3. Dev
three
dev
A New Brand of Crazy
I had plenty of chances to turn around and leave.
And I should have taken them.
First, when she greeted me wearing two different shoes and a rainbow-colored top that revealed more skin than Khloe Kardashian’s PETA ad, her smile all too sweet, and her ass-length honey brown hair cascading over each shoulder like rivers of silk. She actually reminded me of the My Little Pony doll Deena used to play with. The one that looked like she was the result of a psychedelic experiment gone wrong.
And second, when those things resembling aliens prowled in looking like they were still pissed about their botched wax jobs, surrounding me like Area 51 escapees. I won’t admit this out loud, but they were strangely cute. Weird as fuck, but cute.
And then third, when she started talking.
Oh God, the talking . . . It was like an incessant car alarm that has my ears ringing even now.
Who the hell gives their cats names like that, talks about breeding rabbits, and goes on about sexcapades with men named after sausage references? I could tell she wanted to prattle on, but Jesus Christ, a man can only take so much.
But what did I do instead of turning right the fuck around and walking out of this clown show? I stayed. Like someone caught in a fucked-up spell, I stayed.
Maybe it was her “girl next door” charm. Although, if she were my neighbor, I’d probably be banging on her door, telling her to shut the fuck up. Or maybe it was those sparkling green eyes, like gold-speckled marbles. Or hell, maybe it was her scent—a perfect contrast of tangy oranges and mischief.
The girl had trouble written all over her, but fuck if I wasn’t trapped in her whirlwind of eccentricity. If only for curiosity’s sake.
What the hell was I thinking coming here today? Today, of all days, when I am to represent the great Deepak Menon, also known as Dad, during our quarterly shareholders’ meeting. The one he specifically said not to fuck up, because apparently, even after more than fifteen notches on my belt of successful acquisitions, Dad still doubts my capabilities.
That’s good old Deepak for you, though. Blood may be thicker than water for most, but for him, it’s another ingredient in his daily smoothies.
And now I look like a failed attempt at resurrecting nineties punk rock, all because I bought into Hudson’s spiel about his overpriced stylist being God’s gift to hair. Clearly, he and I have differing opinions on a good hairdresser. Was this all some sort of sick prank on his part? Maybe he referred me to this nutjob because he knew she’d fuck up my hair and he’d get the last laugh.
I should have known a place that looked like a dining establishment—what, with every surface made of wood, leather, or marble, its plush velvet seating, and opulent chandeliers—was probably better suited for waitstaff than stylists. Who the hell names their salon Haircuts and Heartthrobs , anyway? Is it a luxury men’s salon or a romance flick ?
This is a disaster.
I’m not one to lose my temper. Generally, I’m more of a ‘walk away and let karma take its due’ kind of guy, but between my stylist’s endless babbling and the fact that she “slipped” while holding goddamn clippers to my head, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I glare at my reflection in the mirror, my hands fisting at my sides. How the hell am I going to go into a fucking shareholders’ meeting looking like this?
“Dev,” the rainbow princess, who was a fucking human radio, jumping from one unnecessary conversation to the next only minutes ago, at least has the wherewithal to look remorseful. “Please, let me fix?—”
“No,” I snap, giving her a glare only my father could outdo. “You’ve done enough.”
“What hap—” A woman with tan skin, inky black hair, and a sleeve of tattoos stops at the doorway of Piper’s room to look in. Her eyes widen as they land on my hair. “Piper, what happened?!”
“I’ll tell you what happened.” I pull the cape from my neck. “Your stylist is an imbecile, with less talent than a preschooler! My hair looks like someone took a weed whacker to it!”
My eyes land on Piper, who flinches at my words, as if she’s been physically struck and a pang of guilt pierces my chest. Maybe calling her an imbecile was harsher than I’d intended.
“Piper, how did this happen?” The woman in the doorway studies Piper with bewilderment before looking at me. “Mr. Menon, I can assure you we can fix your hair. Piper is one of our finest stylists.”
Throwing the cape over the back of the chair, I cross the room in two long strides, causing the woman to step aside. “That won’t be necessary. I think I’ve seen enough. ”
I’m storming down the corridor, my pace quickening with each step, when the echo of hurried footsteps resounds behind me. “D-Dev, please give me a moment to explain.”
“Pretty sure there’s little left for you to explain, Ms. Piper,” I retort, my gaze fixed ahead, my cool tone unwavering. I continue toward the exit with unyielding resolve. “But you’re welcome to, if you’re eager to do so, in the presence of my lawyers.”
Something burns inside my chest as those words leave my mouth, and I catch Piper’s soft gasp trailing behind me. I’m not one to casually dispense threats or belittle someone for their mistakes, but the weight of my responsibilities—my dad’s unattainable expectations, Mom’s recent prognosis, and the turn my life has taken over the past couple of years—have pushed me to the brink. This haircut was just the last straw.
Just as I’m about to reach the door, Piper’s hand clasps around my bicep and the jolt from her touch has me coming to a sudden halt.
