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?
On numerous occasions Zoe had crossed paths with the Ravens family, either in the Miami Design District or at Miami’s Fashion Week.
“He’s our youngest brother, and my cousins nominated him to be the CEO of RC.”
“Okay?” Zoe said slowly, still not following what that had to do with her and this interview.
“Will believes he should look at everyone interested in being the CDD.”
Zoe’s heart ached with a surge. “I’m not understanding, Marcus. You’re the president.”
“The CEO has a little more pull than the president,” Marcus explained. “And right now, he’s our last chance at keeping RC running.”
The rumors were true. Someone wanted to shut down Ravens Cosmetics. Zoe’s heart ached as if she’d been wronged. How could anyone think about dissolving this company? Five minutes ago she’d pumped herself up about wanting to board the RC ship. Now it felt like the ship was sailing away while she stood on the pier watching it depart. She asked herself again, how badly did she want to be the Creative Design Director?
“This is then a waste of my time, Marcus. I am too qualified to have to go through a screening process.” Zoe turned to leave. Through the glass, Zoe thought she saw Titus mouthing something to her. She was not in the mood for a fight. “Either you like my work or you don’t.”
With his hands still on her shoulders, Marcus clamped down firmly. He turned her to face him so her back was to the receptionist area. “I do, my brothers and sisters do, and Will is going to feel the same way.”
“You guys brought in Titus.” A tic began to flutter underneath her right eye. The other makeup artist was good, of course he was. But he’d copied her trademark ’80s style. This was too much stress for her. Zoe sighed impatiently. Great-Grandma Sadie would have a fit if she knew Zoe got this far only to abandon her own resolve. “I just can’t deal with this, Marcus.”
“Will you at least listen to me first? I’ll get Donovan on the phone.”
“I’m right here.” Donovan’s familiar voice filled the hallway.
Not wanting any pity, Zoe didn’t dare turn around. Like his brother, Donovan had an extremely charismatic smile. Ever the charmer, he always knew how to bring out a natural blush on any model Zoe had worked on. If she glanced at Donovan, Zoe knew she’d swoon, and right now she was too pissed off to be cheered up. She kept her angry focus on the Windsor knot of Marcus’s tie.
“Tell her everything is still going on as planned,” Marcus said over her head to his brother.
“The interviewing process?” Donovan asked, and Marcus nodded. “It’s just a process.”
“Someone too good for an interview?” Another deep voice asked.
While the voice may have been sexy, the tone was not. Zoe