Chapter 32 Communication
Communication.
“Let me see!” Esther practically screamed, rushing over with her hands out.
I held out my hand, fingers splayed.
The ring caught the light immediately—an oval-cut diamond, easily over two carats, perched on a sleek platinum band.
Esther gasped so hard I thought she might faint. “Damn! El went all out!”
Johanna flinched dramatically, throwing a hand over her eyes. “I can’t even look directly at it. My retinas ain’t built for this kind of luxury!”
“You are so damn silly.” I laughed. “And did y’all know he was gonna propose?”
Esther smirked like she’d been waiting for the question. “Of course we did. Did you think we were gonna let him propose with your fingers looking like a chewed-up mess? Or with that tired-ass twist-out?”
I gasped. “Wow.”
Still, I thought of the photos I posted after the engagement. My hand over his with the caption: Elliot Greene Times Two.
She saved my life.
It still felt unreal. I was smiling so hard it hurt.
“Well,” I said, softening. “Thank you. I appreciate it. All of it.”
Johanna grinned. “You’re welcome, boss. Honestly, I made you look so good, I’m surprised he even got off you to come in today.”
Esther slapped her hand over her mouth. “Girl, what is wrong with you?”
“Seriously though, E. You looked beautiful.” London smiled.
“Right,” Chelsea added. “You’re gonna be such a gorgeous bride. Congrats again.”
I almost felt teary eyed. “Thank you.”
Esther leaned forward. “Okay, so—what happened after the proposal?”
I blushed at the thought. “Nothing.”
“Lies,” Johanna shot back. “He blew that back out.”
He surely did, and he called me Mrs. Greene the entire time.
“Girl!” Esther slapped her hand over Johanna’s mouth again, scandalized.
“Alright, alright!” I said, waving my hand. “Back to work, please.”
I exhaled and looked at the Expo boards in front of me—runway mockups, vendor tables, model notes scribbled with question marks. Hope’s name still scratched off.
“I don’t know. The model lineups are all over the place. The timing is tight. And now that Hope’s out…”
Esther rolled her eyes and plopped down next to me. “Girl. You’re stressing over the wrong things.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You just got engaged. You should be somewhere laid up, picking out Pinterest ideas. Not worrying about model call sheets and bun tutorials.”
I scoffed. “Please. Me and El already survived one wedding this year. Not to mention my last engagement and his previous marriage. That was enough PTSD for a lifetime.”
“Fair.”
“And besides, a wedding’s months—maybe years—away. This Expo is next week.”
Esther studied me, then snapped her fingers. “Then you should model the look.”
I blinked. “Me?”
“You!” she said, already nodding like it was decided. “It’s your collection. Your concept. Your damn salon. Nobody sells your vision like you do.”
“Esther—”
“Ellie.”
I gave her a look. She gave it right back.
I sighed in defeat before finally confessing. “Es, I don’t know if I could pull it off. I don’t feel like…that girl.”
“E,” she said, eyes narrowing like I’d just offended her. “You’re literally glowing.”
I exhaled. “You’re being dramatic.”
“And you’re being modest. It’s annoying.”
I frowned. “I’m not a model.”
“You don’t need to be. You’re beautiful, you know your references, and you’ve got presence. Plus, you modeling your own work shows confidence. People are gonna eat that up.”
I tilted my head, pretending to consider it, then cracked a small grin. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll model.”
Esther smirked. “Good. Now go put that ring back in the sun. I want to burn a hole in my memory.”
I smiled at her while letting my mind wonder. While my engagement was beautiful and El was at the forefront of my mind, now it was back to business. There was too much riding on this event, and I couldn’t afford any distractions. No room for anymore surprises.
The front doors of the salon swung open. I turned instinctively toward the sound, my eyes narrowing on the woman who stepped in.
She looked to be in her late thirties, maybe early forties.
Tall, polished, and dressed like every inch of her outfit had been planned to say she wasn’t here to play.
A camel trench coat over a soft ivory blouse, slim trousers, expensive heels, and not a hair out of place.
Her curls were brushed smooth, lips lined in a perfect mauve.
Her expression? Blank—but her eyes had purpose.
“Which one of you is Elliot Sawyer?”
I froze with Esther straightening next to me.
I took a small step forward. “Can I help you?”
The woman raised a brow. “My name is Samantha Greene. I’m Elliot’s ex-wife.”
“Oop.” Esther mumbled.
Chelsea spun in her chair so fast the wheels squeaked.
Samantha’s eyes locked on mine. “Are you Elliot?”
I sighed, my shoulders heavy now. “Yes. That’s me. Can I help you with something?”
