Chapter 4 #2
I hear them exit the room and a few seconds later, my condo.
I’m certain the door is secure. They probably checked it twice before finally leaving.
My mind replays pieces of the night, including some of the highlights featuring Quinn.
I have no idea why he’s suddenly so…attractive.
Not that I haven’t considered him good-looking before, but it’s the first time I really, truly noticed it.
He makes my heart beat a little faster than normal.
I’m not sure what’s going on with me. Clearly the alcohol has a different effect on me this time, because I’ve never paid this kind of attention to Quinn before in my life.
Hopefully, I’ll sleep that off and tomorrow wake up completely forgetting how delicious Quinn Garrison smelled.
“Good morning,” I holler as I step inside the loud salon.
“Hi, Charli,” Jenn greets over the sound of her blow-dryer.
“Morning,” Lila says, throwing me a smile as she closes a foil around a strand of highlights.
“Heard you had a good time last night,” Jenn adds, a wide smile that catches me by surprise.
Sipping my salted caramel iced coffee, I stare across the salon with my eyebrows raised.
Jenn just laughs, turning off the blow-dryer and placing it in the rack. “Cade was here first thing this morning for a cut. He said you were the life of the party last night.”
I roll my eyes and head for my studio. “He’s such a gossip.”
She chuckles, sliding her fingers through the freshly dried locks. “That he is,” she confirms.
“Busy schedule?” Lila asks while keeping her eyes on her task at hand.
“Four clients,” I confirm, but the moment I say those words, something niggles at the back of my mind.
You’ll be at my studio at two.
But did I really say that, or do I just think I said that?
I slip inside my room and prep it for my first client. I turn on the bed warmer and add a fresh bottom sheet, tucking in the corners. I retrieve a top sheet and finish making the bed. When that’s done, I turn on the little water fountain and the music and wait.
Five minutes to ten, I go to the front reception area and have a seat at the desk.
My schedule is kept electronically now on my phone, so I can make adjustments easily and I always have it with me, so I pull it up and run through today’s lineup.
Four massages back-to-back isn’t ideal, but it’s a small price to pay when you’re an entrepreneur.
In my line of work, I have to be willing to work around the schedule of my clients, not trying to force them to fit in my own.
I spot my first client as she approaches the door and smile when she enters the salon. “Good morning, Sally.”
“Morning, Charli,” she replies with a beaming smile.
“Are you ready?”
“So ready,” she replies, drawing out the first word.
“Let’s get started,” I say, leading her toward my studio. “What type of massage are you thinking today?”
“Swedish, please, with light pressure.”
I nod, and even though she’s a repeat client, I go through my spiel. “Hook is on the wall for your jacket, and you can stack your clothes on the chair. When you’re ready, climb under the top sheet.”
“Sounds great.”
I step out and give her a few minutes to undress before knocking on the door. When she gives me the cue, I enter the room and get ready.
Time to get to work.
One appointment turns to two and before I know it, I’m completing number four.
The salon is closed for the day, leaving me alone in the building, but that doesn’t bother me.
It happens frequently, actually, especially in the evenings.
I just make sure the clients know if the door is locked, I’ll be out shortly to let them in.
It’s safer than leaving the door unlocked or giving someone free rein of the building when no one is here to watch.
“All right, Mr. Peterson, I’m going to step out and let you get dressed. Come out when you’re ready,” I state softly, exiting the room to allow the man to stand and redress.
Closing the door securely behind me, I move to the reception desk and retrieve my phone from my pocket.
Mr. Peterson is a frequent client, so I go ahead and pull up my schedule for six weeks out and take a drink from my tumbler.
I switched from my usual coffee drink to water after the second client and even though I could use a caffeine infusion, I stick with hydration.
Just as the door opens, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.
Parked in front of the salon is Quinn. He’s leaning against the front bumper, patiently waiting.
I guess his appearance confirms the fact my invitation to him wasn’t a drunken dream.
Though, it was a drunken slip of the tongue.
But it still grates on me that he drives to get massages from that big place over in North Ridge.
I can’t believe I didn’t know that.
“Here ya go, Charli.”
I spin around and face Mr. Peterson, who is handing me cash. I know the drill. He pays for his massage and includes a healthy tip for my time and service. “Thank you, Mr. Peterson.”
“Of course,” he says, slipping his jacket on.
“Here’s some water,” I offer, as I do following every appointment.
“Thanks, honey. I feel great,” he informs me, taking a drink of the water and turning his attention to the window. “Another appointment?”
“Last one of the day,” I confirm.
“Well, I’ll get out of your way. Can I make my next one quickly?”
“Of course,” I agree. “Six weeks?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We set the appointment, which sends a confirmation to his phone. Once that’s complete, I head for the front door and release the lock. “Enjoy your weekend,” I tell Mr. Peterson as he steps outside.
“Thanks, honey. I will.” Quinn pushes off his truck and heads our way. “Hey, Quinn.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Peterson,” he replies, his voice gravelly and all seductive, even though I’m certain that’s not how it’s intended to sound.
Maybe it’s just me.
“Enjoy your massage. I know I did,” he states, heading down the street to where he left his own pickup truck.
“Ready?” I ask, giving my youngest brother’s best friend my attention.
His dark eyes flash with something that makes me shiver, and I refuse to think about the what or why. He gives me a slow, somewhat sexy grin and says, “As I’ll ever be.”