Page 6 of Pretend for Me

My words are swallowed by the roar that erupts from him, practically sending my ass to the floor.“What the actual fuck?!”

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dev

A New Brand of Crazy

Ihad plenty of chances to turn around and leave.

And I should have taken them.

First, when she greeted me wearing two different shoes and a rainbow-colored top that revealed more skin than Khloe Kardashian’s PETA ad, her smile all too sweet, and her ass-length honey brown hair cascading over each shoulder like rivers of silk. She actually reminded me of theMy Little Ponydoll Deena used to play with. The one that looked like she was the result of a psychedelic experiment gone wrong.

And second, when those things resembling aliens prowled in looking like they were still pissed about their botched wax jobs, surrounding me like Area 51 escapees. I won’t admit this out loud, but they were strangely cute. Weird as fuck, but cute.

And then third, when she started talking.

Oh God, the talking . . . It was like an incessant car alarm that has my ears ringing even now.

Who the hell gives their cats names like that, talks about breeding rabbits, and goes on about sexcapades with men named after sausage references? I could tell she wanted to prattle on, but Jesus Christ, a man can onlytake so much.

But what did I do instead of turning right the fuck around and walking out of this clown show? I stayed. Like someone caught in a fucked-up spell, I stayed.

Maybe it was her “girl next door” charm. Although, if she were my neighbor, I’d probably be banging on her door, telling her to shut the fuck up. Or maybe it was those sparkling green eyes, like gold-speckled marbles. Or hell, maybe it was her scent—a perfect contrast of tangy oranges and mischief.

The girl had trouble written all over her, but fuck if I wasn’t trapped in her whirlwind of eccentricity. If only for curiosity’s sake.

What the hell was I thinking coming here today? Today, of all days, when I am to represent the great Deepak Menon, also known as Dad, during our quarterly shareholders’ meeting. The one he specifically said not to fuck up, because apparently, even after more than fifteen notches on my belt of successful acquisitions, Dad still doubts my capabilities.

That’s good old Deepak for you, though. Blood may be thicker than water for most, but for him, it’s another ingredient in his daily smoothies.

And now I look like a failed attempt at resurrecting nineties punk rock, all because I bought into Hudson’s spiel about his overpriced stylist being God’s gift to hair. Clearly, he and I have differing opinions on a good hairdresser. Was this all some sort of sick prank on his part? Maybe he referred me to this nutjob because he knew she’d fuck up my hair and he’d get the last laugh.

I should have known a place that looked like a dining establishment—what, with every surface made of wood, leather, or marble, its plush velvet seating, and opulent chandeliers—was probably better suited for waitstaff than stylists. Who the hell names their salonHaircuts and Heartthrobs, anyway? Is it a luxury men’s salon or a romance flick?

This is a disaster.

I’m not one to lose my temper. Generally, I’m more of a ‘walk away and let karma take its due’ kind of guy, but between my stylist’s endless babbling and the fact that she “slipped” while holding goddamn clippers to my head, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I glare at my reflection in the mirror, my hands fisting at my sides. How the hell am I going to go into a fucking shareholders’ meeting looking like this?

“Dev,” the rainbow princess, who was a fucking human radio, jumping from one unnecessary conversation to the next only minutes ago, at least has the wherewithal to look remorseful. “Please, let me fix?—”

“No,” I snap, giving her a glare only my father could outdo. “You’ve done enough.”

“What hap—” A woman with tan skin, inky black hair, and a sleeve of tattoos stops at the doorway of Piper’s room to look in. Her eyes widen as they land on my hair. “Piper, what happened?!”

“I’ll tell you what happened.” I pull the cape from my neck. “Your stylist is an imbecile, with less talent than a preschooler! My hair looks like someone took a weed whacker to it!”

My eyes land on Piper, who flinches at my words, as if she’s been physically struck and a pang of guilt pierces my chest. Maybe calling her an imbecile was harsher than I’d intended.

“Piper, how did this happen?” The woman in the doorway studies Piper with bewilderment before looking at me. “Mr. Menon, I can assure you we can fix your hair. Piper is one of our finest stylists.”

Throwing the cape over the back of the chair, I cross the room in two long strides, causing the woman to step aside. “That won’t be necessary. I think I’ve seen enough.”

I’m storming down the corridor, my pace quickening with each step, when the echo of hurried footsteps resounds behind me. “D-Dev, please give me a moment to explain.”

“Pretty sure there’s little left for you to explain, Ms. Piper,” I retort, my gaze fixed ahead, my cool tone unwavering. I continue toward the exit with unyielding resolve. “But you’re welcome to, if you’re eager to do so, in the presence of my lawyers.”

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