Every Road to You. Phyllis Bourne
know. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It’s a nightmare,” Ethan said.
Tia frowned. “I don’t understand. I’m usually restricted to the office, but because Carol’s a friend, I either supervised her services or handled them myself.”
“Then, Dr. Frankenstein, you have created a monster.”
“Monster?” The words came out in a gasp. “That’s impossible. She looked amazing when she left here. Fifteen, maybe even twenty years younger.”
His grandmother looked different, all right, Ethan fumed. Two weeks had passed since she’d redeemed her gift certificate, and he still had to do a double take when he looked at her. However, the change in her appearance, though disconcerting, wasn’t the problem. It was the seemingly total transplant of her personality from a sweet, pie-baking granny to a septuagenarian hooligan.
“Yeah.” Ethan snorted. “She looked sixty and was acting like a delinquent teenager.”
He watched in dismay as a look of pure glee came over the woman on the other side of the desk’s face. Apparently, she still hadn’t grasped the seriousness of the situation.
“My grandmother has gone from spearheading church bake sales and garden-club meetings to staying out to all hours partying and doing who-knows-what.” As Ethan explained, he could almost see his straitlaced grandfather turning in his grave like a rotisserie chicken. “Last week, she went to a honky-tonk down on Broadway and didn’t get home until the next morning.”
He paused when he heard what sounded like a snicker from the other side of the desk.
Ethan cleared his throat. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Ms. Gray,” he said. “Your so-called makeover is responsible for this new behavior of hers, and I want to know what you intend to do about it.”
She placed her teacup on the desk.
“Absolutely nothing.” Her soft voice held a steely edge that didn’t bode well. “Even if I wanted to, and I don’t, your grandmother is a grown woman.”
“One you seem to have heavily influenced. Every sentence out of her mouth these days starts or ends with ‘Tia says’ or ‘Tia thinks.’” Ethan mimicked his grandmother’s voice.
“Regardless, Carol has her own mind. I wouldn’t dream of trying to tell her what to do.”
“Not even when I had to pick her up from jail last night.”
“Jail?” The woman straightened in her chair.
Finally, he’d gotten her attention.
“Yes, jail,” Ethan confirmed. He’d still been struggling to reconcile his God-fearing grandmother with the stubborn hell-raiser he’d fetched from the downtown detention center. “Now, will you talk some sense into her?”
Tia sighed. “I’ll touch base with Carol.”
Ethan was relieved to see no traces of her earlier amusement.
“I expect you to fix this, Ms. Gray.” He left off an unspoken, but heavily implied, or else.
* * *
Tia swallowed a sip of tea, along with a sharper retort to his demand. “I already told you I’d speak with her. That’s all I can do.”
Ethan stood, and again, she tried not to notice how easy he was on the eyes. If she had a type, the man in front of her would be it. Then again, what woman didn’t like tall, dark and delicious?
Until he started to talk, Tia thought. If you could even call barking orders talking.
“Then I suggest you be extremely persuasive,” Ethan said in a tone instantly neutralizing the effect of his potent good looks. “I look forward to seeing my grandmother return to her old self.”
Tia watched his broad back as he strode out of her office. Everything in his commanding manner was confident she’d do as he’d directed.
She sighed, and she would.
Strip away the overbearing arrogance and he was simply a man worried about his grandmother, Tia reminded herself. Now she was worried, too.
Carol in jail. The mental image didn’t fit the kindhearted nurse who years ago had cared for Tia’s late mother during her losing battle with cancer.
Tia looked up at Max, who’d returned to the office.
“What’s his deal?” he asked.
“Family problems.”
“What makes them your problems?”
“He’s Carol Harris’s grandson,” Tia said.
Max’s eyes widened as he made the connection. “Ah, the Tina Turner transformation,” he said, referring to the makeover that was so stunning it had earned its own name throughout Espresso Sanctuary, the flagship of the ten spas Espresso Cosmetics had scattered throughout the Southeast.
Tia and her top-notch staff had cut, colored, made up, manicured and massaged years off the senior citizen’s outdated appearance. The upshot: Carol Harris was now one smoking-hot woman of a certain age. But it appeared the dramatic change might have done her friend more harm than good.
“So I gather he’s not happy with his granny’s new look,” Max observed.
“Apparently, there have been some side effects, and Carol’s gone wild.”
Max sat in the chair in front of her desk. “If she’s happy, your job is done.”
“Normally, I’d agree, but he wants me to talk to her, and I told him I would.”
Max grunted.
“I take it you don’t approve.”
“Considering the way he stormed through here, you should have let me use one of my old wrestling moves on him before tossing him out the door,” he said.
Tia regarded her assistant, a former pro wrestler and longtime friend, with a frown.
“All three of us couldn’t be hotheads.” She leveled him with a look to emphasize her point.
Max nodded. “Point taken,” he said. “Want me to ask Carol to meet you here at the spa’s café for lunch or book you a table somewhere else?”
“Neither,” Tia said.
Ethan Wright’s problems would have to take a backseat for now. She had her own family to deal with this morning and a problem she needed to readdress today.
“In fact, clear my afternoon schedule. I’m headed downtown to the Espresso building to talk to my father.”
“Does that mean your conversation with Cole went well, despite the interruption?” Max sounded hopeful.
Tia shook her head. Her stepbrother had sequestered himself on his boat somewhere off the coast of Italy. She doubted he’d heard more than a word or two she’d said over the crackling line of the static-ridden call, let alone her desperate request.
And even if they had been able to talk, Tia thought, she wasn’t the family member who needed to reach out to her brother and convince him to return to Nashville and their family business.
“It doesn’t appear Cole is an option for Espresso right now,” Tia told Max. “All I can do is try to reason with my dad.” Again, she silently added.
“You’ll want to take a look at this first.” Max left her office briefly and returned with a familiar document from Espresso’s accounting department.
“Another authorization form?” Tia asked.
Max nodded. “Malcolm Doyle faxed it over while you were with Mr. Wright.”
Tia looked over the form giving her permission, as president of the company’s