Pitching for Her Love Read Online Free PDF

pulling my own compact from my bag, and Megan rolled her eyes.
    “It’s perfect: your skin, your brows, your makeup.  It’s always perfect. Now can we go please?  Amanda is waiting and she has shoes for me!” she said.

Chapter 5
    I n the cab on the way to Simona Beck , Megan finally asked the question I was shocked hadn’t been out of her mouth the moment she saw me that afternoon.
    “So how was he?” she squealed.
    “Grayson Hunter?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
    “No, the other totally gorgeous man you happened to interview today. Yes, Grayson Hunter!” she said.
    “He was very nice, genuine, and gave a good interview.  I think it’s going to be a good piece.  How was yours?” I asked.  I wanted to change the subject quickly.  I was looking forward to some exquisite wine and mindless conversation over hors d’oeuvres, and right now talking about Grayson Hunter felt like exhausting work.
    “Oh it was fine,” said Megan, waving a hand. “My dad was a hockey fan growing up, so I at least knew something about the sport.  Did you know he’s missing his two front teeth though?  He wears fakes!  And it was so cold in that place,” she went on, chattering about the interview and how she would reconsider the sport if they would heat the seats in the arena.  Thankfully, we arrived outside Simona Beck before she could ask about Grayson again.
    Amanda was standing in the front glass door, tall, leggy, and gorgeous.  She had her honey blond hair twisted up into a stylish knot on top of her head, which probably took her ten seconds.  She was wearing a knee-length black pencil skirt that hugged her voluptuous hips and a sheer celery-green blouse.  On her feet were the pointiest heels I had ever seen, but she walked and swayed with ease as she came toward us.
    “You look beautiful!” said Megan, tipping her head up to give Amanda a quick kiss on the cheek.  I did the same.
    “Please,” said Amanda. Though she had grown up in Iowa, her voice always had a slight twinge of a European accent, as if she had acquired it during her multiple trips abroad during her years at Simona Beck . “I have to change before we go.”  She turned to me.
    “Your eye makeup is so on point right now.  Can you do mine?  You know I’m helpless.”
    At this I laughed.  Amanda was the only girl I knew who looked more beautiful without makeup than with.  Her blue eyes were clear and bright, and though she was a natural blond, they were rimmed with full sets of dark lashes.  Her brows were naturally full and only slightly darker than her hair.  Her face was soft and heart shaped, with high cheekbones and a natural flush of English rose color on the high points.
    “Would both of you stop!” Megan exclaimed, pushing past Amanda and heading into the store. “I’m the short, ugly one.  If anyone needs a makeover it’s me.”
    With this she burst into another tirade on the deadly mistake of childhood gymnastics, and Amanda and I exchanged a glance over her head.
    “Quiet down. You’ve done your gymnastics complaining for the day. Amanda, do you have this in anything bigger than an eight?” I asked holding up a cobalt-blue boat neck dress.
    “I think so,” Amanda said, taking the dress, her brow furrowed and lips twisted to the side in thought. “Let me check.”
    She disappeared into the back and I turned toward Megan, who was holding an embellished black and gold mini dress up to her in the mirror.  She was pouting a little bit.  Amanda and I had very similar body types and looked very different from Megan, who had a small, boyish figure.  No hips or chest to speak of, but toned legs and sculpted arms.
    “That’s pretty,” I said.
    “Probably would look better on you,” she grumbled and set it back down on the display shelf.
    “Are you kidding?” I asked. “That would never fit over my butt!”
    At this, Megan cracked a smile, and we began to laugh and look at shoes.  When Amanda came back, she had