8. Sienna
SIENNA
“No, no. If you’re sick, you need to be at home. I’ll figure it out, Sav. Just rest and focus on getting better, okay?” I say as Savvy, one of our therapists, begins hacking up a lung on the other end of the phone.
She’s been feeling under the weather for a couple of days. Well, now she’s got the full-on flu and is probably going to be out for a while.
“Wonderful,” I breathe as I lower the phone back to the counter and wake up the iPad with today’s appointments on.
Footsteps behind me alert me to someone else’s presence.
“Rachel, can you—”
“I’ve already canceled my date tonight, and I’ve got protein powder out back. We’ve got this,” she says with a wide smile on her face.
“Fuck,” I breathe, sinking lower in the seat.
Business is booming. In fact, booming doesn’t even begin to cover it.
When Bea first started dating Rett, no one knew about this place.
But as time has gone on and people have looked a little deeper into the woman who has stolen Everett Donnelly’s black heart, more and more have discovered the salon.
It’s fantastic. We've always been steady with appointments, but right now, we’re fully booked every day, with more and more people calling and emailing about appointments.
But as much as we’d love to hire more staff and let more clients through the door, we only have so much space.
If we want to grow, then…It’s going to be a really big step, and with Bea pregnant, I’m not sure now is the right time.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t started looking into options for other premises.
The thought of expanding is as exciting as it is terrifying.
This place has always been Bea’s dream. But I know that deep down, she dreams bigger than just one salon.
And now, with how busy we are, with the number of potential clients we’re turning away every day, and a hockey player with millions of dollars behind us… maybe it actually is the right time.
No. It’s not. Lock it the fuck down.
“Sienna?”
“Huh? Sorry. I spaced out.”
“Did you hear anything I just suggested?” Rachel scolds.
My face heats. “Um…maybe.”
“Ugh,” she teases before setting about repeating herself with her plans for the appointments.
An hour later, we’ve just about managed to get everything sorted. Bea is coming in early and will no doubt be staying late with us, too, and Lessy’s little sister, who is currently studying beauty, is coming in this afternoon to pick up a shift on reception to free us up.
We’ve got this under control. Kinda.
“I swear to God,” I say to Rachel and Lessy a few minutes before we open. “If either of you get the flu from Savvy, we’re all fucked.”
Lessy pulls out a small bottle of hand sanitizer from the pocket in her apron. “Not gonna happen,” she states confidently. “And I’ve been drinking my daily greens. My immune system is fired up.”
“Should we wear masks?” Rachel asks seriously.
I grimace. “I’m not sure I can go back to 2020.”
“She’s right,” Lessy agrees. “That fucking sucked.”
“I’ve already preordered lunch from the deli down the street. Make sure you keep drinking. We’ve got this.”
“Hell yeah, we do. Best salon in the city,” Lessy sings happily, swinging a pair of scissors around like they couldn’t kill any of us with one wrong move.
We have the longest day, but just like every day when you get to work with your best friends, it’s full of laughs and happiness.
Bea manages to duck out before our final clients so she can rest her swollen feet, but Rachel, Lessy, and I are here to the very end.
“I’m beat,” Rachel says as I lock the front door behind our last client of the day, while she flops into Lessy’s hairdressing chair.
“Tell me about it. But this is only day one. We’ve got the rest of the week to manage yet.”
Rachel looks at me, and I look at Lessy, and as if we planned it, we all cry, “Cocktails!” in unison before collapsing into delusional laughter.
“There’s a very good chance we’ll have lost our minds by the time the end of the week gets here,” Lessy points out.
“I’d rather that than have the flu,” Rachel states.
“Right. Ten minutes to clean up and grab your stuff. Margs and tacos are calling.”
That gets them both moving, and ten minutes later, we’ve turned out the lights, locked the door behind us, and we’re on our way to the Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks over. It’s a regular stop of ours, and as we walk, I message the manager to preorder our drinks.
By the time we walk inside, my feet have a heartbeat all of their own, and the only thing I can think about—other than the margarita with my name on it—is sitting down.
“Oh my god, Si,” Rachel squeals when she sees our drinks waiting.
“Best boss ever,” Lessy agrees, both of them taking a huge sip of their cocktails.
“Damn, I needed that.” Rachel sighs as she sinks back in her chair.
“It might be hard going at times, but I’d never change my job,” I confess. “I love it.”
“Same,” both girls echo. “But maybe a little more help wouldn’t go amiss every now and then.”
“Sophia was a godsend today,” I say, mentioning Lessy’s sister. She spent four hours answering calls, changing appointments, and greeting clients with a big smile while we all ran around like headless chickens.
