16. Mimosa
CHAPTER 16
Mimosa
We end up playing a bit of roulette and blackjack in between buying snacks for lunch. I don’t pay attention to how much money we gamble, but I think the amount of casino chips is smaller at the end. Drake clearly had fun, though, laughing when he won and making exaggerated moans when he lost.
I guess it doesn’t matter, with the amount of money that he has. He probably earned it all back in interest during the time we spent gambling.
“There’s a nice restaurant by the boardwalk,” Drake says as we head outside. “Bit early for dinner, though. We could rent a yacht and go out on the water.”
I glance up at him. “You know how to operate a boat?”
Drake gives me an amused look. “No. But I know how to hire somebody to operate it for us.”
That does make more sense. I nod. “Okay. We can…” I trail off.
Directly in front of us, a woman with rainbow hair walks out of a hair salon.
He follows my gaze, and to his credit, it only takes him a second to connect the dots. “Damn. That looks really good,” he comments. “Bet it would look good on you, too.” He flashes me a grin, grabbing my hand and tugging me in the direction of the salon’s door. “Wanna find out?”
I freeze, my mouth parting. “What? Why? You said you liked the orange.”
He shrugs, still pulling at my hand. “Something prettier would suit you better. We could get you a little trim and a scalp massage and see just what colors would look best on you.” He looks at me with a look that’s so exuberant that it’s hard to reconcile with what I know of Drake Brutal.
“They’ll be fully booked,” I point out. “And a dye job takes hours. Literal hours, Drake. Your day trip would be spent waiting on my hair.”
“Let me worry about them being booked,” he asserts. “And so what? We’ll stay the night! We can go to the boardwalk tomorrow. I can order takeout for the whole salon, and we can party it up while they turn you into a stunning mermaid or whatever.”
“Mermaid?” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s already heading into the salon.
As I predicted, it’s full. Even the little waiting area is packed, with several college aged women leafing through pictures on one end, and a few older women—with brightly dyed hair of their own—on the other.
This place must specialize in colorful dye jobs, if the posters are any indication. My eyes catch on an ombre blue, light at the top and dark at the bottom. I’d always wanted a dye job like that, but I didn’t trust myself to do an ombre and I certainly couldn’t afford a professional.
Drake keeps pulling me along, dragging me to the receptionist’s stand. “Hi!” he says brightly, grinning like some lovesick fool instead of an angst-ridden, drugged-up CEO. “I’m willing to throw a grand at someone who wants to give up their appointment so my girl can get her hair done,” he announces.
“What?” I gape at him and shake my head. “No!” I turn to the receptionist. “Ignore him. He doesn’t know how much of an entitled dick he is.”
The receptionist looks between us, her expression bewildered. She’s probably not used to this kind of behavior in a high-end establishment.
Drake doesn’t seem to give a fuck, though.
“Is he serious?” one college-aged woman hisses to her friend.
Drake picks up on it and flashes a charming smile at her. “I absolutely am. Ignore Mimi here. She doesn’t know how to let herself be spoiled.”
“I don’t need to get my hair done,” I protest. “Drake, seriously, let it go. We can book an appointment when we get back.”
He looks uncertain for a second, and I can see the start of some serious puppy eyes when the woman who’d whispered stands up.
“I’ll give up my spot,” she says, shrugging. “I can always get an appointment when I get home.”
Drake is still looking intently at me, though.
I stand taller and tell myself not to be intimidated. “You can’t just throw money at every problem,” I say steadily.
“He can throw money at this problem though,” the college student says. “I could use an extra thousand bucks.”
“Well, I can’t go back on my word,” Drake says. “So either way, I’m out a grand.” He pulls out his wallet and counts out the bills. “It’s up to you whether you take advantage of my incredible generosity and free up this young lady’s day so she can enjoy herself.”
I groan and squeeze my eyes shut.
The stupid thing is, I do want to dye my hair. I want to get rid of the orange and make it mine again.
“Fine,” I say, glaring. “But I choose the hair color. And you can’t complain about how long it takes.”
The woman takes the money, and she and her friend leave like they expect him to try to change his mind.
I could’ve told them he won’t, though.
“Okay,” he says, going back to relaxed and satisfied. Smug, even. “I’ve got my phone. You go gossip and get your hair done. I’m gonna catch up on the news.”
