The Beauty and the CEO Read online

  Undeniable chemistry

  Makeup artist Zoe Baldwin can’t believe the gorgeous guy she flirted with on the way to a job interview was her potential boss. So when Will Ravens, CEO of his family’s cosmetics company, tells Zoe her innovative approach isn’t right for his brand, she agrees to work alongside him at a beauty pageant to prove her skills. But where there are sparks, there’s certain attraction...

  Will is fighting to keep his family legacy afloat. He’s going back to basics at Ravens Cosmetics, leaving no time for romance or Zoe’s avant-garde ideas. But despite his intentions, he finds himself falling deeper under Zoe’s sensual spell. Amid the chaos caused by company sabotage, can both their career dreams and passionate fantasies come true?

  As she bounced backward with a prolific apology, the wooden rails creaked. The last thing she needed to do was fall into the water with her tablet. She welcomed the strong pull around her waist, and she reached for the impeccably muscular arms.

  “Whoa,” the deep and now familiar voice said into her ear.

  “Mr. Ravens.” Zoe gasped. Once her eyes began to focus, she narrowed in on his lopsided smirk.

  “Let’s see, we’ve shared a plane, shared a seat on a plane, and I’ve walked in on you taking a shower.”

  Heat burned her cheeks. Zoe held her index finger up to correct him. “Almost in the shower.”

  Will inclined his head. “Okay, almost. However, I do believe we are beyond the formalities. Please call me Will.”

  Zoe bit the right corner of her bottom lip. “All right, Will. You’ll have to call me Zoe.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Zoe.”

  He had no idea what a pleasure it was to still be in his arms.

  Dear Reader,

  It’s pageant season in Southwood, Georgia. Who doesn’t want to be glitzed up by none other than renowned makeup artist Zoe Baldwin? Titles are up for grabs, including the position of creative design director at Ravens Cosmetics.

  Zoe is one of those women who’s planned out her life at an early age. She expects to end up seated at the corporate table at Ravens Cosmetics—not in the CEO’s bed. But there’s something to be said about the best-laid plans.

  I must confess that I am one of those people who cannot leave the house without mascara. I wouldn’t quite call it a dependency—more like a security blanket. And since I cannot seem to apply a wing tip or false lashes like a pro, I get to pay homage to the professionals in The Beauty and the CEO.

  Carolyn

  Having your story read out loud as a teen by your brother in Julia Child’s voice might scare some folks from ever sharing their work. But Carolyn Hector rose above her fear. She currently resides in Tallahassee, Florida, where there is never a dull moment. School functions, politics, football, Southern charm and sizzling heat help fuel her knack for putting a romantic spin on everything she comes across. Find out what she’s up to on Twitter: @Carolyn32303.

  Books by Carolyn Hector

  Harlequin Kimani Romance

  The Magic of Mistletoe

  The Bachelor and the Beauty Queen

  His Southern Sweetheart

  The Beauty and the CEO

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  I would like to dedicate this book to my ambitious

  daughter and nieces, Haley, Kayla and Ashleigh.

  I live vicariously through these talented young ladies.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to acknowledge the Galaxy

  living in my house. Without their cooperation,

  I wouldn’t get any writing done!

  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

  Excerpt from Tempo of Love by Kianna Alexander

  Chapter 1

  Morning rays of sunlight created a halo effect around the godlike body of a six-foot-four man strolling through the parting glass doors of Kelly Towers. A collective gasp of soft feminine sighs rose over the swishing sound of the automatic doors closing. With the sun behind him, the man strolled down the red carpet toward the elevator right where makeup artist Zoe Baldwin stood.

  Dear Lord, Zoe began her silent prayer, if ever there were a time to get stuck in the elevator, please let it be now and with him.

  The denim jeans he wore clung to his powerful thighs. A thin, white, long-sleeved shirt hugged the sculpted muscles of his arms and abdomen. As he came closer, everyone in the lobby turned their heads in his direction. Thick, dark brows framed his eyes. A prominent chin jutted out from the sharp angles of his long, masculine face. Zoe cocked her head to the left and reached up to touch the signature hoop earrings she was known to wear. Instead of the cool gold circle, Zoe’s fingertip brushed against heirloom pearls handed down from her grandmother. The jewels had a reputation for good luck. Perhaps with this fine-as-hell gentleman coming closer, the hand-me-down stories were true.

  Though he didn’t carry a portfolio, Zoe pegged her soon-to-be elevator companion as a male model. The fifty-three-story Kelly Towers was home to several of Miami’s elite businesses. The local news station was housed on ten floors, while Ravens Cosmetics, Zoe’s final destination, was housed on the fortieth through the forty-ninth. Modeling and a few talent agencies were sprinkled throughout the other floors. Zoe guessed he’d get off on one of those floors. For her, the only place she needed to be was at Ravens Cosmetics—the home of the oldest and most successful cosmetic line for people of color in the United States and now globally. And if today went as planned at her interview, she could call Ravens Cosmetics home as well.

