Page 25 of Living Hell

I noticed Tyler remained standing.

The rest of yesterday wasn’t fun. The only thing we had to eat were cookies and muffins my interior designer had left me in a welcome basket.

Tyler tried to sneak out to run to the store, but he didn’t even get off the property before a photographer appeared.

Thankfully, even the paps had to sleep, so I got out this morning. I assumed Tyler had a chance too since he was gone when I woke.

Babette waved for him to take a seat and with a groan, he did.

“Would you like a little help?” the woman asked, pointing to my head. “I have to fix my mom’s wigs all the time. Her hairdressers all joke that I should have been a stylist to the stars.”

Normally, if a stranger asked to help me, I’d refuse as I would assume they wanted something from me. But the wig was trying my patience. I peeled the fake hair off, careful not to pull off my wig cap.

“What happened to your eye?” Tyler asked louder than I would have wanted.

Glancing around, I saw a few people turn our way. Putting my hand up to my forehead, I covered my face. “It’s makeup. I poked my eye with my glasses.” I held up the offensive eye dagger without raising my head.

“You wear glasses? Since when? I had no idea.”

“No, I don’t. If you haven’t noticed, there are photographers everywhere. I need to hide.”

“All set,” the woman said.

Pulling the hair from her hands, I carefully positioned it on my head. She helped me adjust, added a little wig glue, and I hoped I looked almost normal.

“Wow, with that thing on, you really do look like a different person. If it wasn’t tangled before, I never would have recognized you.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“I’m Olivia by the way. Olivia Love. I work with Tyler. He’s the town vet.”

I gazed over to his sparkling blue eyes. They were studying me but stopped at my hair.

“That was another dream of yours, wasn’t it, Tyler?” I asked as I studied him right back.

“Yes, and I almost gave it up.”

I didn’t know that. I was about to ask him about it when Babette cut in.

“Dr. Ferguson, I’m Babette Gotti, the other owner of the house.”

“I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I don’t really like to share.”

“That’s why I’m here. To discuss the house. It’s all yours, if you still want it,” Babette said to my amazement.

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