I shot him a wilting look.

“Okay, so maybe it is true,” he confessed. “Maybe I am looking for a project. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in desperate need of a makeover.”

“Forget it, Lance. If God wanted me to wear low-rider jeans, he would’ve never invented fudge ripple ice cream.”

At which point, our waitress slithered back to our table with our lunches. We spent the rest of our meal trying to find actual food among our lettuce, and talking about what a rat Lance’s ex-boyfriend was. Every once in a while, Lance sneaked a peek at the guys in the room, while I sneaked a peek at the dessert menu. Nothing too exciting there. Just some nonfat sorbet, amaretto biscotti, and a flourless carrot cake. Lance and I shared the carrot cake, a tiny square of orange sludge with a sprig of mint on top.

We paid our bill and headed out into the hazy sunshine.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Lance said, “and burn off some calories.”

“What calories? There weren’t enough calories on that menu to feed an anorexic gnat.”

“Come on,” he said, grabbing my arm. “We could both use the exercise.”

So we strolled up the street, past one terminally trendy boutique after another.

“Look!” Lance said, stopping suddenly in front of a unisex clothing store. “Passions. My favorite clothing store. A friend of mine works here. Let’s stop in and say hi.”

But that whole surprise act wasn’t fooling me.

“We didn’t just happen to walk by this place, did we?” I said. “You had this all planned as part of your fashion makeover.”

“Okay,” Lance admitted, “so I had it planned. But I still want to say hi to my friend. Are you coming with me or not?’

Like a fool, I said yes.

And that’s how all the trouble started.

Chapter Two

Passions was an uber-hip joint with gleaming hardwood floors, pulsating rock music, and fashions cut so small, for a minute I thought I was in a children’s clothing store.

Lance’s friend turned out to be a pixie in her twenties with Day-Glo orange hair that looked like it was styled with an eggbeater. Together with her big blue eyes and itsy-bitsy figure, she just about broke the needle on the cute-o-meter.

“Becky and I used to work together at Neiman’s,” Lance said, after he’d introduced us.

Somehow I couldn’t picture this elf, with her flaming hair and earrings the size of hula hoops, in the refined sales aisles of Neiman Marcus.

“My hair wasn’t orange back then,” she said, as if reading my mind. “I worked in ladies lingerie. Frankly it was a bit of a snore. It’s so much more fun here. I even get to do the windows.”

I glanced over at the window display, featuring a mannequin in thigh-high boots and thong underwear. Just what I always wanted. The sexy storm trooper look.

I picked up a tank top the size of a handkerchief.