Chapter 1 #2
I used the fresh paper towels to wipe away the rest of the blood I could see. When my hands were clean, I grabbed my phone from my bag and turned on the front-facing camera. I groaned when I saw myself.
This could not happen today.
A large welt had already formed on my forehead, bruising around the edges. Lines of dried blood trailed from the gash in the center of the lump. The only good thing was that the cut wasn’t deep.
I blotted and cleaned the remaining blood from my face, trying not to disturb my makeup. Getting too close to the welt hurt like hell, but what would hurt more would be showing up to court looking like this.
I couldn’t believe it. The biggest case of my career—and I was going to look like hell.
I stared at my own pale eyes. Right now, they almost glowed in the dim library light.
Something shifted beside me. The man had opened the first-aid kit and pushed it toward me. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth as I quickly cleaned the wound with the supplies inside and covered it with a bandage.
I still looked ridiculous when I was done. It was infuriating.
“Feel better?”
I glared at the man. “Why the hell is there a cat in the public library again?”
He sat up straighter, gaze catching on my bandage. He didn’t seem bothered by my obvious hostility.
“This is Calliope’s home too,” he said mildly. “She’s really never bothered anyone before you.”
“Lucky me,” I muttered.
I checked my watch again, wincing. I’d had so much I wanted to get done this morning, and this had thrown everything off. My head throbbed, anxiety rising like an army of ants under my skin.
I grabbed my phone again, studying myself in the camera. Even though the bandage almost matched my skin tone, the swelling was impossible to hide. There was no way I’d be able to cover it with makeup, and the last thing I needed was my witness distracted by a damn bandage.
I let out a long sigh. I couldn’t even cover it with my hair—it hung in a dark curtain past my shoulders. My lips pursed as my mind ran through possible solutions, landing on only one that might work.
“Do you know where I can find some scissors?” I asked.
The man didn’t reply right away, but he rummaged through the first-aid kit.
“Will these work?”
I glanced at him as he held out a small pair of steel scissors, the kind meant to cut tape or gauze.
“I can make it work.” I held out my hand.
He dropped them into my palm, his brows raised.
My heart raced as I looked at myself in the camera again. This was probably a bad idea, but I just had to get through today. I had to look presentable—and this seemed like the best option.
Taking a steady breath, I tried to section off the front part of my hair. It was almost impossible to do with one hand, but I continued to struggle, dropping my phone or the scissors multiple times before I relented.
“Could you hold this for me?” I asked in a huff, offering the man my phone.
There was the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he were fighting a smile.
“Of course.” He took the phone, pointing it at me.
I tried to ignore the way my face heated as I stared at myself in the camera. As best I could, I sectioned off the front of my hair, trying to gauge how much needed to be cut to conceal the bandage on my forehead.
After a few minutes of analyzing and studying my image, I made the first cut.
Adrenaline shot through me as the dark strands came loose and fluttered toward the tabletop. I had never had bangs before, but I supposed there was a first time for everything.
When I glanced back at the screen, I was surprised that the length hit my face in the perfect spot.
Recalling what few videos I’d seen of hair tutorials, I started trying to shape the bangs so they looked less blunt—more natural—as they fell just over my eyebrows.
A few minutes later, it was done.
I leaned back in the chair, a pressure in my ribs easing as I stared at myself. It was different, but it wasn’t bad. You could barely see the bandage or the bump on my forehead now.
I let out a small sigh of relief and set the tiny pair of scissors down.
My eyes shifted to the man holding my phone. There was a look I didn’t recognize on his face. He probably thought I was crazy—and that was fine.
I would never see him again.
“Thanks.” I reached for my phone.
He handed it back without a word.
I checked my watch one last time, that nervous fluttering in my chest returning. So much time had slipped away. Maybe I’d have to do what little work I could in my car near the courthouse.
Now that I looked presentable again, I had to go through my notes before meeting with the lead attorneys on the case.
I did my best to clean up the bloody mess I’d made. There was a small trash can next to the table, and I tossed the clippings of hair and the crumpled, bloodstained paper towels inside.
Then I stood, pocketing my phone.
“I need to go,” I said tersely.
He stood too. “Take this.”
When I finally looked at him, he held out a full bottle of water I hadn’t noticed before.
I thought about declining, but thirst burned in my throat. My head hurt, and even though I was irritated about everything that had happened, I took it anyway.
“Thank you.” I turned away from him.
I started to make my way around the shelves toward the exit, when he called after me.
“Take care of yourself.”
Before I stepped out of the intimate little nook hidden between the shelves, I hesitated. I glanced back at him one last time. His hands were back in his pockets, his head tilted slightly to one side.
Those blue eyes watched me—steady and unreadable.
“I always do,” I said.
Then I walked away.