How goodhefelt.
And the best part about it, was that I could tell he was genuine.
He wantedme.
He wasn’t embarrassed.
He didn’t care that cameras could’ve easily taken photos of us walking hand-in-hand to the elevator. It was almost like he was…proud to be seen with me.
Proud to be seen with me.
He made sure every single curve, every single dip, every lump and bump on the body that I was taught to hate, were appreciated in ways that they never had been before. I didn’t realize how badly I’d craved that from someone until he showed me what it felt like.
And if I didn’t have the most important moment of my best friend’s life happening mere hours later, I would have stayed until I knew I didn’t need anything more from him. But now, I’ll always wonder who he is, and compare him to any man who comes next.
After all, he was the love of my life for the nightandthe morning.
The only man to have ever been both.
Chapter eight
Jenna
“You’ve had a busycouple of days,” Margot, my second in charge, says to me. She’s standing behind Mark, a long-term client of ours who makes sure to pre-book every few weeks for a trim, and a touch up to cover his gray hairs.
He’s hot for an older guy, I guess. And going by the amount he pays to get his hair done by us—and how frequent—I’m going to guess that money isn’t an issue, either.
I overheard him telling Margot once that he’s a widow, but I didn’t ask questions. I used to think he was a quiet and reserved nice guy, but the way he's staring Margot's breasts in the mirror, gives me creeper vibes.
“How did everything go?” She may be the one asking questions, but she isn’t paying attention to me. Not really, anyway. When she’s in the zone, nothing can break her focus. It’s why I’ve left her in charge while I’m away working on the movie.
That, and she’s very business minded with every intention of opening her own salon in the future.
Leaving her in charge will be her test run. At least, that’s what she’s told me, anyway.
“The award show was fine,” I tell her honestly. Margot’s light brown hair is dead straight today, sitting just above her shoulders and parted directly in the middle. Her green eyes are dark and focused while she rinses out the new, chocolate brown color from Mark’s head.
“I made friends with an older woman named Dorothy, and we mostly gossiped all night, then I headed home. You know, early flight and all,” I lie through my teeth. Well, not the part about Dorothy—we did gossip all night.
I sat, sipping expensive vodka I would never go out of my way to purchase, and she told me stories about…I don’t actually remember. My mind was a little too preoccupied.
“When did you get home from Grangewood?” Tahnee peaks her head through the door from the kitchen hidden in the back of the salon. She walks out with a steaming coffee in her One Tree Hill mug, and two slices of toast on a plate.
Taking a seat on the couch in the corner of the room, she crosses her legs beneath her, placing her cup down on the side table, and rests her plate on her knees.
Tahnee was there only to assist with hair and makeup for Cassandra and her sisters, but was on the next flight out. She and my best friend know each other, but not well, so she didn’t attend the wedding as a guest. “Last night,” I tell her, smiling as I round the front desk, ready to greet our last client of the night before closing our doors.
We have a first in, best dressed policy with our booking system. I don’t care who you are, how much money you make or how high your status is. My job is my priority, and I respect my clients too much to shove them to the side for someone with more money than sense.
“Do you ever rest?” They both ask at the same time, clear that they’ve been talking about me behind my back. It’s not uncommon, but their intent is never malicious.
They’ve both worked for me for a long time, so they know me—know when I’m stressed, when I’m tired, when I should take a break, even though I never do.
Vacations? Don’t know her. I wouldn’t be as successful as I am if I didn’t bury myself in work. Market myself at events, put myself out there at expeditions, hoping that one day it would eventually pay off.
And it has.
“Are we still going out for dinner tonight?” I ask, pretending to not hear what they’ve just asked. I won’t put my life on hold purely because I’m a little tired. I can sleep when I get home.
