“Anything I can help with?” I smile in my best customer service voice.
“Does this look ashy to you?” the client snaps, holding a strand of platinum blonde hair. “No, it doesn’t. It’s yellow.”
I run my fingers through her sleek hair. “It’s not yellow. But if you like, we can try a different toner—”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No.” I grin brightly, fingers falling away. “Maybe, in your opinion, it’s yellow, but that’s the thing about viewpoints. Neither is wrong, just different—”
“But I’m not wrong.She—” She turns in the chair, pointing her finger in Katie’s face. “—is clearly colour blind!”
“Stop,” I order, low and calm, but with enough grit to make her hand drop. “That woman you’re pointing at is an incredibly skilled colourist. She knows more shades of blonde than there are strands on your head. If youeverinsult a member of my team again, you will be banned from this salon, and I’ll ensure every one of my colleagues in this city knows why.”
The woman’s anger quickly fades, her eyes widening with pure mortification.
I soften my tone, meeting her gaze head-on. “Your hair looks beautiful, but personal taste is tricky. So I’ll give you two options. One, you apologise to Katie, and we take you to the sink and make you ashier. Two, you leave with your not-yellow hair and try to find another stylist within a ten-mile radius who will touch it.”
The client is now… crying.
I frown, glancing at Katie, who looks equally perplexed.
“I’m s-so sorry,” she sobs, barely getting the words out as she looks at Katie. “I’m r-really sorry. Honestly, I’m not normally like this. It’s just… I’m due my heat any day now, and my hormones are crazy,” she groans, wiping her face with the cloak. “I fuckinghatebeing an omega sometimes. I never know what I’m feeling or thinking, and now I’m acting like—like an entitled, crazy bitch!”
She slams her face into her hands and cries even louder.
I realise everyone is watching, including Luciano. Of course he is. She’s an omega in distress, and he’s an alpha. His instincts are hardwired to step in.
I need to fix this. Quickly.
I drag the nearest chair closer, sitting beside the sobbing omega.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Come on now, we’re all omegas here,” I say quietly while staring hard at Katie in the mirror, tilting my head at the client, urging her without words to say or dosomething.
“Right,” she blurts, grabbing and pulling another chair over. “I totally understand. Pre-heat always hits me hard. I feel like there’s little fiery ants crawling under my skin, and everything is so… overwhelming.” Then she lets out a deep sigh. “Once, before my heat, I couldn’t get enough of these certain cookies. I wasobsessed. My alphas got me so many packets, but when I opened one, a cookie was broken. Not even fully, just a crack, and Ilostit.”
The client has stopped sobbing, thankfully, sniffling instead as she raises her head.
“Is it bad that I can totally understand that?”
Katie laughs, and I find myself joining in.
“I’ve got one even better,” I add with an embarrassed smile. “Pre-heat coffee order, and instead of caramel syrup, I gotmint.”
“No,” they both gasp.
I nod, sorrowfully. “I was home, about to go into heat in the middle of winter, with this coffee that smelt wrong, and… well, there wasn’t an alpha in the world who could deal with me in that state.”
I shake my head, remembering how I had to spend that heat alone after I barked at the alpha to leave.
“My alpha once used the wrong scented fabric conditioner for a throw in the nest,” a client behind chips in, face grim, “I wouldn’t let him in for the first day.”
Someone hisses, and I grimace.
“I know. Poor man can’t even look at the washing machine without getting PTSD.”
And soon, we’re all throwing in our little stories, no longer feeling quite as silly or alone.
We eventually coax the client over to the sinks, and ten minutes later, she’s beaming as Katie chats while blow-drying her hair.