Samantha walked forward with the kind of grace that only came from being used to controlling a room. “I want to talk to you.”
Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous. The confidence I had in El wouldn’t allow it. Instead, I found myself wondering what she did for work. El never talked about her so she was a complete mystery to me.
Esther didn’t budge. “You’re not about to start no mess in here, are you?”
Samantha smiled, coldly. “Oh no. I’m not here to make a scene.”
But something about her tone hinted that she absolutely could if she wanted to.
Samantha’s eyes scanned the salon, lingering on every detail like she was storing it all away. “Nice place.”
“Thanks,” I said, calm but guarded. “You want a wash and style while we chat?”
Her brows lifted slightly, surprised. “You’re offering to do my hair?”
“You walked into my salon,” I said, motioning toward an open chair. “And this is what I do.”
Esther leaned in close to my ear. “You sure?” she whispered.
I nodded once. “Yeah.”
Samantha hesitated for a beat, then slid off her coat and stepped into the chair like she’d done it a thousand times before. I draped the cape over her and gently loosened the top of her sleek bun, watching the strands fall one by one.
Samantha’s eyes flicked up to mine in the mirror. “How old are you, Elliot?”
I didn’t flinch. “I’m twenty-seven. And Ellie is fine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I see. And where’d you meet Elliot?”
“We met at a coffee shop,” I said, working my fingers through her hair, loosening the tangles. I glanced at her reflection. “They mixed up the orders.”
Samantha’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile. “Hm.”
We made our way to the shampoo bowl in silence. I washed her hair gently, letting the water and suds fill the awkward quiet between us. When I guided her back to the chair and started combing through, she finally spoke.
“I didn’t come here to fight you.”
“Didn’t think you did,” I replied, focused on sectioning her hair.
She glanced at me through the mirror. “But I did come with questions.”
I met her eyes. “Ask.”
She studied me for a moment, like she was trying to find the cracks in my image. I held her gaze through the mirror, unbothered.
“How long have you and El been serious?” she finally asked.
“Not long, maybe two months,” I said, reaching for the wide-tooth comb and sectioning off a piece of her damp hair. I moved like this was just another client and not my fiancé’s ex-wife in my chair.
“Did you know about me?” she pressed, tilting her chin slightly as I began detangling before applying the product.
I gave a short breath of a laugh. “He told me he was married. Never said to who.”
She hummed but said nothing. I finish styling the back section of her hair and diffused it, keeping my tone casual.
“He did say you were pregnant, though,” I added, “and halfway around the world.”
“I just had my baby girl a month ago,” she explained softly, and for the first time, there was a trace of warmth in her voice. “Her father and I are here visiting family. We live in Australia.”
“I see,” I said, catching her eyes again in the mirror.
“I wasn’t gonna reach out to him,” she continued, “but when I saw El got engaged… I had to stop by and meet who it was.” Her lips curved slightly. “Didn’t expect the hairdo, though.”
I gave her a look. “What exactly are you trying to find out, Samantha?”
She sighed and folded her hands neatly in her lap, her eyes focused on a spot between her knees. “I’m not sure. We ended things badly, so maybe I just wanted to see how much he’s changed. Maybe compare us a little. Figure out if I was just the warm-up for the real thing.”
I stopped the dryer and looked at her through the mirror.
“I can’t speak on what y’all had,” I said, voice even. “El doesn’t spend time talking about his past. He barely brings up his mother, let alone his ex-wife.”
Samantha’s gaze dropped again.
“He likes his privacy,” she murmured.
“That he does.”
A small pause lingered between us.
“Did he tell you why we broke up?” she asked.
“He did.”
She lifted her eyes slowly, watching me carefully.
“You’re so young. Do you really think you can live with the decision he’s made to not have kids?”
It should feel personal, but it didn’t. “I’m completely fine with it, though I get why you weren’t.”
She let out a breath. “I wish I could have changed his mind.”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you could.”
“I guess not.”
A silence stretched between us again.
“Is he okay?” she asked, softly.
“He was when I left him this morning.”
“Is his blood sugar still outta control?”
I shook my head, “It was normal when I checked twenty minutes ago.”
“Have you met the family? How’s Rio?”
“Begging me to plan a girl’s trip. Bourbon’s against it though.”
She smiled.
“I wanted to hate you. I came in here with the full expectation that I would. That no woman on this earth would be good enough for El. But, I think I like you,” she said, almost annoyed. “I wish we could have been…acquaintances.”
I cracked a smile. “We still can. Just don’t make it weird.”
That earned a soft chuckle.