  In an attempt to flirt, Zoe licked her lips, tasting the hint of honey in the concoction she used for lip balm. The response she received from the gorgeous man was a lopsided, boy-next-door smile mixed with a hint of danger. The sensual curve of his full lips begged to challenge the question every makeup-wearing woman pondered: Was he worth smearing her lipstick for? His lips parted into a dashing smile and crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. An older model? Twenty-five? Twenty-eight? She’d heard RC was going in a new direction. It was about time they added someone more age appropriate to their ads for men. The men in the ads for shaving, lotions and other male grooming products were handsome but also extremely young—as in barely-legal-young. Under thirty as a male was far from old, but in the modeling world he might be ready to retire.

  “Hello,” he said.

  His deep baritone touched her soul. A powerful shiver trickled down her spine while her knees weakened. “Hi,” she replied.

  With the limited skills she had in the flirting department, Zoe batted her lashes and damn it if her cell phone didn’t ring. The old-school Prince song indicated the hotline for one of her closest friends. It was almost a bat signal, and when that song rang, Zoe picked up the phone and answered. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Lexi Pendergrass Reyes’s cheerful voice came over the line loud and clear. “I wanted to wish you luck before your interview.”

  “You’re so sweet,” Zoe said as she offered an apologetic smile to t
he handsome man. Zoe stepped backward and did a little spin in an attempt to give the stranger a better view of her angles in her black pencil skirt and red silk Rochas blouse decorated with oversize magnolias. She’d received the blouse at a Vogue photo shoot last year, another lucky memento of her work. “Can I call you right back?”

  “Of course,” Lexi said, “but don’t forget. On top of wishing you the luck you don’t need, I do have a huge favor to ask of you.”

  The flashing triangle light above the elevator doors indicated it was coming in a few seconds. “The answer is yes. I don’t even have to know what it is.”

  “You say that now. Bye, girl.”

  Zoe swiped the icon on her cell to hang up the call. She took a deep breath, ready to speak to her male model again. As a makeup artist, she noticed he needed no cover-up. She’d known some models and actors who’d paid to have cheekbones as sculpted as his.

  “So,” he began, leaning against the marble wall near the up and down arrow-shaped buttons of the elevator.

  “So,” Zoe repeated.

  She was prepared to have some form of meaningful conversation in the span of the few seconds provided before the elevator arrived, but that was interrupted when the doors on the first floor, leading to the building’s cafeteria, opened up. It was not unusual in a place like this to run into some of the local celebrities. A gaggle of girls screamed at the sight of Zoe. Zoe and her magic beauty box kits were the reason certain faces graced the covers of top beauty magazines. She’d decorated the faces of movie stars, governors and their spouses, singers and television reality stars. Torn between not having seen these ladies in quite some time and getting to the meat of this conversation with the hot guy, Zoe offered another apologetic smile. The man stepped forward and extracted a business card from his back pocket to give to her, then winked before turning to take the door into the stairwell.

  “Hey, guys,” said Zoe, slipping the card into the front of her purse. “What’s going on today?”

  The half-dozen girls began to complain all at once about having to come in this morning for a music video which was being filmed in the cafeteria. Something about their makeup not being right and begging Zoe to ace the interview.

  “Girl, that outfit is giving me life! There really should be no reason for you to interview,” said Clarita Benson. She was a six-foot-three model in flats.

  The next tallest was six-two, a former volleyball star turned model. Her blond hair stuck out at the ends like straw. “I heard Marcus Ravens say you were the best person for the job.”

  “I guess we’ll see in a little bit.” Zoe shrugged her shoulders and craned her neck. Thankfully, the elevator doors opened with a loud ding. “Listen, ladies, I’ve got to head off and ace this interview.”

  The doors closed as the girls chorused, “Good luck!” Zoe leaned against the back of the compartment. She smiled at her reflection, knowing she’d dressed the part.

  In truth, Zoe knew she was the right person for the position as the Creative Design Director at Ravens Cosmetics. She had a BS in biochemistry and an MS in cosmetic chemistry, both from Fairleigh Dickinson University, held a license as a beautician and was the number one most-requested makeup artist at Fashion Week in New York, London, Milan and Paris. Her work with artists at Coachella over the last five years had gotten her noticed for the CDD position at several cosmetic companies.

  Zoe only wanted to set roots down in the Miami office of Ravens Cosmetics. Call it a predestined destination. Her great-grandmother Sadie, affectionately known as GiGi, ran one of the largest cosmetology schools in the Southeast. As a teen growing up in Trinidad, Gigi loved getting ready for the masquerade, also known as “Mas,” at Carnival. For a touch of home, she named her new school after the beloved event. Before leaving Mas Beauty School, all the students wanted to be an employee at Ravens Cosmetics, one of the oldest and most successful cosmetics companies founded by an African American woman for people of color. It would be a sign of success to join their company. Tears of pride and joy threatened to escape the corners of her eyes as she realized how close she was to following in her grandmother’s footsteps.