“She loved it. Happy to help whenever she can.”
“And we’ll be taking her up on that.”
We have a great night unwinding from our manic day, but we don’t linger at the restaurant; we’re all too keen to get home to relax before doing it all over again tomorrow.
I’m dead on my feet by the time I push through my front door into my apartment.
I’m used to living alone, I have for years, but now that Garrett has left, I can’t help feeling a little lonely. It was nice having someone here to hang out with, even if he spent most of his evenings out with old friends and new hookups.
Silence greets me as I walk through to my bedroom, strip out of my clothes, and step into my shower.
It’s hands down the best shower I’ve ever had in my life. The head is huge, raining water down on me that’s so powerful it makes my skin tingle. It could possibly be the best thing in the entire apartment.
When I’m worried my legs are going to give out on me, I wrap myself in my big fluffy robe, work through my skin care routine and brush my hair before curling up on the couch with a bottle of water and my cell.
I’ve got a whole stream of messages from Bea checking in on how the rest of the day went.
I reply, giving her the CliffsNotes, but refrain from broaching the idea of expansion for now.
I think that probably needs to be an in-person conversation.
And then once I’ve found a home makeover show on TV, I set about doomscrolling on my cell.
It’s calm and peaceful for almost an hour. Then, the banging starts.
“For fuck’s sake.” I groan, hating that there’s something that annoys me about my new slice of heaven. This apartment is supposed to be perfect.
I turn the volume up to try to drown it out. It kinda works, but every now and then—
Thud.
I have no idea what it is. Sometimes I think there’s a pattern to it, and then other times, it’s just random. And I think that possibly annoys me more than the noise itself.
The next two days are just as crazy, and just as Savvy tells us she’s starting to feel better, I start to feel worse.
“Nooo,” I cry as I climb out of bed, my entire body aching. “I don’t have time for this.”
Before leaving my apartment, I load up on medication, and then I stop on the way and buy myself a smoothie that’s loaded with vitamin C to go alongside my morning coffee, convinced that I’m going to be able to bat it away before it really settles in.
But as the day goes on, my confidence dwindles.
“I think I’m ill,” I finally confess when we’re finishing up for the day.
They all give me sympathetic looks but refuse point blank for me to hang around. “Go home,” Lessy instructs. “We’ll finish up here.”
“I’ll be in tomorrow,” I promise. Savvy hasn’t confirmed whether she’ll be back in, and there’s no way they’ll cope if I’m out, too.
“Go and rest. Decide in the morning. We’ll deal with whatever we need to.”
“I’ll be in,” I repeat, but there’s no strength in my words.
“Go,” they say in unison, giving me little choice but to grab my stuff and head home.
When I step into my building, the adrenaline that kept me going all day finally wears out. Putting each foot in front of the other physically hurts, and as I lift my key to unlock my front door, my chest is burning from walking down the long hallway.
I don’t bother with food; even if I were hungry, I don’t have the energy to order any, let alone cook. Instead, I strip out of my work uniform, drag on an old, soft pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie, and crawl under the covers.
I’m hot for a few minutes, but just when I’m about to pull the hoodie off, the chills start.
I snuggle up into a ball as it rolls through my body like a wave of ice, goose bumps pricking my skin and the shivers getting more intense.
Thankfully, it only lasts for a few minutes before I begin to warm again.
I drift in and out of sleep over the next few hours, only interrupted by my fluctuating body temperature and the occasional need to blow my nose.
When I wake again, it’s dark, but my apartment is no longer silent.
My neighbor is home, and I don’t know if it’s because my head already hurts or if I’m just more irritable than usual, but the noise seems to be louder and more obnoxious.
And tonight, it’s not just the music or the thudding; it’s both.
I groan, flipping onto my back and throwing the covers off as the body sweats take over. I glare at my ceiling silently, willing them to accidentally take a stumble and fall right out their window. But no matter how hard I try to manifest it, it never happens.
With my irritation levels growing, I force my aching body from my bed and storm toward my front door with one mission in mind.
This is annoying as fuck on a normal night. But when I’m dying…no. Just fucking no.
Despite it only being one floor above, I take the elevator, and in only a few moments, I’m standing in front of their door and knocking as loudly as I can.
Nothing.
I roll my eyes. Of course.
Curling my fist again, I slam it against the door. But still. Nothing.
Glancing around, I find something I missed when I first approached. A bell.
With fire racing through my veins—literally; I’m burning so hot I’m sweating bullets—I jab my finger against the button.