Page 15 of Savage in the Streets
Oh, holy hell—he’s gonna get what’s coming to him.
I look for my clothes, but they’re missing from where I placed them in the bathroom. Ashton’s shirt hangs midway down my thighs, which will have to be enough.
So much for modesty.
I exit the guest suite, finding my way into the kitchen where a pink-haired woman is cutting fruit.
What was her name?
She hears me approaching, looks up, and says, “Hi.”
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” I blurt out.
“I’m Mabel, the beautician tending to your shop. Ashton wanted to make sure you had the opportunity to relay any information regarding your clients—”
“Where is he?”
“He’ll be back soon.”
I arc a brow. “So he’s not here?”
An anxious look crosses her face, telling me that I am correct. If I wasn’t dressed in just an undershirt, panties, and an ankle monitor, I would hit the streets.
Though admittedly, that would be pretty stupid considering I have no place to go. Maybe this is for the best, because it’s so easy for me to be my own worst enemy.
“I was going to make French toast with berries.”
“Good for you,” I snap.
Mabel rolls her eyes. “You can give me all the shit you want, but I’m the one that’s going to be tending to your clients while you’re…away. It would be a good idea for you to drop the tough girl act.”
“Tough girl act?” I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re the girl trying to poach my clients. Am I supposed to just hand over the keys with a smile?”
Mabel lets out a condescending laugh. “I’m doing this as a favor for Ash. I don’t even live very close. Your clients aren’t going to want to drive an hour for me to do their hair.”
And now I look like an idiot. Best to eat your humble pie.
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough night.”
“I can imagine.”
I draw closer to Mabel so I can look her in the eyes. They’re pretty, no—stunning. The cerulean blue of oceans only further highlighted by her bright pink hair.
“My name is Bailey, and if you could just cut me some slack, I won’t have to lay you out on Ashton’s pristine tile floor.”
Mabel bursts into laughter, and I smile at myself for amending our poor meeting.
I hold out my hand, which she takes, giving it a hard shake.
“Nice to meet you, Bailey,” she enthuses. “Do you like carbs?”
As if on cue, my stomach growls audibly. “I live for them.”
“I think we’re gonna get along.”
Mabel gets to work finishing breakfast while I sit at the massive island, wondering why a single man has so much space.
“Ash sent me the schedule you forwarded to him,” Mabel says. “Anything I should know?”
