Ilove making people more beautiful. Doing their nails and makeup, watching them transform their already gorgeous looks into photoshop-worthy end products. But the best part of my work are the clients themselves, who stop by and drop little snippets of their lives at my workstation, and one of my more challenging works of art just walked through the door.
"I am dying. I barely slept last night. Family drama." She sinks into the chair, and I laugh.
“Tell me about it. My sister is enough to drive anyone insane.”
Tiffany Carmichael is one of my favourite clients because she's a lovely human being. She has a heart of gold, and I'm always at ease talking to her.
"Just make me presentable. I have a dinner date with Jaxon tonight, and the last thing I want is for him to remember all the ways I've changed. I'm about to broach some tough topics too."
“Your wish is my command.” I laugh. “And good luck with the hard topics. I just had one of those with Will two weeks ago.”
“How’d he take it?”
“Better than I expected. Thank you for the advice.”
“Should I bill you?” We both laugh.
I send her off to Diane, my waxing expert, who will make sure she’s trimmed and tweezed in all the essential areas, including those eyebrows, which are insanely unruly.
I look around the shop, a product of years of beauty courses and accreditation. My father offered me a capital loan, and I was able to open this. Thankfully, our overheads were low, and we built our client base to such an extent we became self-sufficient, and I was able to pay off most of my loan. The people I work with are amazing in every way, and I am richer because of it.
Tiffany walks back to my station, ready for the ultimate makeover. I work my magic, and she falls asleep in the chair. I, unfortunately, have to fix her puffy eyes after that.
“You’re a magician.” She grins.
“You’re beautiful. It was easy,” I remind her.
"You're so good for my ego." She smiles at me. "We should have lunch soon," she offers. I wasn't keen on building friendships with my clients, but Tiff is a sweetheart, and it wouldn't hurt to actually make some friends outside of Mac and Layla, my receptionist.
* * *
I pacearound my small living room at least ten times, phone in hand. I don't feel like eating pizza, but I can't resist seeing him again. I’m intrigued by this stranger, and I have no idea why. It’s for that reason I dial and place an order for focaccia bread with cheese. I'd eat a bit and take some for Layla. She loves that stuff. But in the middle of the order, I realize there could be several drivers on call for this. I decide to ask who usually does this area.
“Kace,” the girl on the line tells me. She sounds unimpressed. “But he hasn’t reported for duty.”
Could he be Kace? I had no idea, I didn’t even know his name. I thank her and wait, hoping Kace eventually reports for duty and delivers my food.
I iron my hair and opt for casual yoga pants and a T-shirt that makes my boobs look great. Imagine if the guy I’m waiting for turns out not to be Kace?
The doorbell rings, and my heart rate picks up. This is so out of character for me. Why am I stalking this guy? Mac would have a field day with this.
I take a deep breath and answer the door, and sure enough, there he stands. Kace, or Mr. N, whatever he wants to be called. He cocks an eyebrow.
“Your order.” He looks at the bread.
"Yes. I—" He motions with his eyes behind me, and I feel like an idiot. I retrieve the cash and return.
"Thanks," I say softly, and he practically snatches the money from me. He makes to walk away and then turns on his heels. He walks to where I stand and grips my chin, tilting it toward him.
"You wanted to see me again." His voice is low, and it makes me feel like a swooning teenager. "You asked specifically for me."
“I didn’t actually ask for you. I didn’t even know your name. That information was volunteered.”
"So, you didn't want to see me?" His voice is husky and velvety all in one, and I want him to keep talking.
“I didn’t. I do—" I’m such a fumbling mess.
“Which is it?”