“You’re not sticking around?” I ask, confused. “I thought you’d want to watch the whole thing.”
He looks just as confused as I am. “You want me to?”
The receptionist is watching our exchange just as raptly as the rest of the salon, which seems thoroughly invested in the drama that’s unfolding in front of them.
I try to imagine what a bored Drake might do, and even if a few hours to myself getting pampered might not be bad, I wouldn’t be able to relax. “Sure,” I say steadily. “Just don’t distract the hairdresser.”
“I would never,” he says, mimicking crossing his heart. He turns to the receptionist. “So yeah. Whatever she wants to do to her hair. I’ll pay extra for the inconvenience and the last-minute shit.”
“Rachel will take care of you,” the receptionist assures us. “Don’t worry; we’re used to impatient boyfriends who’d rather be out on the water than here.”
Drake grins at her. “Guilty. But hey, this will be fun, too.”
For about five minutes, I’d wager, but I’ve already done enough betting for one day. It’s easier to just resign myself to the inevitable force that Drake can be.
I sit down at the stylist’s station and answer her questions about what I want.
“The ombre will look great on you,” she assures me.
Drake makes a noise, and I sigh and glance his way. “What?”
“What does that mean? Ombre?” he asks.
“It’s a gradient.” I lean back as the stylist begins preparing my hair. “Light on one end, dark on the other.”
“Oh.” He nods. “Okay.”
He’s already bored, I can tell. But he committed to this, and I don’t care how much he paces.
The stylist is clearly interested in whatever is going on between me and Drake, but she’s too polite to say anything. She knows there’s a hefty tip waiting for her if she does a good job and doesn’t piss either of us off.
I try to keep up with Drake’s questions, which are mostly about the hair dyeing process. After the stylist has finished applying the bleach and leaves to take care of other things, Drake takes his stool and scoots closer.
“You did this a lot, Mimi?” he asks, eyes strangely hungry.
I nod. “Since I was a teenager. I usually dyed it myself though. Hairdressers are expensive.”
“That’s okay. I can afford all the hairdressers you want,” he says, like he needs to assure me of that fact. “I can afford anything you want.”
“I know,” I answer, not pointing out that I’m one of the things he bought. It’s funny seeing him so eager to please. Does he realize that he’s seeking my approval?
I shouldn’t give it to him. He’s entitled, spoiled, narcissistic, a fucking asshole…
But I do like him more like this than how he gets when he’s in a bad mood.
“The hairdresser is nice, right?” he asks, glancing at her as she starts walking back toward us. “She seems to know what she’s doing.”
“You’re going to get sticker shock when you see how much she charges,” I say. He opens his mouth to protest, and I shake my head. “Not because you can’t afford it. Because you didn’t realize hair appointments could cost that much.” I give him a small smile. “Be honest. You usually just go in for a cut and wash, right?”
“Well yeah,” Drake says, shrugging. “I still don’t pay like fifty bucks for it.”
He’s still going to bat an eye at it, no matter what he says, but that’s fine. Maybe he’ll learn not to be so impulsive.
And maybe pigs will fly.
When she returns, he flashes the hairdresser a charming smile. “Isn’t she going to be even more beautiful with this? The orange was okay, but this is going to be special, right?”
She nods enthusiastically. “For sure. And the new haircut will frame your face wonderfully, miss.”
I appreciate that she’s addressing me and not just Drake. “Thanks. I’ll trust you with it. As long as it isn’t too short.”
“Nope, we’ll keep it shoulder length.” The stylist checks a few strands of hair. Apparently the color satisfies her, because she has me go to a washing station to wash all the bleach out. It’s nice having somebody else do all this. Relaxing, even, except Drake starts fidgeting while the stylist applies the hair dye.
“I told you it would take forever,” I tell him. “Do you want to go walk around until I’m done?”
He brightens at that, then frowns at me. “You sure? I don’t want to abandon you here.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, and he flashes a grin at me.
The stylist smiles at him in sympathy. “There are sports magazines up front.”
I realize I don’t even know if Drake is into sports. He might bet on them, but he’s never watched a game that I’ve been aware of.
