Chapter 2
TWO
CHARLOTTE
My heart drums against my ribs as Ms. Lowell moves through the rows of styling stations.
She places each test face-down on the counter as she passes by, leaving a trail of silent judgment in her wake.
I hold my breath as she approaches my station, keeping my eyes fixed on my trembling hands. The sound of paper sliding across the counter makes me flinch. I don’t dare look up as Ms. Lowell moves on without comment.
For several seconds, I can’t bring myself to flip it over.
The edges of the paper seem to taunt me, promising disappointment. With a quick prayer, I finally turn it over.
“No, no, no...” I groan, staring at the angry red C- scrawled at the top of the page.
My stomach drops as I slump in my chair.
This is exactly what I was afraid of.
I know this material. I can execute every technique perfectly when I have scissors in my hand, but the moment I need to explain the theory on paper, my brain freezes up.
Ms. Lowell taps a pen against her clipboard, drawing everyone’s attention.
“For those of you who didn’t perform as well as expected, remember that your extra credit assignment is due Monday. No exceptions.” Her gaze sweeps across the room, lingering on me for a beat too long. “Class dismissed.”
The rustle of papers and murmured conversations fills the room as everyone begins to pack up. I’m still staring at my test, mentally calculating how much this will drag down my GPA, when Sarah appears at my station, practically vibrating with energy.
“Look!” She slaps her test down next to mine, a bold B+ marked at the top. “Ms. Lowell actually said my answer about color theory was ‘insightful.’ Can you believe it?”
Her smile falters when she notices my grade.
“Oh, Char...”
“I’m screwed,” I mutter, shoving the test into my bag. “This was supposed to be my chance to prove I belong here, and I can’t even pass a basic written exam.”
Sarah squeezes my shoulder.
“One bad grade doesn’t define you. Your practical skills are amazing—everyone knows that.”
“My mom never got anything less than an A in beauty school.” I blink back the sudden sting of tears. “She would be so disappointed.”
“That’s not true and you know it.” Sarah’s voice softens. “Your mom would be proud of how hard you’re trying. This is just a bump in the road.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Eight years since she’s been gone, and I still feel like I’m trying to live up to her legacy. The legendary Elaine Palmer, whose clients still talk about her like she hung the moon.
“Besides,” Sarah continues, pulling out her makeup bag, “you can still do the extra credit. We can work on it together this weekend if you want.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I start gathering my brushes, trying to shake off the disappointment. “I just wish—”
The lab door swings open, interrupting my pity party.
Adrian DeLuca walks in carrying my silver laptop, weaving between the remaining students with purpose. His dark eyes lock onto mine as he approaches.
“Special delivery for the future hair goddess of Cooper Heights,” he announces with a flourish. He sets my laptop down gently on the counter beside my styling tools.
My shoulders relax at the sight of it.
“You fixed it?”
“Yep. Good as new.” He flips it open and powers it up. “All your files are intact, including those assignment templates you were panicking about.”
The relief that washes through me is so intense I could hug him.
That laptop has tutorial videos I’ve recorded of Mom’s old techniques, and the business plan I’ve been drafting for the salon I hope to open someday. When it crashed yesterday, I nearly had a breakdown in the middle of the student lounge.
“Adrian, you’re a lifesaver.” I inspect the screen as it boots up perfectly. “Seriously, I would’ve been screwed without these files. How much do I owe you?”
He waves off my question.
“Consider it my good deed for the day. Besides, it wasn’t that complicated. Just a corrupted system file and some driver issues.”
Sarah leans over my shoulder and peers at the screen.
“He’s being modest. I watched him work on it for two hours in the library.”
I give Adrian’s arm a friendly squeeze.
“Thank you. I really mean it. I can’t afford to lose any of this work, and I definitely can’t afford a new laptop.”
He grins at me.
“Someone’s got to look out for you struggling artists.”
I close a few folders, confirming that everything is indeed where it should be, then shut the laptop with a sigh of relief.
“I owe you big time.”
“Actually,” Adrian says, “I was thinking we could grab dinner tonight. That new burger place downtown? I heard their wagyu blend is incredible.”
Sarah bounces on her heels beside me.
“Oh my gosh, yes! I’ve been dying to try their sweet potato fries. They dust them with this special spice blend that’s supposed to be amazing.”
