Page 15 of Pretend for Me

“Piper,” Nisha says again, a bit more urgently. “Can you head over right now?”

While my best friend isn’t one to horse around like Sarina and me, generally we can at least get her to crack a smile. I’m not getting that vibe from her today.

I clamor out of bed, already heading to the bathroom to freshen up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon. What’s going on?”

Of the three of us, Nisha’s always been the level-headed one. Sarina and I often tease her that if we were ever in an end-of-world situation, Nisha would be calmly organizing an evacuation while we would be debating which shoes to bring. So for her to sound out of sorts is unsettling.

Did one of the other stylists go home sick? Even so, we always have on-call stylists available. Our salon’s reputation depends on us keeping our wealthy clientele happy and on schedule, given most can’t even spare five minutes.

“You’ll see when you get here,” she responds ominously. “I’ve gotta go, but just get here as quick as possible.”

And with that, she hangs up, leaving me staring at my blank screen for clues. I don’t have the time to ponder it, though. After ordering my Uber—since I’d left my car at the salon—I gather my long hair into a braid and rush over to check on Natalie Nutbottom and Kevin, my pair of rare miniature plush lop rabbits. As usual, I’m hoping to catch them in the act of fornicating, but as usual, they’re on opposite ends of their palatial bunny cage.

I’ve seen them snuggle occasionally, but no matter how much I encourage Kevin to hump his girl, he refuses. I personally think it’s because of Natalie’s haughty, “I’m too good for you” attitude. It makes my sweet and sensitive Kevin feel insecure, and he just can’t get it up under that kind of pressure, bless his furry little heart.

I’ve been trying to get them to mate for several months, ever since I paid a shitload for them off the breeder across town. They’re a rare breed, and I’m hoping to sell their adorable offspring as a side-hustle. The breeder I got them from swore it would be easy, that they call it “multiplying like rabbits” for a reason, but at this point, I’m wondering if I need to take them to a vet, or couple’s therapy.

I pull Kevin out of the cage, giving him the same encouragement and sage advice I always do. “It’s okay, buddy. Hang in there. She’ll give in one of these days. Maybe switch it up a bit today. Try talking dirty to her. Women love that.”

With that, I lock up behind me and hop into the Uber.

Ten minutes later, I’m rummaging through my purse for my chapstick as I walk into the salon, but my search comes to an abrupt stop when I catch Nisha’s concerned face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, watching her exchange a worried look with Joshua before glancing behind her toward the salon’s private rooms.

Nisha rushes over, grasping my elbow and speaking in a hushed voice. “Dev is waiting for you in your room.”

My brows pinch. “Dev? I thought he said he’d rather swim with a pool of piranhas than set foot in here again.”So maybe those weren’t his exact words, but they felt just as harsh.

Nisha pulls me down the hall. “Apparently, he changed his mind. He came by fifteen minutes ago, insisting that you fix his hair. When I told him you’d already left, he asked for your address. When I refused to give that to him, he basically implied that he could track it down himself if he needed to. And since I doubt he was bluffing, I told him I’d call you and ask you to come back. I didn’t want to risk him showing up at your door.”

My eyes widen. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why come back hours later to the same place that botched up his hair when there are a million other salons in the city?”

Nisha shrugs outside the door to my room. “Your guess is as good as mine, but he wasn’t open to a debate. I figured maybe he’s offering us a chance at redemption.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, giving her a nod. She’s right. No use overthinking it. If he’s ready to give us another shot, then who am I to argue? It also doesn’t go unnoticed by methat my sweet friend used the word, “us”, despite knowing I’m the one responsible for this morning’s disaster.

I pull her into a quick hug. “Okay, I’ll see what he wants.”

Stepping into the room, I find Dev scrolling his phone. His dark and intimidating gaze lifts to meet mine, sending a current zipping down my spine.

I’ve never been one to be easily intimidated. Hell, it’s one of the reasons Dad and I never got along. I was always too mouthy, too unruly for him. No matter how much he tried to shape and bend me to his will, I remained the outlier, the square peg in a round hole, the glitch in the matrix. To this day, I’m his biggest mistake and his worst disappointment. But that’s not the point.

The point is, I don’t flinch, I don’t crumble or cower. I’ve always been comfortable being the wild card, the one who dances to her own song. But with this man—towering at six-foot-something, with his warm chocolate eyes, dark brows, and supple lips—I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, teetering between that familiar defiance and an unexpected desire. At any moment now, I could free fall. But the question is, will he be the refuge that saves me or the tempest that drowns me whole? My guess is he’ll be the latter.

“Mr. Menon,” I say in greeting, pushing aside the strange sensation his presence evokes. “I see you’ve reconsidered my offer to fix your hair.”

“Imagine leading an important shareholder meeting wearing this cap,” he responds irritably, ignoring my comment and pointing to the baseball cap on his head. But despite the clash with his formal attire, the cap gives him a rather laid-back vibe, annoyingly making him even more charming.

Still, a twinge of guilt tugs on my insides as my gaze flicks to his head. “Like I said, I’m really sorry. I can understand how upsetting that must have been, and I’m willing to do anythingto make it up to you, starting with blending your hair so it’s?—”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Dev says, cutting me off.

I breathe in a sigh of relief at his words, glad we’re finally on the same page. Perhaps Nisha was right. Perhaps this is a means of saving our reputation and redeeming ourselves in his eyes.

“Okay, great!” I respond happily, sauntering toward the shelf to grab a cape.

But just as I’m about to reach for the fabric, Dev’s voice has my hand halting mid-air. “To cash in on your offer to doanything.”

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