9. Piper
nine
piper
I Didn’t Bring Extra Panties
Unknown Number
We need to discuss our arrangement, along with a recent amendment. When do you close up at the salon tonight?
I ’ve just finished a rather long hair treatment for my previous client when I find the message waiting on my phone. It’s clear who it’s from, but I ask anyway because one can never be too sure.
Plus, one can never find too many ways to irritate their new fake fiancé.
Me
Sorry, is this arrangement in regards to the Socks Without Partners humanitarian crisis we’re collecting for at the salon? Are you the hand-puppeteer I reached out to earlier to take my socks?
I can practically see him doing one of his slow blinks. The one where he simultaneously takes a long breath and likely prays that he can suppress his need to strangle me. Not going to lie, that blink might be my favorite thing about him .
I save his number into my contacts while I wait. I have a feeling it’ll be a bit before he finds his composure.
Dev
This is in regards to our marital agreement and an amendment we can speak about in person.
I bite down on my bottom lip to suppress my smirk because even though no one can see it, I’m not sure I’m ready to admit how much fun I have getting under my unflappable fiancé’s skin.
Me
Ah, then no. I’ll be extremely busy for the next three decades. How is 2055 looking for you?
Dev
Piper.
I can almost hear the exasperation dripping from his tone without him having said my name out loud, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips.
It’s been a week since I last spoke to my fake fiancé. A week of radio-silence after he strode out of my salon, with both my phone number and my reluctant agreement to his proposal. He’d said he’d be in touch, and I’d patiently waited. But for the last few days, I’ll admit I’ve wondered if he’d had a change of heart. I was partly relieved—hoping that was the case—but surprisingly, I was disappointed, too.
Not enough to reach out—not that I had his number, anyway—but enough to catch myself checking for any missed calls and messages.
Perhaps somewhere between saying yes and telling my family and friends about my engagement, I’d started to thaw on the idea. To look forward to it, even.
I leave him on Read to tidy up my workstation and disinfect my tools. The salon gets a thorough cleaning each night from a professional crew, but each stylist and masseuse is expected to keep their rooms cleaned between clients.
When I come back to my phone, another message is waiting for me.
Dev
I realize you’ve made it a mission in life to be as difficult as possible, but I’m running low on time and patience. Can I swing by when the salon closes?
I drum out another response he’s not going to be too happy about.
Me
Oh, well since you put it that way, how can I resist? You must tell me where you acquired all that charm and charisma, Mr. Menon. I’m positively envious.
Dev
You’re the most aggravating woman on the planet.
I giggle, leaning my hip against one of my cabinets.
Me
And yet, you still want to fake-marry me.
Dev
I’m reconsidering it.
Me
Really? Don’t tease me. I have a tendency to pee when I get excited, and I didn’t bring extra panties.
There’s a long pause, the text bubbles jumping on the screen, only to disappear, until his next response comes through.
Dev
Are you available tonight?
Me
You know, after not hearing from you for a week, I was secretly hoping you’d bonked into lamppost, gotten temporary amnesia, and forgotten this whole fake marriage charade.
Dev
Sorry to disappoint.
I wait for him to elaborate, perhaps clue me in on his radio-silence all week, but of course, he doesn’t. Why should he when this is neither a real, nor a normal relationship and he doesn’t owe me an explanation of his comings and goings?
But then he surprises me with another text.
Dev
I was in Germany for most of the week, and with my busy schedule and the time difference, it was hard to find a time to chat.
I’m just typing out my response, my lip tucked back under my teeth and my grin begging to be let free, when Joshua knocks on my door, letting me know my next client is here.
Me
I do believe that text was higher than your four-word maximum. Quite the chatty Cathy today. You feeling okay? Should I fetch the smelling salts?
Dev
Is that a yes for meeting tonight?
I suck in my cheeks, knowing there should be no reason I should be feeling this giddy about a guy who’s likely at the limit of his exasperation with me, but I can’t help it. Maybe it’s because I imagine that, even in his curt responses, there’s a hint of a smile there.
Or maybe I want to believe there is.
Me
I suppose it is. I was planning to leave around seven-fifteen. The only plans I had were to encourage Kevin to fuck Natalie Nutbottom. Between you and me, I really think the ice is melting between them and their slow-burn is about to turn hot and steamy. After that, I was going to watch the latest episode of Bite For My Love . Have you seen it? It’s so good. Basically, the contestants get paired up with potential love interests and make a mystery meal together. Afterward, they decide if they want to move forward together or pair up with someone else. Want to watch an episode with me?
I’m just about to head out of the room to get my next client when my phone buzzes once more and I chuckle, not at all surprised by his response.
Dev
No. I’ll see you at seven-fifteen.
“You good with me leaving a few minutes early?” Joshua asks, stopping by my room at the salon around seven. “I was going to take Michelle out for dinner tonight. It’s our six-month anniversary.”
“Aww!” I grin at him. “You guys are so cute. Yes, go. Have fun. I’ll close up. I’m expecting someone, anyway.”
“Oh?” His brow rises. “Like a billionaire tech mogul, someone?”
Joshua, along with Nisha and Sarina, are the only ones who know the engagement isn’t real, but he’s the only one who believes it’s not as fake as it seems. Whatever that means.
“Yes,” I reply, placing the last of the used haircutting capes in the laundry bin. “We’re supposed to discuss ‘our arrangement,’ per his text earlier. I’m assuming the terms and conditions of this whole thing and getting our story straight for his parents.”
“I mean, aside from the timeline, given that you met last week, it’s not a completely unbelievable story. You can always go with the truth of how you met—he was referred to the salon by your mutual friend and you fucked up his hair.”
“Wow, thanks for the reminder, you big jerk,” I deadpan, but relent with a smile.
