“Have it your way. But you have to admit, it’s an interesting coincidence. And talking to Madison Fehr can’t be worse than sucking down shit.” Her glare was so sizzling, he nearly flinched, and changed the subject.
“I’m getting pretty hungry. Are you guys?”
Both Undersea Folk looked positively ill.
“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, that’d put me off my feed for a while, too. But I can’t help being hungry. It’s lunchtime.”
“Well, Jonas can run out and get you something…” Fred suddenly looked around, then looked at her watch. “Where the hell is Jonas? Not still with Dr. Barb, I hope. Poor guy.”
Thomas thought of the way Jonas had run off with Dr. Barb, who was in awfully good shape and pretty young to be running the NEA, and didn’t think the guy had it so bad at all.
“Hey, Artur. Maybe you could get me a sandwich.” He couldn’t resist.
He chuckled at the prince’s expression, deciding it was worth Fred’s sigh of exasperation. Yes, the day was definitely looking up.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Okay, come out.”
“Jonas, I can’t.”
“Will you come out already? How can I tell you how it looks if you won’t let me see?”
“I’ll tell you how it looks. It looks silly.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Dr. Lab Coat. Out.” Blushing to her eyebrows, Dr. Barb pushed open the dressing room door and stepped into the tiny hallway. She was wearing one of the four outfits Jonas had bullied her into trying on and, in his opinion, the most flattering.
It was a navy two piece suit, the skirt falling softly just above the knee, the jacket double-breasted, and held together in the middle by one big button. And it was a Givenchy. On sale!
Jonas stared at the button. “We have to pick out a bra in the same color as the jacket.”
“No we do not. Jonas, I feel half naked in this thing! You can see my brassiere, for heaven’s sake.”
“News flash, Dr. Barb: people stopped saying brassiere forty years ago.”
“I’m trying to be an authority figure not a—a Playmate of the Month.”
“Barb, bras are trendy right now. Women are buying strappy tees and then buying bras so they can coordinate. And don’t forget the whale-tail trend—you know, when you can see a woman’s thong above the waist line of her jeans?”
“That,” she said firmly, “was a trend for the young.”
“Well, the young can’t afford this suit. Showing an inch of the front of your bra is hardly the same as forgetting to wear shorts and bending over a tractor to be Miss February.”
Her face went, if possible, even redder and without a word she turned around to duck back inside the changing room, but he caught her by the elbow and gently pulled her back. “Come on, let me get a good look,” he coaxed. “I think it’s fabulous. Let me tell you why.”
He led her to the three mirrors at the end of the room. “See, the skirt is long enough so you don’t look like an escapee from the Ally McBeal set, but short enough to show off your legs. You have really terrific legs. And the color is awesome. Brings out your eyes, puts some color in your cheeks, even brightens up your hair. Which we’ll get to in a minute. Now, the jacket… wrist-length sleeves, but not too much padding in the shoulders, so you don’t look like you’ve OD’d on I Love the 80’s. The cut in the front really doesn’t show much skin. See, you could wear this under an open—open—lab coat and look like a million bucks, and still be the boss, and show everybody how gorgeous you are at the same time.”