewed for them.

  Regardless, Madison was rude when she’d told me Sasha was never going to hire me as a designer. Luckily for me, the intern didn’t show up on time that day and Sasha needed some errands run, so she grabbed me out of the receptionist office and hired me on the spot.

  The poor intern showed up five minutes late and Sasha fired her on the spot. That was the first and the last time I’d had a real conversation with Sasha herself.

  I’d been at Sasha Designs for three years, doing every single grunt errand I had been asked to do. Now it was time. Sasha had seen how hard I had worked, never complaining…out loud anyway…and today was the day that I was going to be promoted to Designer.

  “Luvie?” Madison stopped me from going back to the design floor where my cubicle and all of my stuff had made a home for the past three years. “Where is your uniform?”

  I looked down. I didn’t have to explain anything to her. Maybe Sasha would ask where the khaki pants and white tee with the big “S” for Sasha were—like the “L” sweaters Laverne wore on Laverne and Shirley, another show my Granny loved—but for now, I only shrugged.

  I ignored her and proceeded back to my little cubicle to put my bag down before I headed to the meeting.

  “And you can’t go back…” Madison stood up from her desk, knocking her computer chair to the floor… “there.”

  Everyone turned to look at me from their workspace. There was an element of surprise planted on all of their faces when they saw me.

  “Hi, guys!” I waved my fancy bag in the air while I clung to the coffee cup. I wen
t to set my bag down on my desk before the meeting, but noticed that all of my stuff was gone from my cubicle.

  My cubicle mate, who had only been there a little longer than me, asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, I see,” I smiled. “They moved my stuff!” I squealed and rushed back to Madison who stood there in the doorway like a barricade, with a scowl on her face, arms crossed, tapping her foot.

  “Has the meeting already started?” I asked, pushing my way past her. I swiped the pad of my finger across my front teeth. Somehow, lipstick always made it onto my front teeth. “How do I look?” I straightened my shoulders back and took a deep breath before I started to strut back to Sasha’s boardroom. A place I rarely went.

  “I wouldn’t go in there if I were…” Madison tried to stop me, but I wasn’t going to let her hold me back any longer. I had taken her mean jabs for three years and didn’t have to do it much longer.

  “Good morning.” I was so happy I could’ve cried. All the executives of the company and a couple of designers I was going to be working with were sitting around the fifteen-foot mahogany conference table. Immediately, I imagined how gorgeous my red hair was going to look as I, too, sat in one of the brown leather chairs.

  “May I help you?” Sasha stood up. Her six-foot-three-inch frame was still as lovely as it was when she was a model. Her blond hair was pulled up in a tight bun. I would have killed to see her emerald eyes, but she kept those hidden behind her big “S” sunglasses.

  I sat the drink down in front of her and looked for an empty chair, my chair, but didn’t see one. No big deal. I could stand.

  “Luvie, what are you doing?” Pete, my direct supervisor, stood up. “I’m sorry Sasha dear; I will get her out of here.”

  “Wait.” Sasha pointed at Pete. He sat back down like a good little doggie. I smiled, because I could tell she instantly recognized my name and my talent. “Is that from two seasons ago?” She ran her finger up and down my body before she picked up the Starbucks cup and took a sip.

  Her orange lipstick left a stain on the lid and I loved how it popped against the white, so I made a mental note to design something fabulous using those colors.