Joshua shrugs. “You have to admit, it’s a funny meeting. But you can embellish it a little by saying that instead of threatening you, he actually asked you out for a date after you fixed his hair, and that you’ve been dating ever since. Make the timeline seem longer.”
I nod. “Yeah, maybe.”
I’m putting the cats in the back room for the night, five minutes after Joshua leaves, when I hear the familiar sound of the salon door opening. I saunter down the hall to greet my fiancé, only to find it’s not him standing there.
My brows rise at the sight of Oscar and Mayer at the door holding a bouquet of flowers. “Hey!” I manage, offering them a hesitant smile. “What are you guys doing here?”
I’d shot the brothers a text a couple of days ago, mentioning I had some news to share and agreeing to meet over the weekend. So, it’s a little surprising that they’re here today instead.
It’s not that they’ve never shown up at the salon before, but we usually have an understanding to meet at their place. There’s never been anything serious between us, which has suited me perfectly fine. No strings means no expectations, and no expectations means no risk of hearts getting involved and inevitably broken. But suddenly I’m feeling a little awkward with their presence here, given I’m expecting my fiancé any minute.
“We were in the area, so we decided to swing by,” Oscar says. “Glad you’re still here; otherwise, these would have gone to waste.” He indicates the flowers in his hand, sauntering over to hand them to me.
I take the bouquet, the lilies filling my senses, before setting it down on the reception desk. “Thank you. That was really thoughtful of you.”
“Any chance you’d be up for an impromptu date?” Mayer asks. “Have you eaten?”
“I know I’m starving,” Oscar adds, his eyes scrolling down my body before he winks at me. “But more for dessert, if you know what I mean.”
I tense.
The banter isn’t uncommon between us. Hell, I participated in it the last time the three of us were together weeks ago, but now it feels . . . wrong. Undesirable and off-color.
“No. Actually, we need to talk about that—us, I mean.”
Oscar’ s fingers graze my jaw. “We can talk at dinner or back at our place, if you want?”
“She doesn’t.”
All three of our heads jerk in the direction of the voice, devoid of all humor.
“Dev?” I gasp, staring in bewilderment as the most handsome man I’ve ever seen closes the distance between us, his hands casually tucked inside his pockets, betraying the murderous glint in his eyes. Eyes that are currently locked onto Oscar’s fingers still hovering in the space between him and I. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He stays silent. And whether it’s the look of irritation on his face or the set of his jaw, something in me pulls me to his side. Wordlessly, I find myself sliding my hand in his, as if instinctively knowing he needs it.
Our fingers intertwine and electricity crackles through me, sending a shiver down my spine. His skin is warm and gentle against mine, kindling something I hadn’t acknowledged was there before, deep in my core.
Surprise flashes across Dev’s face before he swallows, making his Adam’s apple bob. But when I give his hand an encouraging squeeze, some of the tension releases, and he finally takes a real breath.
“Dev,” I say, looking back at the bewildered identical blond twins in front of me. “This is Oscar and Mayer?—”
“Victor and Mason,” Mayer interjects, but his correction evaporates from my mind as if he hasn’t even spoken.
“Guys, this is my fiancé, Dev Menon,” I carry on, looking at Dev’s profile. He’s still clenching his jaw, his dark eyes smoldering.
“Dev Menon?” Oscar asks, his gaze flicking from mine to Dev’s face bewilderedly. “ The Dev Menon? As in, the CEO of Menon Inc. ? ”
“ Fiancé ?” Mayer adds, his face contorting with disbelief. “What do you mean, your fiancé ?”
“She means the guy she’s going to marry,” Dev drawls, like he’s dealing with morons when he could be doing so much more with his time. His thumb caresses the back of my hand and I wonder if it’s intentional. Probably not. “ Me .”
“But—”
“Listen, fellas,” I jump in, wanting to get this explanation over with before my fake fiancé has a not-so-fake coronary. “I wanted to have this chat later, but honestly, I’m glad you’re here now. I know this is surprising for you, but let’s face it, we were never exclusive.”
I clear my throat. “And then . . . well, Dev happened. So, while it was fun between us, I decided it was time for me to settle down.”
A grin finds my lips, knowing I’m going to annoy my husband-to-be with the rest of my response, but also knowing it’s becoming my most favorite thing to do so.
“Dev has been crazy about me for some time, hell-bent on marrying me, begging every chance he had. It was becoming quite cumbersome to keep saying no, and given the man’s prospects are clearly limited, I took pity on him.”
Dev’s lips twitch, and I internally high-five myself.
“This is all just happening so fast,” Mayer mumbles disheartedly, his hand brushing my bicep again. “You sure you don’t want to think about it some more? Maybe we can change your mind?—”
“You can’t,” Dev interjects sharply, his voice laced with ice, his nostrils flaring. “And if you have any intention of using that hand for the rest of your useless existence, I suggest you remove it from my fiancée.”
Mayer’s eyes widen before he drops his hand, but not before the three of us stare at Dev with a mirrored look of shock .
I’ve seen annoyance and exasperation cross his features before, but rage? That is new.
Given that the media is always regaling him as the most composed and level-headed tech genius of our time, I’m positive they haven’t seen this side of him. A side that says he doesn’t make empty threats.
He looks outright lethal, despite not having lifted a finger. And given Oscar and Mayer’s swift departure from my salon without so much as a goodbye, I gather my fiancé isn’t the type who ever needs to.
I turn to face him with a smirk, squeezing his bicep. “You know, if this whole ‘broody billionaire’ thing ever fizzles out, you’d have a solid career as a bouncer. What, with all that intense jaw clenching, nostril flaring, and bicep flexing, you’d be a shoo-in.”
And what do I get in response?
That’s right. Another one of his drawn-out blinks.