17. Cassandra #2
Now that was something. “ Your makeup samples?” I looked around at all the pink, then at the goth princess in front of me.
She tapped her name tag. Beneath her printed name, Roxy, read, “owner.”
“Don’t be fooled by the pink. It’s just marketing. Same with the name. Get an old lady to quote Steel Magnolias and she’ll hand over her life savings.”
She snapped her gum again, and the sound made my spine itch.
Roxy cocked her head to the over-teased lady she had hip-checked five seconds ago. “So’s Nadine. The old bats around town love her, and she’s in good with the mayor—if you know what I mean. She’ll talk your ear off and stuff your basket.”
Little Miss Ray of Death was savvy. I liked it.
“Now you’re my kind of woman.” I sat my ass down in the chair and grinned. “Alright, Doom Cookie. I’ll let you work your magic on me in exchange for a little insider information.”
Half an hour later, my face was perfection. Morticia flexed some serious skills. I had a new—unexpected—best friend, and the final details of my devious plot to make Christian Griffith shit a brick over what I wanted to do to his beloved ranch.
Roxy had gone simple, but her technique was flawless. She leaned into the vintage hair Amanda had given me and went with a creamy face, a light dusting of blush, winged liner with devastating mascara, and a savage lip that matched the red bottoms of my stilettos.
Roxy had just finished bagging up my reinforcements and handing over my receipt when I spotted the reflection of Christian’s truck in the store windows.
“I’ll expect a full report next time you’re in town in exchange for the info I gave you,” Roxy said as she unwrapped a new piece of bubble gum.
“A full report on what?”
“About whatever you’ve got cooking for the ranch. Keep me in the loop. But that thing about the mayor stays between us.” She snickered. “And I’ll need the scoop on whatever’s about to happen with that cowboy who’s looking at you like a coyote looks at a little baby bunny.”
I didn’t deign her last comment worth the time of a response. But deep inside, I felt it.
I craved it.
I wanted him to look.
So I made him.
Christian stood by the truck as I strutted out of the shop with a little extra swing in my hips. His boots were crossed at the ankle in an attempt to look casual, but I could feel the tension radiating off of him.
Slowly, he peeled away his sunglasses and peered at me, unencumbered, from beneath his cowboy hat.
Christian let out a low whistle. “Look at you, Princess.” His eyes raked up and down the black sheath dress I had thrown on this morning, and he licked his lips.
I was about to say something sassy—maybe about how I was going for more Cruella and less Cinderella—but my phone rang.
I looked at the caller ID. It was a Texas number, but I didn’t have the contact saved.
Maybe it was one of the investors calling me back from a local office.
“Cassandra Parker,” I said, answering the call and giving Christian the “one moment” finger.
“Miss Cass?”
The sound of Bree’s voice made my heart stop. Why was she calling me? I didn’t even know she had my number.
“Bree?”
Christian went stiff and reached for the phone, but I swatted him away.
“I’m sorry, I tried calling my dad, and grandma, and Aunt Becks, but no one’s answering their phones.”
“Hold on, I’m with your father right now. Here he is.”
Christian nearly took my hand off when he grabbed the phone. “Baby, what’s the matter? Are you hurt? Sick?”
He paused, the look of concern instantly marring to frustration.
Or at least his watered down version of frustration. It was barely a twitch of his eye, but I caught it this time.
He sighed. “It’ll probably be two hours before I can get home to get you a change of clothes and then drive back to the school. Are you sure they won’t let you just go back to class? You’ll miss most of the day waiting for me.”
“What happened?” I hissed.
Christian covered the speaker with his hand. “She got dress-coded by the principal, who apparently has it out for her.”
“Did she actually break the dress code?”
“Not technically. It’s just how they’re interpreting it.”
I grabbed the phone back. “Sit tight. Do not say anything until we get there.”
“What?”
“Why did you speak?” I snapped as I yanked open the truck door. “Did I not just tell you to shut the fuck up?”
“ Cassandra ,” Christian hissed.
I paid him no mind. “Sit there. Think about something boring. Don’t smile. Don’t frown. Don’t let them smell your fear. Admit nothing and shut your mouth. We’ll be there in?—”
“Ten minutes,” Christian said as he hopped in and cranked the engine.
“Ten minutes. Don’t speak.”
Silence.
“Excellent.” And with that, I hung up.
“For the hundredth time, you cannot talk to my children that way,” he clipped as he strangled the steering wheel.
“I’m handling the situation, Christian. It’s what I do.” I pulled down the visor and checked my lipstick in the mirror. “You don’t like it? Well, too damn bad. Fire me.”
“She’s a child,” he said. “You can’t treat her like she’s… Like she’s one of the upper-crust socialites you have to ‘contain.’”
I turned on him. “Your daughter is getting bullied by an adult . Celebrity or not, assholes are assholes.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I even want to know what you’re about to do?”
I smirked. “I’m about to be the bigger asshole.”