“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.”
