Page 14 of Pretend for Me

Try Talking Dirty to Her

Iwatch, mouth agape, as the finest man roaming God’s green earth leaves my salon with surely the worst haircut he’s ever had, sending my stomach plummeting.

The man has graced the covers of magazines over the years, often regarded for his thick, luscious locks and impeccable sense of style, among other enviable traits. The fact that I managed to butcher the very thing he’s renowned for is a bitter pill to swallow. Honestly, if I’d handed my cat the clippers, she’d have at least made it look intentional.

And speaking of my cat, she’s currently perched on the windowsill, one paw on the glass, longingly watching him walk to his chauffeured car like he’s a can of tuna that got away. She turns her head toward me when Dev is out of sight to give me her most scathing look, letting me know this was all my fault.

I reach out to pet her. “I’m sorry, sweet thing. I didn’t mean?—”

But she doesn’t let me finish, jumping off the ledge before putting her tail up in the air, like a one-finger salute, and walking away from me without so much as a backward glance.

I turn to find Sarina and Joshua standing behind me. Sarina’s lips clamped in a way that suggests she’s clearly struggling not to laugh while Joshua is wincing so hard, I’m worried his face might get stuck that way.

God, I’m never going to live this down, am I? Thank goodness we don’t have clients waiting in the lobby, but I’m sure the staff has already heard about the fiasco. Around here, news travels faster than a politician’s dick pic on the internet.

I fold my arms over my chest, looking at my best friend, knowing she’ll have something to say that will simultaneously make me feel better and worse. It’s a talent very few possess, but one Sarina excels in. “Well, go on then. Tell me how royally I fucked up.”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head as Joshua runs to retrieve the phone ringing at the front desk. “I was actually thinking we could take advantage of your Edward Scissorhandsness. Make it into a lucrative new service, even. We could call it,” she waves her hands out in front of her like she’s gesturing to a billboard, “‘Piper’s Art of Surprise,’ where her client doesn’t know what kind of hair he’ll walk out with! I think it’ll do really well!”

Smartass.

I try to stifle my laughter, but between the events of the past half hour and the sheer exhaustion, it bursts out of me like an explosion of snorts and giggles. “You’re a butthead,” I say between laughs, wiping the tears from my eyes. “But seriously, of all the heads to nod off on, did I have to choose the one attached to the richest guy on earth?”

Sarina wraps me in a hug, similar to the way I’ve seen her hug Rome, her six-year-old son. “Look, it could have been worse. He could have been the richest and the most attractive guy on earth. Thank God, he looked like a river troll. You might have even done him a solid. With that haircut, maybe he’ll finally have a shot at getting laid.”

I groan, pinching her side, knowing she’s being sarcastic.You’d have to be blind, deaf, and living under a rock to not find him attractive. I know Sarina is just trying to keep me from falling into a pit of despair and self-loathing. “Pretty sure the man has never had any trouble getting laid, regardless of his wealth.”

“Okay, so he’smildlyattractive and has a wad of cash. Bid deal! That’s like, our entire clientele in a nutshell.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t fucked up any of their hair this bad.”

“True. You’ve earned your quota for the year. Perhaps the decade. But right now, what you need is sleep. Maybe later we can give you a crash course in hairdressing.” She winks.

“I can’t,” I protest, even though my legs are barely holding me upright. “I have another client coming in fifteen minutes. He’s the tight end for the 49ers.”

“Don’t you worry about him and his tight end,” she declares, making me grin. “Nisha and Tatiana are covering the Hammond party for now since Tatiana’s next appointment cancelled. I can take your client list for the next couple of hours. Grab an Uber and go home for a nap—no one needs you falling asleep at the wheel. I’ll call you if we need anything.”

I hesitate for a moment but know she’s right. If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be risking another disaster. And one is plenty for the day.

“Okay,” I say reluctantly.

Except, little do I know at the time that disasters have a way of coming in twos, and the next one would be the reason I’d be losing sleep for the foreseeable future.

I wake up with a start to“Despacito”—Nisha’s ringtone, set on a night she decided to show off her twerking skill atop a bar while donning a sombrero—assaulting my eardrums on full blast. Given that my friend has let loose all of four times in her life, I’d considered the night a success.

“What the hell?” I grumble, slapping my hand over my phone to stop the cacophony, but it ends up dropping off the nightstand instead. I’d forgotten to set it on silent before I fell into my slumber. “Dammit!”

The ringing finally stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief, sinking back into my pillow. But the reprieve is short-lived when the song restarts.

Cursing, I fumble out of bed, bringing the phone to my ear. “Please tell me this is an emergency and you’ve been kidnapped by aliens and you’re calling me to negotiate your release. Although, given that you woke me up from one of the hottest dreams I’ve ever had, I might negotiate for them to keep you.”

I don’t mention that the dream happened to be about an especially irate billionaire I had the displeasure of meeting today. She’ll jump to conclusions and no one needs that.

“We need you back at the salon,” Nisha says, ignoring my grumbling. “There’s a . . . situation here that requires your presence.”

“Requires my presence?” I repeat, brows pinching. “Why are you speaking like you’re a housekeeper onBridgerton?”

I pull the phone off my ear to look at the time. Despite my body’s reluctance to want to leave my bed, my mind feels surprisingly alert. It’s a miracle what a two-hour nap can do.

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