Chapter 6
CASSIDY
I hit send and stare at the screen, relieved my assignment went through. Despite daydreaming about the hot guy from the club last night, I’ve managed to finish with a few hours to spare.
I’ve worked hard on this project, and it really tested me. But in the very best way. I’m so excited to be able to take these classes. Even if I have doubts as to whether I’ll be able to use the education toward a career one day.
For a moment, I sit there motionless, hands resting on the keyboard, letting the sense of accomplishment settle in.
A few years ago, even opening my laptop would’ve been impossible.
I was still too much of a wreck. Imposing the added stress of test-taking and deadlines would’ve sent my heart racing.
Now I’m turning in advanced coursework and actually understanding it.
I’m still afraid of my own shadow. But I’ve come a long way. A small part of me thinks I could still have a career I’m excited about. A future that isn’t built entirely around survival.
My traitorous mind drifts to other areas of my life, and that familiar ache in my chest returns. Will I ever be able to date again? Be able to trust someone? Maybe even have a family one day?
The idea already felt unlikely after watching my dad raise Holt and me alone after our mother left.
I learned early what commitment looks like.
When it doesn’t run at the first sign of discomfort.
My father was the best man I’ve ever known.
He always put the two of us before himself. I never doubted we were his priority.
I’m like him in that way. I know it. Other than my physical appearance, I doubt I inherited one thing from my mother. I’d never walk away from my responsibilities.
But I also know what life as a civil servant does to relationships. The hours, the danger, and the emotional weight it brings with it. I’ve had to consider whether loving someone like me would be too much work for most men.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
I reach for my phone, a smile taking over my face thinking Holt might be calling. “Hello.”
Silence.
“Hello.” There’s an odd clicking sound on the line. “Hello?” My nerves start to dance from my head to my toes. I hang up the call and check the call log. Unknown number. Hmm. It’s probably a wrong number, I reassure myself. They recycle these numbers all the time.
Calm yourself down. I’m sure it’s nothing.
My phone alarm goes off, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Holy shit. I glance at the time and groan.
Today is packed. First, that heavily weighted assignment, followed by the meeting with the girls, and then straight into hair and makeup for the Spring Angels Among Sinners party tonight.
And by all accounts, that will go well into the night.
Leaping from my seat, I grab my phone but don’t stress too much about what I’m wearing for the meeting this time. Leggings and a sweater will do, since we’re all about to be transformed anyway.
By the time I arrive, the energy is already buzzing. Fern is practically vibrating in her seat.
Lala stands at the front with her tablet, looking like she could run a small country if Gianni asked her to. I wonder how many of these events she’s had to help coordinate? She barely looks old enough to drink legally.
“Okay,” Lala begins, smiling despite the chaos. “Tonight is one of our biggest events of the season. Trays of hors d’oeuvres, signature cocktails, live DJ with plenty of dancing, and then introductions as the new girls take the stage.”
Candice’s eyes light up. “Have you seen the RSVP list?”
“No, but I bet most of them will be wearing tuxedos. As if they weren’t hot enough already,” Fern sighs.
“I love how we’re celebrating people who get to skip three years of work experience.” Brier’s bitterness isn’t even subtle.
Lala gives her a pointed look. “It’s one night. Try not to get caught shooting daggers at any of them. Jealousy isn’t a good look on anyone.”
Brier rolls her eyes. “There’s no RSVP list. All of the members have an open invitation and can use this opportunity to bring in their partners or acquaintances.”
“Or their mistress,” Candice whispers not so subtly behind her curled hand.
“Yes. You’re right. It’s what they pay for.
Anonymity. And it’s not our place to judge.
” Lala replies, her voice clipped. “Now, let’s try to enjoy the evening and make sure all of the members and their guests have a fantastic night.
” She turns toward the door but stops short.
“And Brier, watch the new girls. Take some mental notes. If that’s where you see yourself, figure out what they’re doing and see if there’s a way to replicate it.
Try to stand out to Gianni so you’ll have your chance in the fall. ”
A rare smile curls one corner of Brier’s lips.
“Now, let’s go get you girls dolled up.”
We move to hair and makeup after that. The room is full of stylists standing before mirrors, straightening and curling irons charged and at the ready.
I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to prevent giggling.
Why does this remind me of the scene in The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy and the cowardly lion are getting the full glamour treatment?
One of the hairdressers motions for me to come closer and take a seat. She places her hands on my shoulders and looks at me through the mirror before tilting her head. “We keeping the pink?”
“Yes,” I blurt, a little too fast. Hell, it’s practically my safety blanket at this point.
She laughs and gets to work with a quick wash and blow out before curling my hair into big soft waves, fastening one side like a modern pin-up girl.
Wowww. I blink, barely recognizing myself in the mirror.
Then she pauses. Her eyes flick to the noticeable scar that travels along my jawline before we make brief eye contact. I’m usually able to cover this with makeup or with my hair down. She doesn’t ask. Doesn’t react. Just adjusts her brush and keeps going. Relief washes through me.
She finishes with my hair, and a makeup artist comes to her side, dragging a cart on wheels alongside her.
The woman has jet-black hair and pale facial features with overdramatic false eyelashes and lipstick.
It honestly makes me a bit concerned for how my look is going to turn out. I mean, she kinda resembles Betty Boop.
But my fears are eased as she keeps my makeup fairly subtle.
A light brush of pink blush that accentuates the colorful strands running through my blonde locks, dark mascara applied to my lashes, but otherwise only neutral eyeshadow.
She saves the one pop of color for my lips.
She artfully applies bright, shimmering, eye-catching lipstick.
It looks like she’s painted sugar crystals onto my mouth.
She steps back to admire her handiwork. “There,” her voice is warm and proud.
I search her expression. Is that a pity smile? Because there’s no way she missed that jagged red scar along my right jawline. Before I can consider this further, Lala appears behind me.
“Holy shit, Cass. You look like Gwen Stefani.”
I give her a stunned smile. “You think?”
Fern suddenly perks up, glancing at me from where she’s seated. “What’s with your obsession with the pink hair anyway?”
I shrug. “Things were tough a few years ago. Felt like a change was in order. I was taking myself too seriously. And Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds has always been my idol.”
Fern claps. “Derek Morgan is more my type.”
“Shemar Moore is so hot,” Candice agrees, fanning herself. “Even my grandmother watched him on The Young and The Restless before he starred in Criminal Minds.” She laughs.
“Well, Penelope Garcia is a badass,” I interject, almost defensively. It’s clearly not about looks for me. Her character is about embracing her unique self, quirks and all. Everything I hope to be one day.
Lala smiles at me through the mirror. “I think you’re the badass.”
My eyes hold hers. Is she just being kind?
Or does she know?