Midnight Madness

Midnight Madness
Karen Kendall

Bohemian hairstylist and spa owner Marly Fine can handle almost anything.At least until she walks into the office of Florida governor Jack Hammersmith…when he's shirtless and hot enough to ignite every ballot box in the state. It's clear how he earned his player reputation. Thankfully, he's so not her type. Sure, his kisses may peel the polish from her toes, but that changes nothing!From the minute he sees her photo, Jack knows Marly is The One. Try convincing his too-practical-for-fate stylist of that, however. It'll take some serious persuasion…and rock-hard proof that politics makes for the lustiest kind of bedfellow!

KAREN KENDALL

Midnight Madness

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

For Shear Geniuses Mando, Danielle,

Carmen & Donna and last but not least Faye.

Thanks to all of you for sharing your stories and keeping my hair out of my eyes, over my ears and highlighted to cover the (shhh!) emerging gray.

Love you guys!

Karen

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Coming Next Month

1

CUTTING THE GOVERNOR’S hair is no different from cutting any other man’s—it’s just that if I slip with the scissors, the result could be on national television.

Marly Fine sat awkwardly in the stretch limo, her black nylon bag balanced on her lap. Outside the windows, LeJeune was a parking lot. The heavy Miami traffic crawled alongside the long white car; people on their way to work just like she was. Heat shimmered up off the pavement, mixing with exhaust fumes and humidity and general impatience. The combination steamed the outside of almost every automobile’s windows while the occupants hid in their air conditioning.

In a lime-green Beetle on the left, a college girl munched on a cereal bar and bobbed her head to the radio. To the right, a black Volvo eased forward, its driver a heavy-set Latino businessman reading the Herald. Behind him, a well-endowed platinum blonde in a silver Mercedes applied her brakes and half a tube of mascara at the same time.

Marly’s palms sweated and she resisted the urge to wipe them on her long cotton gypsy skirt. Examining her blue toenail polish, she wondered again if she should have changed it to pink last night.

No! She got annoyed at herself for even thinking it. I am who I am. If the Gov doesn’t like blue polish or sequined rubber flip-flops, then that’s his problem. I’m only there to cut his hair.

John Hammersmith, aka The Hammer, might be Florida’s JFK reincarnated, but that didn’t mean she had to wear a pillbox hat, pumps and a suit to meet the man.

“Temperature comfortable, miss?” asked the chauffeur, whose name was Mike. The poor guy actually wore livery—complete with cap—in this heat.

Marly started to nod, but her teeth were almost chattering. “Actually, Mike, can we warm it up a little back here?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks.” She wore double tank tops over her gypsy skirt, but they did little to keep her warm in the blasting air conditioning.

Marly hugged her bag as if it were a teddy bear and told herself she wasn’t nervous. Hadn’t Shore magazine named her as one of the top five hairstylists in the Miami area? Wasn’t she having to turn away clients now, or pass them on to Nicky, her flamboyant coworker? In fact, she could have referred The Hammer to Nicky, except that she was afraid of the consequences.

All they needed at After Hours Salon and Day Spa was a very public lawsuit against one of their employees—for groping The Hammer’s…uh, hammer. And it was an all-too-likely scenario: not only did Nicky wear tight orange spandex, but he waxed eloquent on the horrors of underwear and the beauties of copping a good feel.

She and Mike exchanged chitchat as the limo purred along in the sweltering heat, bringing her ever closer to the hair follicles of Florida’s forty-fourth fearless leader. A man whose politics made her cringe, and who awoke deep feelings of resentment within her. He had the same slick demeanor of old Patrick Compton, the state representative from her hometown.