Page 113 of The Price of Scandal
“Billionaire breaks internet with sassy new cut”
“Salons city-wide report flood of requests for the Emily cut”
“Hotter before or after? Emily Stanton’s aggressive haircut”
Iwas off my game today. I’d accidentally spent the night at Derek’s after a few hours of leisurely yet mind-blowing lovemaking. The man was a sex god, and he was at my beck and call. I’d overindulged, woken up twined around him like a vine, and had to do a mad scramble home to shower and change.
Things had changed this weekend. Gears had shifted. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what had happened, but I felt vaguely anxious and excited.
I blamed it on being too late for coffee. I stormed the offices of Flawless like a warrior charging the enemy. Jane trotted on my heels to keep up.
Derek was at his office, taking care of someone else’s crisis for once. And I was going to take advantage of the babysitter-free time to get some of my actual work done.
“Rosario, can you have two double espressos sent up to my office?” I asked on my way past the front desk.
“Absolutely, Ms. Stanton. Your haircut is killer.”
I’d styled it myself in a rush this morning and had to admit it still looked pretty fantastic.
“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder.
It was the first of many haircut compliments volleyed my way as I headed for my office.It was just hair, people. Get a grip.
“I see you played with scissors this weekend.”
Maxim lounged in the salon’s doorway in a purple shirt that appeared to be missing a few buttons and a leather hip holster for his styling tools. His mustache twitched.
“Do you approve?” I asked, fluffing the short layers.
He gave me a long follicular perusal. “I do,” he said finally. “Who is this hair maestro? Tell me their name so I can add them to my mortal enemies list. Miami isn’t big enough for the two of us.”
“I think your reputation is intact,” I said with an eye roll. “Derek isn’t in the hair game professionally.”
“Well, well, well,” Maxim mused. “Mr. Fixer appears to be excellent with his hands.”
Jane snorted, and I elbowed her, earning a wheeze and then her silence.
“Good morning, Ms. Stanton,” my assistants chorused.
“Great hair,” Valerie grinned.
“Love it,” Easton said, not to be one-upped.
“Thanks,” I said dryly, picking up my messages.
Jane and I stepped inside, and I leaned against the door.
“The amount of time and energy people spend on my hair is ridiculous,” I complained to her. “Why are they interested in my hair? Why would they buy a shirt just because I wore it?”
“Because they want to be like you,” Jane said, cracking her gum.
I ditched my bag in its usual place and headed straight for my desk. “Then go to college and study biochemistry and spend every waking minute building a company.”
Jane snorted. “That’s idealistic.”
“Idealistic is thinking that a new shirt or an expensive pair of shoes will make you famous,” I scoffed. “Why can’t everyone just be themselves?”
She flopped down on the couch. “You of all people are asking that question?”
