6. Piper
six
piper
Try Talking Dirty to Her
I watch, mouth agape, as the finest man roaming God’s green earth leaves my salon with surely the worst haircut he’s ever had, sending my stomach plummeting.
The man has graced the covers of magazines over the years, often regarded for his thick, luscious locks and impeccable sense of style, among other enviable traits. The fact that I managed to butcher the very thing he’s renowned for is a bitter pill to swallow. Honestly, if I’d handed my cat the clippers, she’d have at least made it look intentional.
And speaking of my cat, she’s currently perched on the windowsill, one paw on the glass, longingly watching him walk to his chauffeured car like he’s a can of tuna that got away. She turns her head toward me when Dev is out of sight to give me her most scathing look, letting me know this was all my fault.
I reach out to pet her. “I’m sorry, sweet thing. I didn’t mean?—”
But she doesn’t let me finish, jumping off the ledge before putting her tail up in the air, like a one-finger salute, and walking away from me without so much as a backward glance.
I turn to find Sarina and Joshua standing behind me. Sarina’ s lips clamped in a way that suggests she’s clearly struggling not to laugh while Joshua is wincing so hard, I’m worried his face might get stuck that way.
God, I’m never going to live this down, am I? Thank goodness we don’t have clients waiting in the lobby, but I’m sure the staff has already heard about the fiasco. Around here, news travels faster than a politician’s dick pic on the internet.
I fold my arms over my chest, looking at my best friend, knowing she’ll have something to say that will simultaneously make me feel better and worse. It’s a talent very few possess, but one Sarina excels in. “Well, go on then. Tell me how royally I fucked up.”
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head as Joshua runs to retrieve the phone ringing at the front desk. “I was actually thinking we could take advantage of your Edward Scissorhandsness. Make it into a lucrative new service, even. We could call it,” she waves her hands out in front of her like she’s gesturing to a billboard, “‘Piper’s Art of Surprise,’ where her client doesn’t know what kind of hair he’ll walk out with! I think it’ll do really well!”
Smartass.
I try to stifle my laughter, but between the events of the past half hour and the sheer exhaustion, it bursts out of me like an explosion of snorts and giggles. “You’re a butthead,” I say between laughs, wiping the tears from my eyes. “But seriously, of all the heads to nod off on, did I have to choose the one attached to the richest guy on earth?”
Sarina wraps me in a hug, similar to the way I’ve seen her hug Rome, her six-year-old son. “Look, it could have been worse. He could have been the richest and the most attractive guy on earth. Thank God, he looked like a river troll. You might have even done him a solid. With that haircut, maybe he’ll finally have a shot at getting laid.”
I groan, pinching her side, knowing she’s being sarcastic. You’d have to be blind, deaf, and living under a rock to not find him attractive. I know Sarina is just trying to keep me from falling into a pit of despair and self-loathing. “Pretty sure the man has never had any trouble getting laid, regardless of his wealth.”
“Okay, so he’s mildly attractive and has a wad of cash. Bid deal! That’s like, our entire clientele in a nutshell.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t fucked up any of their hair this bad.”
“True. You’ve earned your quota for the year. Perhaps the decade. But right now, what you need is sleep. Maybe later we can give you a crash course in hairdressing.” She winks.
“I can’t,” I protest, even though my legs are barely holding me upright. “I have another client coming in fifteen minutes. He’s the tight end for the 49ers.”
“Don’t you worry about him and his tight end,” she declares, making me grin. “Nisha and Tatiana are covering the Hammond party for now since Tatiana’s next appointment cancelled. I can take your client list for the next couple of hours. Grab an Uber and go home for a nap—no one needs you falling asleep at the wheel. I’ll call you if we need anything.”
I hesitate for a moment but know she’s right. If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be risking another disaster. And one is plenty for the day.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly.
Except, little do I know at the time that disasters have a way of coming in twos, and the next one would be the reason I’d be losing sleep for the foreseeable future.
I wake up with a start to “Despacito” —Nisha’s ringtone, set on a night she decided to show off her twerking skill atop a bar while donning a sombrero—assaulting my eardrums on full blast. Given that my friend has let loose all of four times in her life, I’d considered the night a success.
“What the hell?” I grumble, slapping my hand over my phone to stop the cacophony, but it ends up dropping off the nightstand instead. I’d forgotten to set it on silent before I fell into my slumber. “Dammit!”
The ringing finally stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief, sinking back into my pillow. But the reprieve is short-lived when the song restarts.
Cursing, I fumble out of bed, bringing the phone to my ear. “Please tell me this is an emergency and you’ve been kidnapped by aliens and you’re calling me to negotiate your release. Although, given that you woke me up from one of the hottest dreams I’ve ever had, I might negotiate for them to keep you.”
I don’t mention that the dream happened to be about an especially irate billionaire I had the displeasure of meeting today. She’ll jump to conclusions and no one needs that.
“We need you back at the salon,” Nisha says, ignoring my grumbling. “There’s a . . . situation here that requires your presence.”
“Requires my presence?” I repeat, brows pinching. “Why are you speaking like you’re a housekeeper on Bridgerton ?”
I pull the phone off my ear to look at the time. Despite my body’s reluctance to want to leave my bed, my mind feels surprisingly alert. It’s a miracle what a two-hour nap can do.
“Piper,” Nisha says again, a bit more urgently. “Can you head over right now?”
While my best friend isn’t one to horse around like Sarina and me, generally we can at least get her to crack a smile. I’m not getting that vibe from her today .
I clamor out of bed, already heading to the bathroom to freshen up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon. What’s going on?”
Of the three of us, Nisha’s always been the level-headed one. Sarina and I often tease her that if we were ever in an end-of-world situation, Nisha would be calmly organizing an evacuation while we would be debating which shoes to bring. So for her to sound out of sorts is unsettling.
