Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Promise
Candy arrives a half hour later, armed with a full arsenal of waxing supplies. Despite the garish makeup and the shock of bright orange hair, I can tell she knows what she’s doing.
I spend a lot of time with estheticians. Looking good is part of the campaign trail and I can always tell one who knows her trade.
She sets up on the cracked counter, chewing gum as she works, her tube top barely holding onto her chest.
She’s got on skintight leather pants that creak as she moves. But her hands are sure as she plugs in her pot of wax, laying out the very strips and supplies she’ll need.
“Hey, Goldilocks. How’s it hanging?” she says as she pops an icepack in the top freezer of the fridge/freezer combination.
Every new person I meet has a different name for me.
Goldilocks might be the best one I’ve heard. I am definitely in danger of being eaten by a big bad wolf.
“Right,” she says when I don’t answer. “I forgot you don’t talk.”
I wave my hand. If I could, I’d tell her there is nothing worth saying anyway.
It’s amazing when you stop talking, how quickly you realize that most of what is said is just complete crap.
Most of it barely makes sense. And that’s not even including the lies.
The ones people tell others, but the ones they tell themselves too.
“You ever have a Brazilian?” she blows another bubble.
I shake my head.
She looks at me with a frown. “Someone was pulling the fuck out of your hair.”
I blink back my surprise before I give a quick nod.
“Want me to fix it?”
I nod again. She unrolls a leather satchel, revealing a whole display of scissors, combs, brushes, and sprays.
“The girls have different kinds of clients. I’m here to make sure they look whatever part they need and then I help clean up the mess when they’re done.
” Then she pauses. “What part do you want to play?”
Candy might be the most amazing person I’ve met in a long time. Professional but not full of bullshit. There are no fake smiles, no pretending that I’m a princess when it’s completely obvious that I’m a prisoner.
And this time, she doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead, she hands me a sticky pad and a pen.
But instead of answering, I write out a question.
How scared should I be?
It’s a gamble. I just met this woman. But there is no malice that I can sense in her. I have an excellent nose for it. I’ve spent my life around men and women who have hidden agendas.
She reads the question with a frown. “You’re marrying the boss?”
I nod.
She shrugs. “He’s all right. He’s a hard ass for sure. But he doesn’t beat the girls, just other men.”
That information is actually a big help. And honestly, despite his threats, he didn’t hurt me. I’m just hoping to negotiate a few addendums to whatever deal he’s struck with my father. I nod as I start to formulate a plan.
But she hesitates, moving back to the pot of wax and giving it stir. Then she looks back at me. “But the word on the street is that he’s a remorseless killing…” She stops. “I’d play it nice if I were you.”
I nod again. Then I put the pen to my sticky note.
Make me a princess.
She reads the words, her eyes lighting with understanding. “Gotta give you credit, Goldilocks. You catch on quick.”
And then she gets to work. My hair is recurled into soft waves and sprayed before she puts a light dusting of blush on my cheeks, adding some more mascara to my eyelashes.
Another girl arrives with a plate, a greasy-looking burger and french fries.
She’s short and full-figured, but pretty enough, despite being stuffed in a too small mini skirt.
I wake up every morning and run five miles on the treadmill.
It both helps me stay calm all day and keeps my figure trim, but I still don’t usually eat food like that.
My father insists on a strict diet for both of us. Still, I nod my thanks.
“What do you think, Candy?” the other girl asks as she studies me. “How much would she get on the floor?”
Candy pauses, her back to other girl as she glosses my lips. “She’s the kind of pretty that our boss just spent a whole fortune on so that he can fuck her exclusively. Girls like her don’t make it to the floor.”
“Right.” The other girl shrugs. “I wish I looked a little more like that. Tips would be amazing.” And then she leaves.
“Watch out for the girls,” Candy murmurs softly. “Most of them would sell you out for a dollar.”
I nod my thanks as she hands me a scrap of cotton that I realize is actually a tube top dress with a short flare skirt.
She shrugs. “Gives me access and won’t irritate your skin after.”
It’s fair, which is why I stand and make my way into the bedroom that Angel mentioned. To my surprise, the bed in the middle of the room looks new and comfortable, with crisp white linens.
Slowly I reach behind me, unzipping my dress and shrugging it down off my shoulders. I step out of the heels and tuck them just under the bed as I pull off my bra and panties. Then I pull the soft cotton dress up my body.
Stepping back out, I watch as Candy rolls out a mat on the counter. “It’s the best I can do up here. Mr. Sinclair wouldn’t let me bring you down—” She stops, waving for me to lie down.
I gingerly place myself on the counter, lying back. Grabbing the strips, she gets to work.
Because I’ve never had this area of my body waxed before, it hurts like hell, but I’m used to pain at this point in my life, and I take it in silence.
She finishes, pulling out the ice pack and laying it right on my angry skin.
Then she pulls out an astringent. “For the cuts on your knees.”
I give a little nod and she wipes down the superficial wounds before she starts packing up.
Just before she leaves, she hesitates. “I…I don’t know if he’s the kind of devil that can be tamed.
Angel has been good to me. But in terms of women attempting to get close…
. None of the girls can get close enough to him to try.
If I were you, I’d be accommodating but distant.
All the Sinclair men are dark and dangerous. ”
I reach for her hand then, giving it a squeeze. It’s been a long time since I had anyone who treated me with kindness, and I really appreciate it.
She squeezes back. “Good luck.”
I nod back.
I’m going to need it.