The Salon – Part 9
"Can I help you?" Lara asked the stern-looking woman in the outdated skirt suit as she walked into the salon.
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"Can I help you?" Lara asked the stern-looking woman in the outdated skirt suit as she walked into the salon.
Thessa called Tuesday morning to check how I was doing. Her sickly sweet voice sent chills crawling up and down my spine. I know Thessa.
Gael eagerly swung the door wide open for Dolores. The elderly woman smiled and gave him a polite nod.
Of course I didn’t take Adele’s advice and go into the office. I didn’t come clean, and I didn’t ask for help.
Mia coughed a few times, her face contorted with disgust, then yanked the salon door shut with more force than necessary. She stopped herself from slamming it, but she couldn't hide her irritation.
On Monday, Thessa landed a cheerful email in my inbox that felt like a punch straight to the stomach. She reminded me that the multilingual catalogue we regularly prepare for one of our longtime clients was supposed to be heading to print soon.
Nico drummed his fingers anxiously against the reception counter. His chest and shoulders had locked up tight. That never meant anything good. Ever since childhood, he’d known this feeling meant trouble was coming.
Whatever little common sense I had left is officially gone. Not that there was much of it to begin with, considering how exhausted I’ve been lately. So earlier, I went down to the shop.
Rosita stepped into the salon with flushed cheeks and an eager smile. Her glittering eyes swept hungrily across the room.
I had a nightmare. About Grumpy. He just stood there, staring at me with those cold blue eyes, his brow drawn tight. It scared the hell out of me. I even woke up sweating.