Chapter 18 #2
Max’s eyes gleam with dangerous intensity, anger sparking instantly. The muscles in his jaw twitch as his expression hardens, and Lila immediately regrets bringing it up. A knot tightens in her stomach.
“I told him no, of course,” she adds quickly.
“Good.”
Max is like the unyielding ocean he loves to dive into. Resisting him only leaves her drained and defeated, because he inevitably gets his way. It is simply Max’s nature.
She resigns herself, remembering the conversation with Claire.
Perhaps going with the flow instead of fighting it will leave her with enough energy to get through this in one piece.
“How long is this trip? And, um, what should I tell my roommate?”
“Why does it matter?” he asks coldly. “I doubt she will care as long as your part of the rent is paid. As I said, your expenses will be covered for the month.”
“She is also my friend. Of course she would care,” Lila replies sullenly.
“Of course. And as your friend, I’m sure she’ll be happy you’re getting to travel. We’ll be gone for two weeks, if everything goes according to plan.”
“Speaking of plans,” Lila says, handing him a folder, “here is my portfolio. Maybe you can take a look and use those connections for me?”
His demeanor softens instantly as he takes it from her. “Of course.”
“Oh, and I also do murals,” she adds with an embarrassed chuckle, wondering if she’s pushing it too far. “If you know anyone who needs one, feel free to mention me. Anyway… were you lying about that secret floor thing in the elevator?”
She starts telling him about all the things she tried on the glass panel on the way up.
“So curious,” he says, sidestepping her question with a gentle smile. “I like that.”
Moments later, Lila is surrounded by two styling assistants in one of Max’s spare rooms, dressing her for a dinner date with him.
Sophie has just excused herself to step outside, intending to discuss Lila’s new wardrobe with Max.
The thought alone irritates her. As the one who will be wearing the clothes, shouldn’t she get a say?
“Are your boobs real?” one of the assistants, Andy, asks, openly gesturing toward Lila’s bust.
“Uh… yes?” Lila squeaks, her cheeks heating.
Lila still feels a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck at having her breasts discussed so casually, especially in front of strangers. The awareness settles heavily in her chest, making her suddenly conscious of her posture, of how exposed she feels despite being fully clothed.
She glances sideways, gauging the other’s reaction.
Alexander, the makeup and hair specialist, is striking, his features accentuated by shimmering gold makeup, long lashes brushed with blonde mascara, and bleached brows.
His waist-length blonde microbraids spill down his back in a pale cascade, their light color vivid against his honey-toned skin.
He doesn’t look like he cares in the slightest, his gaze fixed entirely on his client’s hair.
“Dang.” Andy murmurs. In contrast to Alexander, she is very pale, so light-skinned that she almost glows under the lights.
She ties her shoulder-length copper hair back with a quick, practiced motion before diving into the wall of clothing.
She flicks through dresses with growing frustration, fabrics whispering sharply beneath her fingers.
With a dramatic sigh, she loops the measuring tape around her slender neck and pretends to choke herself.
“Your body is everything, but none of this is giving.”
“If you keep putting that tape around your neck like that, you’re going to choke yourself for real one day,” Alexander says calmly as he brushes through Lila’s hair. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“But Sophie wears it like a scarf all the time,” Andy protests, pouting.
They’re in the same spare bedroom she was in before, though last time she was too exhausted, too focused on her shabby reflection, to notice much else.
Now, with her face professionally primed and painted by Alexander, she must admit she looks pretty. The glimpses she catches in the mirror almost feel like they belong to someone else.
Forced to look straight ahead as Alexander sections her hair, she takes in the room through the mirror, half-listening as Andy and Alexander chat animatedly about a celebrity they recently styled.
The shelves lining the walls are neat and orderly, filled with books whose serious, scholarly titles she doubts she’d ever care to read.
Beside them, a few pristine model airplanes gleam under the soft light, their polished surfaces perfectly aligned.
The careful arrangement of everything tempers the casual chaos surrounding her, giving the space a quiet, controlled air that feels both unfamiliar and oddly calming, especially as Alexander combs through another section of her hair.
She wonders if Max built those model airplanes himself. And if he did, how long ago? She can’t help but imagine him as a child. She can picture a little tyrannical despot lording over a pitiful nanny on the brink of quitting… or maybe a quiet, lonely boy building kits alone in his room.
Max has that aura. Despite attending that party not long ago, he hadn’t mentioned any friends at the last dinner.
As if reading her thoughts, Andy says, “He’s such a hottie. How can you stand it?” She approaches with a dress in hand. “Actually, the better question is how you two met, and where can I find someone like him?”
“Ugh. Don’t let his looks fool you,” Lila says sourly. “He’s a fucking—” she stops herself. “He’s a weirdo.”
The two stylists exchange a glance before bursting into laughter.
“Girl, rich people like him are all weird,” Alexander says. “We take what we can get in this economy.”
Lila decides not to continue, lest she say something Max might later make her regret.
“Do you have something with more stretch?” she asks, eyeing the dress in Andy’s hands. “He’s taking me out to eat, after all. I want to be comfortable.”
“Hm.” Andy considers this before rifling through another pile. “Something like this?” she asks, pulling out a shapeless dress.
“Uh, no,” Alexander says, unfurling a lock of hair from the large barrel curler. “You know he has a particular look he likes.”
“What kind of look does he like?” Lila asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Definitely not that.”
“Does he… hire you guys a lot to dress him?”
“Uh, no,” Andy says thoughtfully. “But I think he hired Sophie to dress one other person a long time ago. That was years back, before I joined the crew. Sophie saw her once a month. Now it’s just him, and he’s not into trends. We only see him once or twice a year if there’s a big event.”
“There was that fundraiser thing at the Met a few months ago,” Alexander states matter-of-factly.
“And the other charity event in Singapore last December,” Andy adds. “That was my first time in Singapore—”
“Wait,” Lila says, frowning. “Go back. You said Sophie dressed who once a month?”