“You know, when you think about it, it doesn’t really take much to make high-quality fashion look good on those pinup model hunks you work with,” Camille observed wryly. “Although, of course, dear heart, you do it better than most.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Isobel was busy straightening a silk tie on one of those so-called pinup model hunks who wanted to look his best for a national conference, and was only half paying attention to her friend’s happy chatter.

“Turn around for me,” she told the man, who willingly complied.

“Oh, nothing,” Camille replied, not sounding the least bit convinced as Isobel turned her attention back to her friend for a moment. “I was just wondering if you could do the same kind of work with an average man, someone who hasn’t ever read a men’s fashion magazine.”

“What are you talking about?” Isobel said, throwing a quick glance in Camille’s direction. “You’re babbling nonsense.”

“Am I?” she shot back, her grin reminding Isobel of a cat crouched to pounce on a helpless mouse. “What do you think about adding a run-of-the-mill variety guy to your clientele? The kind of guy I usually date, as opposed to the kind of guy you could date if you weren’t so caught up in your career?”

Isobel rolled her eyes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“So are you up for it?” Camille actually sounded excited, as if she were taking the idea for real.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Making a normal slob of a guy into Mr. Right. Blue-collar material, ya know? It would be fun.”

Camille was definitely warming up to the idea, while Isobel was beginning to cringe. Her friend was sounding all too serious about this fanatical, half-baked scheme.

“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll pick the guy, and you’ll have six weeks to make him into a real man. The man of every girl’s dreams.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Isobel took a deep breath and held it. She could only hope.

Camille shrugged, a noncommittal gesture. “Maybe. Maybe not. But don’t be surprised if I come knocking on your door with a fellow who desperately needs your help for a makeover.”

Isobel pinched her lips, deciding to ignore her friend’s obviously off-the-top-of-her-head twaddle. It would come to nothing in the long run.

She hoped.

Not more than two days later, her dear childhood confidant made good on her threat. Bursting into Isobel’s office, Camille announced in a loud, triumphant voice, “I’ve found him!”

“I’m sorry,” Isobel said, distracted by the pile of paperwork she was muddling through, piece by agonizingly slow piece. “You found whom?”

“The guy, of course. The one you’re going to wave your magic wand over.” She looked disappointed for a moment. “Our average guy, remember?”

Isobel smoothed her thick, long brown hair with her palm and sighed, desperately wishing she didn’t remember. “I would ask if you were joking, but I know you better than that. What possessed you to go through with this crazy scheme? This isn’t even remotely close to real life, Camille.”

“I wasn’t even looking! I’m telling you the truth. No one could have been more shocked or amazed than I. All I was doing was talking with a regular patron at my hotel—a rich, quite handsome, very well-connected patron, I might add.”

“All the people who spend time at your hotel are rich,” Isobel reminded her friend blithely. “And well-connected. Handsome, though. Since when is that a requirement for hotel patronage?” she teased.

“Oh, Isobel. You have no idea. This guy is out of this world!” She stopped suddenly and clapped a hand over her heart, sighing loudly and dramatically, even as a dark blush stole up her cheeks. “Addison Fairfax.”

“But that’s not the point.” She faltered for a moment, and Isobel found a bit of humor in the fact that her dear friend was actually flustered over this Addison Fairfax. It took a lot for Camille to show interest in a particular man, preferring in general the whole of mankind.

“Go ahead, Camille,” Isobel encouraged with a smile and a sly wink that let her friend know she was on to her. “Handsome and…?”

Camille placed a hand on her reddened cheek and continued. “We were making our usual small talk, you know, and I was telling him about my brilliant idea for you to make over some regular guy—not anything like Addison, of course. He dresses divinely.”

She followed her high-speed discourse with another long, drawn-out sigh.

Isobel chuckled.

“Well, the next thing you know, he’s telling me all about his problems. You are the answer to his prayers, Isobel, I kid you not. Neither of us could believe it!”

“I might as well hear it,” Isobel said with a groan. “Go on.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” she agreed, casually stringing it on with a laugh. “But Izzy, you have to promise to listen all the way through before you jump to any conclusions.”