Half a haircut would definitely not be an improvement on no haircut at all. She curled her fingers around in front of her mouth to hide her amusement, but Dustin caught her motion and glared at her anyway.

Dustin closed his eyes as Ricardo trimmed the back of his hair flush with his neckline. The more the hairdresser snipped, the curlier Dustin’s hair became, but they were soft, natural curls instead of the long, frizzier style he’d worn before.

Finally, Ricardo dropped a bottle of hair gel into Dustin’s lap without a word.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Dustin growled, picking up the bottle and eyeing it suspiciously. “I’m a wash-and-wear kind of guy.”

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Ricardo said, not taking no for an answer. “You put a nickel-sized amount of the product on your palm and then work it through the tips of your hair with your fingers. Work the hair up and out. There is no need to work it into your scalp.”

The hairdresser took the bottle from Dustin and held out his palm. He squirted a dollop of orange gel in the exact shape and size of a nickel, dropped the bottle back in Dustin’s lap, then rubbed his hands together and began stroking his fingers expertly through Dustin’s hair.

Dustin was still staring at his lap, hardly watching what Ricardo was doing. “I’ve never in my life…” he said, sounding stunned, or at least stubbornly uncomfortable.

“There’s a first time for everything, right, Dustin?” Isobel asked quietly, totally amazed at his transformation. “Take a look at yourself.”

Holding her breath for his response, Isobel turned Dustin’s chair back toward the mirror.

Dustin stared at his reflection, hardly recognizing the man staring back at him. Who was this slick-haired man?

Perhaps he had worn his hair in the same style for a few years longer than he should have. Isobel may have had a point.

Of course, that was her job, wasn’t it? To find the best places to make changes in order to make him a better man?

He still wasn’t completely sold on the idea, but this was one point in her favor.

That said, he wasn’t at all convinced about putting sticky orange gel in his hair every morning. But he had to admit the guy staring back at him in the mirror had his own charm.

Between the haircut and the gel Ricardo had meticulously applied, the hairdresser had done an outstanding job taming the wild curls Dustin had battled all his life. Ricardo had parted his hair just off to the right side of center and combed every strand of hair neatly back into place. Only a few stray curls escaped.

As Isobel had instructed, the hair on his forehead was combed back in the current style. He had to admit it looked good, though he wasn’t at all sure he could duplicate the process when he was alone in his own home.

But in the end, the score was: Isobel one, and Dustin zero.

He stared in the mirror one more second, memorizing every detail.

He looked, well, contemporary.

And though there was no way he would admit it to anyone—especially Isobel, who would no doubt report such findings straight to Addison—Dustin found he rather liked his new look.

Especially with a hat.

“Double or nothing,” he mumbled under his breath with a quick shake of his head.

“What was that?” she queried back, looking wary and more than a little suspicious.

He adjusted his newsboy cap backward on top of his new haircut, winked at Isobel and walked out the door without a word.

Dustin didn’t wait for Isobel to call him. Part of him—probably the sensible part—wanted to hide from her and tenaciously avoid her for as much of the prescribed six weeks as possible, but something about Isobel intrigued him. Completely apart from the stupid agreement he’d made with Addison, perhaps even in spite of it, he wanted to get to know her better.

Besides, in the long run it was the only way to get to his trust fund. He wouldn’t examine his motives any deeper than that.

Isobel was certainly a beautiful woman, with her deep brown hair filled with red highlights and her warm brown eyes. She was tall and lithe. Maybe she could stand to gain a pound or two, in his opinion, but she still had the hint of womanly curves that would turn any man’s head.

What caught him most, though, were her gorgeous bee-stung lips and knockout smile, especially when it was directed at him.

Perhaps it was this thought that made him hold his breath as he dialed her number.

“Dustin,” she said when he greeted her. She sounded surprised, but did he hear a bit of excitement in her voice, as well, or was it his imagination and a healthy dose of wishful thinking? “I certainly didn’t expect to hear from you so s-soon,” she stammered.

“Well, I figured you owe me one.” He waited for her response, a grin pulling at his lips.

Dead silence.

He listened to the telephone line crackling and the praise music in the background, obviously coming from Isobel’s stereo.

“Look at it this way. I put up with your torture yesterday, so today you’re on my terms. And that’s why I’m calling.” He chuckled.

“That’s not how this scheme is supposed to work,” she protested immediately in a high, strained voice that only made Dustin’s smile widen. “We’re not supposed to be having a social relationship. I’m working on you, remember?”

“How are you going to help me become an honest, hard-working citizen if you don’t know anything about me?” he countered. “Granted, you chopped off my hair without even knowing my middle name, but I don’t think you can turn me into the best I can become without knowing a little bit more about the real me.”

“What is your middle name?” she asked, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

“So, you want to know now, do you? After you whack my hair off?” he teased. “How fair is that?”

“Dustin,” she pleaded.

“James.”

“Dustin James Fairfax. That’s very nice. Now I will know that crucial bit of information for future whacking and/or cutting.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Oh, no,” she said with a laugh. “Consider it a promise.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said. “Even more reason for us to get together today, though, if you ask me. Which you didn’t,” he pointed out wryly.

She sighed extravagantly. Pointedly.

“What did you have in mind?” She sounded as if he were about to ask her to walk the plank.

The horrible pirate captain. That was him, all right. Fit him like an old pair of sneakers. He held in the callous chuckle that would befit his pirate status, but he was tempted.

Instead, he told her why he’d really called. “I thought you could join me at my flower shop. To see what I do all day, you know? The regular nine-to-five thing my brother doesn’t really think I have going on.”

She breathed an audible sigh of relief, and this time it sounded genuine. “That actually sounds reasonable.”

“And you sound surprised.”

She laughed. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be. I have an active imagination. You’ll learn that about me as we work together. I’m more tempted to believe the moon is made of green cheese than that astronauts have landed.”

“I thought so—something like me holding you at sword point as you walk the plank?”

“Mmm. Something like that,” she murmured thoughtfully.

“Aaargh,” he said playfully in his best gravelly pirate’s voice.

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