Page 36 of Halstead House

“What kind of questionable place are you taking me?”

“You’re going to have to trust the island master.”

Our gazes locked for a moment, until I caved. “I’m not sure how to style it if I leave it down,” I admitted.

Her hands froze in the act of leaning back over her paperwork. “Seriously?”

“Truly.”

Her questioning look said a lot, but she kindly replied, “Okay, I’ll come up to your room at six thirty and teach you how to do your hair.” I gave her an unsure look and she grinned. “It’ll be worth it. Now, go impress some people with your knowledge of this house and I’ll impress some people with my knowledge of accounting. I’ll see you tonight.”

I nodded and left her office to go into the front entrance. It would be my job this morning to unlock the big front doors and officially open the house. My heels made quick staccato sounds as I unabashedly trotted across the floor to the huge double doors. I turned the three locks and tugged. And it was open. That simple. Like a thousand other doors I’d opened in my life. Still, today Halstead House sort of belonged to me... and it was going to be awesome.

“If you pull any harder, I’ll be bald, and then all your plans about me leaving my hair down will be ruined,” I said through gritted teeth as Ana ran a brush through my hair later that evening.

It came as no surprise that Ana wouldn’t be a gentle teacher of hair arts. Nothing she’d done around me had ever been gentle. She was a tiny bulldozer, and now I’d handed her a brush and given her free reign of my hair. This was my own fault.

“Stop whining,” she grumbled.

“My neighbor’s German grandmother didn’t pull hair as hard as you do.”

“Are German grandmothers heavy-handed hair brushers? Because that sounds a lot like stereotyping to me.”

“Everyone knows they are,” I replied, trying not to laugh.

“Please, even if that were true, it’s not like you’ve actually had a German grandma brush your hair,” Ana scoffed.

“Well, I watched her brush my friend’s hair.”

“What was your friend’s name?”

“Gretel,” I responded.

“Uh-huh. She sounds super real.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you have a flat iron?”

“I don’t.”

“I have a question, and I need you to answer me honestly.”

“Okay.”

“Do you actually know what a flat iron is?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

I tried to turn my head to give her a look over my shoulder, but she yanked it back into place. “This is the second time in the last five minutes that you’ve accused me of lying,” I growled.

“Well, you’ve been talking about German grandmothers. I have reason to wonder.”

“Hey, Gretel’s grandmother was a tough cookie. And I do know what a flat iron is. I just have no idea how to use one.”

“Fine. I’ll be back. Change your clothes while I’m gone.”

Ana dropped the brush on my bed and was out the door before I had a chance to fully process her instructions. I stared into my closet, unsure what look Ana wanted me to go for that night. I rifled through some options before settling on jeans and a sleeveless, flowy tunic type shirt. Ana entered the room holding her flat iron just as I finished getting dressed and was starting to re-hang my business outfit. She paused long enough to take in my outfit, give me a brief nod, and find an outlet near my mirror for her to plug in the device.

“My hair is kind of thin, Ana. Don’t burn it,” I said.

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