Her shiny eyes lock with mine as she comes to stand in front of me. “I know it’s no excuse, nor is it your problem, but I took a new migraine medication this morning, and I think it’s made me extremely drowsy. None of this would have happened if I had figured it out sooner, and I apologize for that.”
The anguish in her voice sends another pang of guilt through me.
“I understand how upset you are,” she says, blinking back tears. “And if a lawsuit is what you’d like to proceed with, I can’t stop you. But, please know, I didn’t mean to mess up your hair or your day. It was a complete mistake, and I take full responsibility for it.”
As I observe the sincerity emanating from her, some of my irritation ebbs. I shift on my feet, feeling both empathy and uncertainty wash over me. Uncertainty is a word I’ve never allowed in my vocabulary, my life, or my work, running the world’s largest driverless transportation and grocery delivery service.
But here I am, completely at a loss in front of this woman who doesn’t deserve my understanding or my empathy, given the state of my damn hair, but is somehow siphoning it out of me, anyway. Goddammit ! What sort of mind games is she playing?!
And as much as I want to stay pissed, I remember the brutal migraines Mom used to deal with. The kind that would have her chained to her bed for days.
And now she’s chained to her bed for another reason entirely . . .
When she notices I haven’t responded, Piper continues to speak. Because, of course she does. Even humbled and remorseful, the woman can’t seem to control her pretty mouth.
“But as you know, involving lawyers and doing all that paperwork can be so cumbersome,” she continues, oozing faux concern. “Plus, these types of things have a way of making the news, and if the media gets a whiff of it, can you imagine the headlines? Big Bad Billionaire Bullies Beauty Salon Over Bad Haircut. Remorseful Stylists Now Living on the Streets.” She feigns a frown, followed by a sigh. “It would be a travesty all around, in my humble opinion.”
My mouth drops open. Is she . . . is she threatening me ? This tiny, five-foot-nil woman, who could be blown away in a bad windstorm. Did she just imply that she could manipulate the media against me?
My mind races as I try to comprehend the audacity of her words and her shift from being apologetic only minutes ago to daring and formidable now.
Jesus Christ, she’s a new brand of crazy, and for reasons beyond any explanation—given the way my dick just stirred inside my pants—her kind of crazy seems to intrigue me.
My brow lifts incredulously, not breaking our intense eye contact. “ A bad haircut? You call making me look like I’m auditioning for a role in the Addams Family , a bad haircut?”
“Love you!”
I blink in confusion before my brows furrow at the way Piper jumps. What the hell? Did she just say . . . ? And why does her voice sound so weird all of a sudden?
“Love you!”
The words resound again somewhere off to my left, and I follow Piper’s stunned gaze to where Vajayjay stares back at me with her jade-colored eyes. She’s standing on a large button, in a row of buttons along one wall I hadn’t noticed before.
Vajayjay pushes the button again and the same high-pitched nasally voice emits from it. “Love you! Love you!” She then saunters over to another button and the word, “mine” , rings from it.
Both Piper and I are standing there speechless as Vajayjay hits the “mine” button twice more while looking at Piper, as if trying to ensure she hears her. Then, with a nonchalant flick of her tail, she pads over to my feet, rubbing herself along the leg of my pants.
What in the ever-loving-fuck is going on here?
Piper’s fingers rise to cover her lips, clearly suppressing another smile as she watches her cat. “Oh my God.” She looks back up at me. “I think my cat has a crush on you. We’ve been teaching the cats to communicate with these buttons, and well, I think she’s telling me to back off her man.”
Back off her man?
Is this place a madhouse? Did I accidentally enter an insane asylum?
In my thirty-one years, I’ve never felt so out of my element. Like I’m surrounded by people— and cats —from another galaxy.
As I start to leave—because all kidding aside, I need to get out of here before I start questioning my own sanity—Piper’s hand lands over my forearm, sending another zing up my arm. “Listen. All I’m saying is, I messed up, but I can fix?—”
“Can you magically regrow my damn hair?” I ask, louder than intended, but it makes Piper suck in her cheeks as she suppresses another grin. Any semblance of her previous teary remorse has completely vanished, only infuriating me further.
“Well, no, but I can make it so it doesn’t look so . . .” she presses her lips together, “uneven.”
Vajayjay continues her rubdown of my leg.
“I think you’ve displayed enough of your hair dressing prowess for one day. I’ll get it fixed elsewhere where the stylists aren’t asleep on the job.”
Piper places her hand dramatically over her heart. “Ouch! Low blow, Mr. Menon.”
I suppress my eyeroll and the almost-lift of the corners of my mouth. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever rolled my eyes at anyone in all the time I remember. And I certainly haven’t almost smiled after they’ve fucked up my hair.
I reach for the door, turning to Piper once more. “I wish I could say see you next time, but clearly . . .” I don’t finish the rest of the sentence since it doesn’t need to be said.
“Dev, in all honesty,” she says, looking sincere once more. “I feel terrible about what happened. Please, let me do something to make up for it. I’ll do anything.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll manage.” I look at my watch before pulling the door open. “See you never, Ms. Piper.”
And right as I’m leaving, I hear a loudly emitted, “I miss you!” in that same nasally tone.
Damn weird ass cat.