ONE
Hazel
Luck had never been kindto me.
My entire life had been littered with unfortunate circumstances, so it only made sense trouble would continue to plague me.
One moment, I was sky high, buzzing with excitement and possibilities. The next, I was being blackmailed.
Freakingblackmailed.
Okay, maybe the issue this time wasn’t bad luck as much as it was an ill-advised, indiscreet post to my social media, but still. This situation was shit no matter which direction I looked at it from. Letting my handful of followers know about my newfound wealth might not have been my brightest idea to date, but hey, it wasn’t every day someone won the lottery.
Certainly not someone like me.
Like I said, luck had never had much interest in me. It had taken one look at my birth certificate—Hazel Marigold Jacobs, born to Amanda Marie Jacobs in Southfield, Michigan on August 13th, the line for Father left blank—and said, “This girl isnotfor me.” Maybe it was the whole ‘born on Friday the 13th’ thing. According to Gran, my mother used to say mybirthday was cosmic favor, or something like that, but that could have just been an alcohol-induced haze talking.
I leaned over to the passenger side of my ancient sedan and pried open the glove box, searching for a napkin to wipe up the black mascara tears tracking down my cheeks. I wasn’t typically above crying at work, but even I knew I looked like a complete and total mess. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d received the cursed text message, and I’d basically spent the entire night sobbing into my pillow.
Today would have been the perfect day to call in sick, but I couldn’t afford to cancel any clients. Not if my modest lottery winnings were about to go toward paying off some sick asshole who got off on kidnapping cats and tormenting women who had absolutely nothing going for them.
My chest heaved again, but I swallowed the panic, wiped my face with the napkin, and dragged myself out of my car.
The strip mall was straight out of the nineties and had no character. I’d tried not to let that affect me when I’d first found the listing for an open stylist chair in the salon there. The ripped sign above the door that readHair Today Gone Tomorrowhad a weird energy about it. I’d urged the owner to let me fix it—and possibly rename the place while I was at it—but she wouldn’t hear of it, despite my best efforts to convince her the name sounded like we were selling some sort of hair growth supplement.
The interior offered slightly more appeal than the exterior. Modern, cream-colored chairs added a touch of newness. The perpetually polished tile floor and the wall-to-wall mirrors made the space seem bigger. Sad little Halloween decorations still hung from the ceiling—crinkled bats and orange streamers.
“What happened?” Ruby’s voice pierced through the small shop the moment I stepped across the threshold.
“Nothing,” I said, my voice cracking as I walked over to my station and set my stuffed tote bag onto my styling chair.
Ruby rushed over to me, her blonde hair bouncing inperfect waves and her blue eyes shining with concern. I wanted to run. She was lovely—radiant, really—and the last thing I needed was her perfection hovering next to my ogre-like self. I believed in self-love, I truly did. In theory. But I also knew, without a shred of doubt, that I was a spectacularly hideous crier.
“It’s Vermont,” I choked out.
Natalie, another stylist—a sweet, shy girl with mousey brown hair and bangs—gasped. “What’s wrong with Vermont?”
“Enough.” Miranda, the owner, gave me one harsh look before running a hand through her wispy white hair and jerking a finger to the back of the salon. She wasnotthe warm and fuzzy type. “If you’re going to have a breakdown, do it in the back. My first client is due any minute.”
Jackson, the last of the other stylists at the tiny salon, snapped his gaze up from the front computer where he’d been zoning out. “Breakdown? Where?” His brown eyes met mine and I swore he looked hungry for gossip. Typical Jackson. He hadn’t even clocked the mess I was when I walked in, but the second someone hinted at drama, he was all ears.
Ruby and Natalie hurried me to the back room, with Jackson hot on our tail. They guided me into one of the worn break room chairs before crowding around. The room was barely big enough to have a quick snack—definitely not the ideal spot for a mental breakdown. But I’d been kidding myself when I’d thought I could keep it together for the whole day.
“What happened?” Ruby demanded again.
“Don’t spare a single detail,” Jackson added before Natalie elbowed him in the ribs.
“Someone kidnapped Vermont,” I said through a hiccup.
Ruby’s eyebrows shot up, and she and Natalie exchanged a look before returning their gazes to assess me.
“Isn’t that your cat?” Jackson asked. Honestly, I was surprised he even remembered I had a cat, let alone its name.
“Um, someone kidnapped your cat?” Natalie asked.
“Yes,” I said through a sniffle.
“Are you sure he didn’t run away? I told you not to let him outside.” Ruby’s words were incredibly unhelpful. I’d already been beating myself up enough about this.
