“I’m sure you knowexactlywhat I mean, Luciano.”
Fucking hell. I need her to stop saying my name. Or keep saying it.
She clears her throat. “If that’s all…”
She stands, and so do I, maybe a little slower when I realise her eyes seem to be tracking me. Or maybe it’s because I’m taking in every inch of her as she stands with me.
“I’ll start by doing a sweep of the place, check what exits and entrances you’ve got, create an action plan. If that’s all good with you, mami?”
Her lips part, but then she just nods and sharply turns away.
And fuck me, my head’s already tilting for a better view.
I am so fucked.
Valentin will kill me.
Kaiden will let him.
Because I already know I’m not staying out of her way.
Revea
“When you said we were getting security, I didn’t realise you were hiring from Tall, Dark, and Handsome R Us.”
“Do you want to say that a little louder?” I hiss. “I’m not sure everyone in the salon heard.”
Margret, my right-hand woman, grins at me. With bright scarlet curls and a neon pink pantsuit, she isn’t afraid to stand out or be heard.
Before I opened Shear Instinct, we worked together at another salon. I’m not sure what I did to make her like me, but she decided to stick around when I told her I was creating my own place.
She’s a beta, happily settled with two beta men, and has spent the weekend helping her sons move to university. She’s loud, confident, and gossips like a teenager. I love everything about her.
“How do you think the omegas are dealing with him?” I murmur as I refill some water bottles.
Margret peers over her tortoiseshell half-moon glasses at me. “Honey, are you serious?” Her blue gaze darts to the side, until mine follows.
Near the row of sinks at the back, Luciano is at the top of a ladder. When he reaches up to check the latch of a skylight, tugging on the handle, his compression t-shirt andpadded vest ride up, revealing a sliver of golden-brown skin and the edge of a taut muscle.
“And we’re not the only ones watching,” she adds, pointing to the busy shop floor.
In the full-length mirrors, it’s clear what the clients andallmy staff are focused on. And it isn’t hair.
Even Serena has stopped mixing colours in the far corner to watch.
Then he jumps down, and time restarts.
Chattering continues, machines buzz, and water spills over onto my hand.
All night and day, I’ve been worrying about how certain omegas would react to an alpha being here, but by the afternoon, it seems I needed to worry more about the alpha.
I told him to stay away from my staff, but how can he when they’re the ones instigating conversations, asking him to grab colours that we definitely have a stool for, and watching him so blatantly?
I’m almost thankful when I hear a client getting a little snappy, anything for a distraction.
Her brows are furrowed, frown deep, repeating loudly, “I wantedashblonde,cooltone—this isn’t cool!”
When Katie, a colour specialist and omega who spent most of her teenage years in one of those awful correction facilities, sees me, her eyes widen in desperation.