He’s still waffling about whether to abandon me or not when I notice something in the mirror. I frown as the woman just inside the mirror frame holds up her phone.
I twist my head—and the stylist makes a sound of complaint—and point at her. “What’s she doing?”
Drake follows my gaze, then he moves to stand in front of me, his back to the woman. “Must’ve recognized me,” he grumbles. “Fuck.”
“Are you a celebrity?” the stylist blurts out, only to look chagrined when he scowls at her.
“No,” he hedges.
“But most people know who he is anyway,” I say, frowning.
The woman with the phone meets my gaze, but she doesn’t stop snapping pictures. Other people are starting to notice, and they crane their heads to see what caught the woman’s interest.
I tense at all the extra attention. I don’t want people seeing me here with Drake. I don’t want the scrutiny or the eventual rumors or whatever it is people do with the girlfriends of the rich and desirable.
“I’ll take care of it,” Drake says, and while his expression stays thunderous for a moment, I can see it as he forces that back. The darkness recedes, and in its place is the charming man who’s used to being in front of cameras.
Still, he keeps his body between mine and the cameras as much as he can.
I’m not sure if he’s doing it to protect me or himself, and this isn’t the place to ask.
“Hey,” he says to the closest woman. “You caught me on my day off. You can take a few photos of me, but I’m not dressed for the occasion.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” the woman says, blushing hard. “Drake Brutal! I didn’t know you liked to visit Mer d’Or. Are you looking for a tour guide? I know my way around here.”
“I love to travel, even just for day trips,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s nice to get away from the grind sometimes. ”
“Oh, are you on vacation?” she asks, seeming emboldened by the casual interaction.
I can’t see his expression, but I’m sure he’s having a hard time keeping it pleasant. “You caught me,” he tells her with a laugh.
I roll my eyes, but there’s nothing else I can do right now. I settle back into my chair. “You can continue,” I tell the stylist.
It’d be a little funny if Drake abandoned me now for another woman. I’d be free of him—and also stuck with the huge hair bill. It might be worth it anyway. The other woman is welcome to Drake.
Except my stomach churns, and I think about Drake’s puppy eyes and his eagerness and the fact that he was actually willing to be bored for a few hours while I got my hair done in my dream style.
None of that cancels out the fact that he bought me.
Being nice a few times because he got a little bit attached to me doesn’t counteract the hell he’s put me through.
He split my feet open!
And yet.
I close my eyes and force myself to concentrate on the hair stylist. She’s almost done applying the last layer of blue dye.
Drake is chit-chatting with the woman, and it isn’t until I hear “my girl” that my attention returns to their conversation.
“…the best hairstyle,” he’s saying. “You can’t take pictures of her, though. She’s all mine.”
There’s a beat, seemingly where the woman is absorbing his words, then I hear her say, “Oh.”
It’s a very, very disappointed sound.
I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that he’s claiming me publicly — that he’s turning down someone else who’s more than eager to be around him, someone who wouldn’t psychoanalyze him or annoy him.
My suspicions about why he’s been acting differently the past few days are all but confirmed, though.
“Let’s take that picture,” Drake says cheerfully, acting like he didn’t even notice that he just crushed her hopes and dreams of seducing a billionaire on his day off.
They take a selfie, after which Drake comes back towards me. I can see the woman lingering, contemplating another photo, but somebody else guides her away.
“Does that happen often?” I ask mildly.
Drake shakes his head. “No. People in New Bristol know how to mind their own fucking business.”
“Or they realize that you aren’t anything special,” I say, deadpan. When he frowns at me, I stick out my tongue at him. “Kidding. New Bristolers are just used to rich and famous people being out and about.”
The stylist looks curiously at us, but as soon as she notices me looking at her, she goes back to my hair.
“I’m not actually famous,” Drake tells her. “I’m just rich.”
Like she couldn’t already figure that out from his show right when we’d entered.
“And modest, too,” I add.
He grumbles, but I catch his smile. “Are we done yet?” he asks.
“Another hour,” I tell him. “You can do some sightseeing in the meantime if you want.”
Drake shakes his head. “Nah. I’ll stick with you.”
He takes my hand, as if he’s worried that I’ll disappear on him.
I could reassure him.
But I let him hold my hand for the rest of the hair appointment instead.