Page 62 of Purrfectly Trapped

“Later, we finish this later,” he said firmly.

Dark blue eyes, like sapphires, held hers captive. Gretchen realized for the first time that the deep magical glow was his Tiger sneaking a peek at her. She felt her own beast rush forward in response. The she-Tiger anxious to see her mate.

“Yes, later,” she answered, despite all her reservations.

She was in too deep to deny him anything. Neither of them had made any declarations, but she knew exactly how she felt about him. Her own Tiger was more than thrilled by it, the damn beast was purring with emotion.

Gretchen was in love with the big, sexy man. She just didn’t know if he loved her back.

Grrrrr.

ChapterNineteen

Gretchen skipped into the salon tucking in her shirt and patting down her hair. That last goodbye kiss had left her a little disheveled. Smiling brightly, Gretchen turned to greet her two o’clock appointment.

The tall, skinny she-Tiger blinked slowly at Gretchen. She stared with hostility shining in her almond shaped eyes, glowing gold with her animal. Like Gretchen was so much dirt on her shoe. Tapping her red fingernails on her watch, she pursed her lips.

Gretchen glanced at the clock pointedly. It was two minutes after the hour. Not a big deal at all, but still, she was a professional, and it was her place of business. She plastered a smile on her face and apologized for her tardiness.

“Hi, you must be Pamela. Welcome toCut It Out. I’m Gretchen---”

“You’re late for my appointment,” the she-Cat interrupted. “I hope you’re better at cutting hair than you are at telling time.”

“I do apologize. Why don’t we get started? This way please,” Gretchen waved her hand in the direction of the sinks and followed the woman as she walked over to the shampoo station.

Pamela Brown was a first-class beyotch, and Gretchen waited as the woman huffed out an annoyed breath and slunk down into the chair. It took two full pumps of shampoo, and three of conditioner to get the product out of the woman’s over-processed locks.

So far, Gretchen had encountered several Shifters as clients, and they all had one thing in common. They were healthy AF, meaning their hair was often glossy and thick, and there was a shit ton of it.

But not hers. Pamela’s hair, like her skin, seemed dull and gray. She was painfully thin, and that sullen, angry expression did nothing to enhance her looks or her attitude.

“I hate tardiness,” Pamela bit out as she slunk into the seat at Gretchen’s station.

“I am sorry,” Gretchen replied through tight lips.

Her nose itched, and she wondered at the perfume the woman was wearing. Ever since she’d experienced thePuspa, Gretchen hadn’t been able to wear any strong scents.

She’d attributed it to her brand new, extra-sensitive nose. But the female here was born a Shifter, and she was practically drowning in some cheap rose-scented fragrance.

It was cloying. Almost suffocating. Gretchen turned her head and sneezed into her elbow. Her body telling her to get away from the nasty woman.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said, a little embarrassed.

“Ohmygawd!Let’s just get on with this before I catch something,” the she-Bitch muttered.

Gretchen bit her tongue. Marion was between clients at the moment, and he was watching the byplay without any amusement. It bolstered her confidence to know he was there and witnessing everything that was going on. She didn’t need any nonsense cropping up because of this woman.

Some clients were just plain rude, she knew that having worked in this business over twelve years already. She shook her head at Marion before he could even think of interfering. It was good he was there, but she had this. Gretchen could handle herself just fine.

“Alright, so what did you have in mind for today?” Gretchen asked as she began running a comb through the woman’s tangles as gently as possible. Not an easy feat.

Holy flashback to 1984 and hairspray hell!

The amount of product she’d washed out of Pamela’s poor abused locks had been shocking, but that only eliminated half the problem with this woman’s hair. Gretchen didn’t know anyone who teased their hair anymore who was under sixty. Apparently, this woman didn’t get the memo.

“Well, I need a trim obviously,” she replied, that same waspish edge to her tone. “Then I’d like it blown out.”

“Alright,” Gretchen replied as pleasantly as possible and got to work.

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