They both turn to me expectantly, waiting for my response.
I glance at the clock on the wall and feel my shoulders slump.
“I can’t,” I say, gathering the last of my styling tools. “I’ve got to work at The Summit tonight. My shift starts at seven.”
Adrian’s face darkens immediately.
“The Summit? Again? Why do you keep working at that place?”
I slide my comb set into its case.
“Because they pay me?”
“It’s a dive bar full of sketchy guys who hit on you all night,” Adrian says, his tone shifting from friendly to possessive so fast it gives me whiplash. “That bartender with the beard can’t keep his eyes off you.”
I suppress a sigh.
This is becoming a pattern with Adrian.
One minute he’s nice and normal. The next minute he’s weird.
We’ve only been friends for the two months since I moved to Cooper Heights, but lately, he’s been acting like he has some claim on my time.
At first, having him around was helpful.
The fact that his parents own the school means he knows all the shortcuts.
So, I’ve been doing my best not to get on his bad side.
But this protective act is starting to grate on my nerves.
“The tips are good,” I say, zipping my styling kit with unnecessary force. “And I need the money for school. Not all of us have parents who own the place.”
“There are other jobs,” Adrian starts. “My dad knows someone at—”
“I like this one,” I cut him off firmly. “The hours work with my class schedule, and my boss is flexible when I need time off for exams.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door, effectively ending the conversation.
I don’t need Adrian’s approval for where I work, and I’m too tired after bombing that test to deal with his attitude.
“I’ll text you later,” Sarah calls after me. “We can work on that extra credit this weekend!”
I wave without turning around, pushing through the double doors and into the hallway.
The cool air hits my face, and I take a deep breath, trying to center myself.
My apartment is only a fifteen-minute walk from campus. Sarah and I found the place just before classes started. It’s small and the water pressure is a joke, but the rent is manageable if we both work, and the location is perfect.
By the time I unlock our door, I have just enough time to shower and change before my shift.
I dump my school bags on the kitchen counter and head straight for the bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I go.
Under the lukewarm spray, I try to wash away the disappointment of that C-.
Mom would’ve known exactly what to say to make me feel better. She always did.
I towel off quickly and wrap my damp hair in a messy bun, then pull on my uniform—a pair of black shorts and The Summit’s signature black tank top with the logo emblazoned across the front.
I assess myself in the mirror and decide I need a little makeup.
Just enough to ensure good tips without looking like I’m trying too hard.
I apply mascara to lengthen my lashes, a touch of blush to warm my cheeks, and tinted lip balm for a natural flush.
Perfect balance between professional and approachable.
I grab my purse, keys, and my thick coat and then head out the door.
The Summit is only a ten-minute walk from our apartment, which is another reason I took the job.
The evening air has a bite to it as I make my way down Main Street.
Cooper Heights comes alive at night, especially as it gets closer to the weekend.
Students from the university crowd the sidewalks, laughing and planning their weekend adventures.
I pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders and quicken my pace.
The Summit looms ahead, its sleek modern architecture standing out among the more rustic buildings surrounding it. It’s three stories of tinted windows and polished stone, with a neon sign that pulses in the gathering darkness. I slip through the employee entrance and punch in my code.
“Charlotte! Thank goodness you’re here.” Clay Dover’s voice booms across the empty bar. He’s a mountain of a man with a shaved head and tattoos covering his massive forearms. Despite his intimidating appearance, he’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
“I’m not late, am I?” I check my phone. Ten minutes early, actually.
“No, no.” Clay runs a hand over his head, a nervous habit I’ve noticed whenever he’s worried. “Ruby just called. She’s having contractions.”
My eyes widen.
“Is she in labor? The baby’s not due for another month!”
“Probably Braxton Hicks,” he says, though the worry in his eyes suggests he’s not convinced. “But with her blood pressure issues, the doctor wants me to bring her in just to be safe.”
I set my purse under the bar and tie an apron around my waist.
“Go. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?” Clay glances around the empty bar, then at the door. “Thursday nights get busy, and I don’t like leaving you alone.”
“I’ve handled busy nights before,” I assure him, already checking the liquor levels and ice bins. “Besides, Mick will be here to help with security if things get rowdy.”
Clay hesitates, then pulls the bar keys from his pocket and hands them to me.