Did one of the other stylists go home sick? Even so, we always have on-call stylists available. Our salon’s reputation depends on us keeping our wealthy clientele happy and on schedule, given most can’t even spare five minutes.
“You’ll see when you get here,” she responds ominously. “I’ve gotta go, but just get here as quick as possible.”
And with that, she hangs up, leaving me staring at my blank screen for clues. I don’t have the time to ponder it, though. After ordering my Uber—since I’d left my car at the salon—I gather my long hair into a braid and rush over to check on Natalie Nutbottom and Kevin, my pair of rare miniature plush lop rabbits. As usual, I’m hoping to catch them in the act of fornicating, but as usual, they’re on opposite ends of their palatial bunny cage.
I’ve seen them snuggle occasionally, but no matter how much I encourage Kevin to hump his girl, he refuses. I personally think it’s because of Natalie’s haughty, “I’m too good for you” attitude. It makes my sweet and sensitive Kevin feel insecure, and he just can’t get it up under that kind of pressure, bless his furry little heart.
I’ve been trying to get them to mate for several months, ever since I paid a shitload for them off the breeder across town. They’re a rare breed, and I’m hoping to sell their adorable offspring as a side-hustle. The breeder I got them from swore it would be easy, that they call it “multiplying like rabbits” for a reason, but at this point, I’m wondering if I need to take them to a vet, or couple’s therapy .
I pull Kevin out of the cage, giving him the same encouragement and sage advice I always do. “It’s okay, buddy. Hang in there. She’ll give in one of these days. Maybe switch it up a bit today. Try talking dirty to her. Women love that.”
With that, I lock up behind me and hop into the Uber.
Ten minutes later, I’m rummaging through my purse for my chapstick as I walk into the salon, but my search comes to an abrupt stop when I catch Nisha’s concerned face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, watching her exchange a worried look with Joshua before glancing behind her toward the salon’s private rooms.
Nisha rushes over, grasping my elbow and speaking in a hushed voice. “Dev is waiting for you in your room.”
My brows pinch. “Dev? I thought he said he’d rather swim with a pool of piranhas than set foot in here again.” So maybe those weren’t his exact words, but they felt just as harsh .
Nisha pulls me down the hall. “Apparently, he changed his mind. He came by fifteen minutes ago, insisting that you fix his hair. When I told him you’d already left, he asked for your address. When I refused to give that to him, he basically implied that he could track it down himself if he needed to. And since I doubt he was bluffing, I told him I’d call you and ask you to come back. I didn’t want to risk him showing up at your door.”
My eyes widen. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why come back hours later to the same place that botched up his hair when there are a million other salons in the city?”
Nisha shrugs outside the door to my room. “Your guess is as good as mine, but he wasn’t open to a debate. I figured maybe he’s offering us a chance at redemption.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, giving her a nod. She’s right. No use overthinking it. If he’s ready to give us another shot, then who am I to argue? It also doesn’t go unnoticed by me that my sweet friend used the word, “us”, despite knowing I’m the one responsible for this morning’s disaster.
I pull her into a quick hug. “Okay, I’ll see what he wants.”
Stepping into the room, I find Dev scrolling his phone. His dark and intimidating gaze lifts to meet mine, sending a current zipping down my spine.
I’ve never been one to be easily intimidated. Hell, it’s one of the reasons Dad and I never got along. I was always too mouthy, too unruly for him. No matter how much he tried to shape and bend me to his will, I remained the outlier, the square peg in a round hole, the glitch in the matrix. To this day, I’m his biggest mistake and his worst disappointment. But that’s not the point.
The point is, I don’t flinch, I don’t crumble or cower. I’ve always been comfortable being the wild card, the one who dances to her own song. But with this man—towering at six-foot-something, with his warm chocolate eyes, dark brows, and supple lips—I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, teetering between that familiar defiance and an unexpected desire. At any moment now, I could free fall. But the question is, will he be the refuge that saves me or the tempest that drowns me whole? My guess is he’ll be the latter.
“Mr. Menon,” I say in greeting, pushing aside the strange sensation his presence evokes. “I see you’ve reconsidered my offer to fix your hair.”
“Imagine leading an important shareholder meeting wearing this cap,” he responds irritably, ignoring my comment and pointing to the baseball cap on his head. But despite the clash with his formal attire, the cap gives him a rather laid-back vibe, annoyingly making him even more charming.
Still, a twinge of guilt tugs on my insides as my gaze flicks to his head. “Like I said, I’m really sorry. I can understand how upsetting that must have been, and I’m willing to do anything to make it up to you, starting with blending your hair so it’s?—”
“And that’s why I’m here,” Dev says, cutting me off.
I breathe in a sigh of relief at his words, glad we’re finally on the same page. Perhaps Nisha was right. Perhaps this is a means of saving our reputation and redeeming ourselves in his eyes.
“Okay, great!” I respond happily, sauntering toward the shelf to grab a cape.
But just as I’m about to reach for the fabric, Dev’s voice has my hand halting mid-air. “To cash in on your offer to do anything .”
I turn to him, puzzled. “Excuse me?”
Dev folds his arms around his chest. “I’m not here for another haircut, Ms. Parker; I could get that anywhere. I’m here to collect the other part of your promise. The part where you said you’d do anything to make it up to me.”
Though I said those words, a part of me wishes I could go back in time and punch myself in the face for doing so, because based on the look on Dev’s face, I have a feeling I’m going to wish those words never spilled from my mouth.
“Um . . .” I stall. “What exactly is it you’d like, if not the haircut?”
Dev raises his head, his eyes piercing as he delivers the two words I never anticipated. “A bride.”