Chapter 27
twenty-seven
My wealthy weekly regular is back, and even though I was grateful for her when I put that dress on my card, I’m having trouble holding onto that feeling now. She’s driving me nuts. I’ve spent the last hour foiling Nicolette’s hair for the highlights she insisted she needed, even though her brown roots were barely visible. Today was supposed to be one of her regular blow dry days, but she came in frantic, insisting she had to have her color touched up before the weekend. So, I’ve been running around the salon at maximum speed, trying to get this shit done before my next client comes in a couple of hours.
Checking the large digital clock on the salon wall, I turn back to Nicolette. “Now we just wait for you to process. I’ll probably have time to dry you, but I might not have time to curl your hair.”
A dramatic frown tugs the corners of her mouth down. “Oh, but I need you to curl it, too. I’m sure you could use the extra money.” She eyes me in the mirror, and in a sing-song voice, adds, “I’ll make it worth your while.”
I nod to hide my teeth gritting. “Of course. I’ll make it happen.” I know for a last-minute job like this, she’ll tip even bigger than she normally would, but she doesn’t have to be so condescending about it. She acts like she single-handedly keeps the lights on for me, and okay, maybe the payout I get from her and her friends helps—a lot—but that doesn’t mean she should act like she owns me. “I just may have to do it after I get my next client situated.”
I hate being double booked. If I had my own space, it would be one thing. But with so many other stylists sharing the floor, it can be tricky to figure out where to put someone while I have a second person in my chair.
“Great,” she says happily. “Only you get my blonde just right.”
Fake blonde.
Her roots are dark. It’s why she comes in here every six weeks on the dot. Sometimes she’ll even bump it up to four or five, depending on who she’s trying to impress.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I look at it since I’m just waiting for the chemicals to do their thing.
Chase:
Have I mentioned how much I hate Tuesdays?
Candace:
I was just thinking the same thing.
Three messages come in from him, back-to-back.
Chase:
We should run away together. Every Tuesday.
We’ll tell no one and hide out.
Bring snacks.
His idea sounds amazing, but then again, doing anything with him sounds amazing.
Candace:
If only.
“Who has you smiling like that?” Nicolette asks, pulling my attention back to the mirror. She’s watching me with that cat-like grin, and I quickly tuck my phone in my back pocket.
“Oh, no one. Just a friend.” I start cleaning up the color bowls I used and wash my brushes in the sink.
I can feel her eyes still on me when she says, “That’s not the type of smile you give for a friend.”
I shake my head. “It would never work. I’m just . . . I’m just in a bit of a predicament, I guess.”
She audibly gasps. “Ooh, is he married?”
Letting out a baffled laugh, I say, “What? No. Not at all.”
She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s trying to decide if she believes me. “Trying to pick between two?”
I shake my head with a bemused smile still on my lips.
Nicolette sighs. “If your boyfriend is the one who pays the bills, I understand why you’d stay with him. I know a lot of women who won’t leave their husbands for the same reason. That’s why I climbed the corporate ladder myself.”
Oh, how badly I want to roll my eyes at this woman. You would think she’s never done anything for herself with the way she acts sometimes. I swear she’s a country club wife at heart. I take a deep breath, and before turning around, I put on my best smile. “I could probably learn a thing or two from you.” When all else fails, go with flattery.
Lifting her chin, she says, “Oh, I have no doubt.” Eyeing me in the mirror again, she lifts a feline brow. “If you’re trying to decide who to sleep with, go with the guy who earns less than you—they’re usually better in bed. If you’re trying to be taken care of in other ways . . . well, then find a man who earns more.” She shrugs casually. “Some women end up having both. ”
I let out a breath of laughter. “Right.” Peeking at one of her foils, I say, “Let’s get this hair washed,” and hope that’s the end of this conversation.
It’s not. She goes on about how men who earn less usually feel the need to prove themselves in bed, and by the time my other client, Brianna, arrives, I’m desperate to greet her and get started. Fortunately, Nicolette has some sense of self-awareness around people who aren’t me, and the small talk she makes with Brianna stays within the safe confines of nail polish colors and designer handbags.
I end up getting home late thanks to the last-minute hair emergency and settle into the couch as I catch Miles up on Nicolette’s fucked up philosophy on men.
“Damn.” He shakes his head. “I mean, I guess she has a point. If she’s just looking for a good time, why not date younger?”
I huff. “Not younger, just someone who earns less.” I turn back toward the TV where Miles and I are watching all the Christmas episodes from The Office .
“Oh. Yeah, that’s fucked. Is she hot?”
“Gorgeous, but talking to her is exhausting, and I’m only with her for a couple of hours a week. I can only imagine how the men she dates must feel.”
My phone lights up on the couch between us.
Chase:
Candace.
Miles drops his gaze to the phone before raising his eyebrows with a pleased look on his face. “Speaking of men you are dating . . .”
I shoot him a warning look and grab my phone.
Candace:
Chase .
His response comes in right away.
Chase:
I need a haircut.
My breath comes out more like a scoff.
“Something wrong?” Miles asks.
“He wants a haircut,” I say as I type my next message.
Candace:
Then go get a haircut.
Chase:
Let me clarify.
I need you to give me a haircut.
Miles shakes his head. “Why don’t you just cut the man’s hair? You just did mine, and now I look fabulous.” He flips a piece of invisible hair over his shoulder.
Candace:
Let me also clarify. Again.
I’m not cutting your hair.
“Because,” I say as I type back my response. “I don’t need him becoming a client. I don’t know if I’ll want to see him every six weeks after this.”
Chase:
Candace.
I’m about to take out the kitchen scissors.
Don’t think I won’t do it.
“Now he’s threatening me with kitchen scissors,” I say flatly.
“I’m glad I know the context behind that statement.” Miles shakes his head. “Just cut his hair. If things end badly, or if you don’t want to see him again after this, then you can tell him no. But there’s no point in not cutting his hair now.”
Candace:
Don’t you dare.
Looking up at Miles, I sigh. “If he comes to the salon, he’s going to draw attention. He brought me coffee the other day, and Amanda could hardly walk a straight line. The more people in my life who meet him and think there’s something going on between us, the more questions I’ll have to answer when this is all over.”
A picture comes in from Chase, and I pause before opening it. He’s never sent me a picture, and for some reason, I’m thrilled by the new development. Tapping on my screen, a full-sized picture of Chase standing in his bathroom comes into view. He’s leaning toward the mirror, his eyes trained on his reflection while he holds a pair of black kitchen scissors near the top of his head. His tongue pokes out between his lips in concentration and . . . he’s shirtless.
“Holy shit.” Miles snatches the phone from my hand to get a better look. “Daddy Chase is fucking ripped.”
“Would you give that back?” I ask, trying not to sound flustered.
He does, but he moves in closer, so his eyes never have to leave the photo. “Candace.”
I stare at the picture and swallow hard. “Yes, Miles?”
“Go cut that man’s hair.”
I nod, in a trance from the sight of Chase’s bare chest. “Yeah. I should probably do that.”
“And when you’re done . . .”
“Yes, Miles?”
“Lick his fucking skin off.”
I laugh and push him away before trying to type my next text. My thumbs hover over the keyboard when another message appears.
Chase:
Should I take your silence as full support?
I’m tempted to write back saying the only thing I fully support is him never wearing a shirt again, but I don’t think that would be helpful for either of us.
Candace:
Send me your address, and don’t do anything stupid before I get there.