  Just last week at the after-party of a successful swimsuit fashion show, RC’s president, Marcus Ravens, had told Zoe the job was practically hers. The models on both of his arms swore Zoe was the best. And modestly Zoe had agreed.

  Traveling in fashion circles, Zoe had met Marcus’s other board members, a group made up of siblings and cousins from the large family. Each of the directors represented shareholders, the elders of Ravens Cosmetics.

  It had been hard to gauge how some of the Ravens women felt about her. In the world of fashion and cosmetics, everyone was either an enemy or an ally. For a very brief moment in Zoe’s life she’d modeled. Her knowledge of the industry, inside and out, put her in a threatening position. Plenty of times she’d overstepped the bounds as a makeup artist, questioning the chemicals the other cosmetologists wanted to put on someone’s face. She almost became difficult to work with. With her degree in cosmetic chemistry she could easily start her own line. But Zoe wanted stability in her life. Her parents married young before they had a chance to live out their dreams, before settling down. Seeing her parents struggle to stay together while reaching their own goals put a damper on Zoe’s outlook on relationships. Things were changing now. She was established and not to mention older than her parents had been when they married. Thirty was rapidly knocking on her door and a faint biological clock was ticking in the back of her mind.

  Having reaffirmed her worth, Zoe took a deep breath. When the elevator dinged to announce her presence on the fortieth floor, the doors parted and opened up to a quieter situation than on the first floor. A half-circle African blackwood desk drew Zoe’s attention immediately, along with a receptionist who had curly blond hair pulled up in a frizzy ponytail at the top of her head. A headset rested somewhere in the hair, Zoe guessed, because the girl held her finger up in Zoe’s direction but finished the conversation on the other end of the line before disconnecting the call.

  “Miss Baldwin?” The young girl, whose foundation was poorly blended from her face to neck, rolled her eyes at the sight of Zoe. Clearly not a fan.

  Zoe smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Okay, so, you and the others are in the waiting room over there.”

  The others? Using the eraser end of a pencil, the receptionist pointed toward a glass room adjacent to her desk. A minute ago Zoe had been giving herself a pep talk. She was sure the job was hers and she knew she’d earned it. But there were others? She stood at the glass door to the conference room where just over a half-dozen women and men sat waiting at a large oval table made of the same wood as the reception desk. In an instant, Zoe recognized everyone at the table, including Titus, her nemesis.

  To make it to this level of her profession, Zoe had come across several—as the young model clients had called them—haters, and Titus was not her number one fan. The one-name wonder scowled through the glass at Zoe, his long, tacky feather lashes clumping together, causing him to have to pry them apart with his loud pink fingernails. Zoe refrained herself from rolling her eyes by sighing instead. The man claimed to be the best yet can’t figure out which adhesive glue for lashes worked best. At the AJ Crimson event last year, Zoe’d almost had to tell him about himself when she found her artist’s kit at his station. He claimed the kit was accidentally placed there but Zoe knew better. He tried to steal it. A makeup artist’s beauty kit was as important to them as a doctor’s stethoscope, a police officer’s badge or even a mechanic’s tools. Zoe admired AJ Crimson for becoming a leader in the beauty world, bringing his popular brand of cosmetics to pop culture through hip-hop music and current top television shows. How badly did she want the Creative Design Director position? Zoe took a step backward.

  “You’re not leaving, are you, Zoe?”

  Zoe
turned around at the sound of Marcus Ravens’s voice. An automatic smile spread across her face at the sight of him. Marcus was a handsome man, tall, dark and charming. Zoe returned his friendly smile. All the models who did work for RC had gushed about him. “Hello, Marcus.”

  “Are you going in?” Marcus nodded his head at the door. The others inside craned their necks.

  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” said Zoe.

  Marcus retreated a step and glanced in both directions down the hall. He stepped closer to Zoe and touched her elbow. “There is, or was,” he said and shook his head. “There has been a slight change of plans. You see, my brother is here.”

  Zoe slowly shook her head to the left and then the right. “Okay? I spoke with Donovan last week. He assured me the job is mine. All I’d have to do is meet with the board.”

  “It is yours,” Marcus exclaimed. “You know you’re the best person for the job.”

  “It seems someone thinks several people are the perfect person for the job.” Zoe inclined her head toward the room of other makeup artists.

  “That’s what I’m trying to explain.” There was a panic in Marcus’s deep voice. He pressed one hand on Zoe’s shoulders as a vein pulsed at his temples, which he tried to cover up by scratching the back of his neck with his other hand. “My brother—my other brother, Will—is responsible.”

  “Will?” Zoe repeated. “I thought I knew everyone in your family.”

  Back in middle school, Zoe had done one of her best biography reports on the Ravens family. She’d once known their family tree like the back of her hand. The Ravens started at the turn of the century selling beauty products to the wives of the men working on the railroad. It was Marcus’s grandparents, Joe and Naomi Ravens, who’d slapped a label on their business and marketed it nationally. Zoe learned all about the following generations of Ravens through the Roaring Twenties and the forties to the present. The younger generations were all connected via social media. All of the family members worked for Ravens, right?

 
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