Page 30 of Unapologetic Obsession
I couldn’t focus on what it meant, feeling faint from the fumes coming from my hair. When I sat at the vanity, I suddenly recognized the strong odor.
“I have highlights.” I stared at the mirror. My dark strands had lighter, shimmering strands. The strong smell turned out to be the chemicals from the hair dye.
“You don’t like it?” The hairstylist asked, face ridden with anxiety. It had been clear from the beginning that English wasn’t her first language. She’d struggled with it while sharing her stories. The highlights transpired somewhere between the entertaining stories and our lost-in-translation communication.
It was hardly her fault, as I wasn’t paying attention, either. Plus, I didn’t entirely hate it. I looked better than I had yesterday. Unrecognizable. The vitamin C peeling mask had wiped away the dirt and brightened my face. My nails were pretty, with a fresh coat of light blue polish. The seaweed wrap had left my skin soft like a baby’s butt.
I shook my head, wanting to put the poor woman out of her misery. “No, no. I like it,” I said perkily.
Despite my reassurance, she hung her head.
“I’ll take it from here.” Amelie grabbed the brush from her unsure hands and steered the beauticians out of the room. She arranged and rearranged my hair, enhancing my face with face moisturizer, under-eye cream, and lip balm. There was a sense of déjà vu in the way Amelie fussed over me, like we had done this many times, though I had met her less than twenty-four hours ago. It settled me enough to get used to the hair, even though I looked like an entirely different person.
Once more, I reveled in the spotlight. I knew the old me hated attention, it was an instinctive realization I had upon waking up without my memory. But the new me? I loved beingpampered like a princess, having friends, and being included in conversations. I vowed never to give up this part of myself. I wanted to be a part of the group rather than watch others live their lives as an outsider. Like Dr. Maxwell, who happened to be the center of everyone’s world.
“Why is Dr. Maxwell photographed so often?” I asked Amelie. Granted that he was devastatingly handsome in tailored suits, but shouldn’t the paparazzi photograph boy bands instead of doctors?
Her eyes lit up, delighted at the opportunity to boast about her boss. She held him in high regard, but it didn’t feel romantic. Rather, she took pride in his accomplishments. “Whywouldn’the be photographed? He’s a brilliant doctor and one of the most accomplished scientists of our time.” She picked up aTimemagazine, turned a few pages to find a picture of him, and shoved the article in my face. “Besides, look at his face!”
I couldn’t argue with her there.
“He’s also heir to one of the richest families in America. That can generate a lot of public interest in you.”
That tracked. I knew he was wealthy, not rich.
“If the paparazzi sees him or his brother around New York, they’re like a moth to a flame,” she added coyly.
“He has a brother?” I asked, surprised.
She nodded. “A twin.”
Two of him. What must that be like?
I read the article aloud for her benefit while she primped me. Some stuff I already knew about him, and the rest I learned from the article. Graduated early from boarding school and finished medical school at the top of his class at only twenty years old. By the time he completed his residency, he was already bored with being a doctor. He changed course and took over a lab for experimental drugs at NewTech University. According to Amelie, he was required to teach one class persemester, which he hated, but he had complete autonomy over his lab, which he loved.
“But he still practices medicine?” I pondered out loud.
“He takes on shifts at the university hospital once or twice a month,” Amelie replied as if it were nothing. “Just to keep his skills sharp, you know?”
The man worked at the hospital just to keep himself sharp. He was one of those people who wanted to learn for the sake of it, not because it was required. He seemed beyond intelligent and impressive.
What had I been thinking, imagining something between us? I caught my reflection in the mirror. Underneath all the seaweed, highlights, and Brazilian bikini waxes, I was covered in scars. I was damaged goods, and he was… Well, he was Dr. Caledon Maxwell.
“He sounds…dedicated to his craft,” I murmured lamely.
Amelie snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. The man’s a workaholic. This is his first vacation in forever, and his research assistants are running around like chickens with their heads off. Do you know how many calls we received since this morning? He’s probably spent the day putting out fires and finding a substitute to teach his class for the next month.”
I frowned.
Why wasn’t a substitute professor picked out in advance to account for his absence? Surely, he gave his assistants ample instructions before leaving on a preplanned trip. The doctor seemed responsible and not the type to leave things to chance.
Amelie didn’t notice my confusion. “And don’t even get me started on how shocked the staff members are, they haven’t stopped gossiping about it all day. Todd nearly had an aneurysm last night when Dr. Maxwell decided to join us on the cruise.”
“What?” My head twisted so fast that the brush in her hands hit my eye. “Ow.” The soft bristles prickled my eyeball, and I slapped a hand over it.
“Oh, sorry,” Amelie gushed, running to the mini refrigerator to find a cold compress for my injured eye.
But I caught her panicked look before she busied herself with the ice pack. She hadn’t meant to tell me about the doctor’s last-minute decision to join the cruise. It was a slip of the tongue.
