The Salon – Part 7
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.
Follow Emily’s Diary and The Salon: two serialized story series filled with romance, emotion and humour, with new episodes published regularly.
Emily’s Diary – Entry 11
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.
The Salon – Part 6
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.
Emily’s Diary – Entry 10
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.
The Salon – Part 5
Rosita stepped into the salon with flushed cheeks and an eager smile. Her glittering eyes swept hungrily across the room.
Emily’s Diary – Entry 9
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.
The Salon – Part 4
Niko nearly dropped the mixing bowl when he stepped out of the cramped back room and saw the young woman with burnt-orange hair and a light, floral dress.
Emily’s Diary – Entry 8
By Thursday, I’d been running on autopilot all week. I get up at seven every morning, and that one hour I keep for myself is sacred.
The Salon – Part 3
Lara glanced at the rose-gold clock on the wall, frowning slightly.
“Wasn’t someone supposed to be here at nine? Or am I mixing things up?”
Emily’s Diary – Entry 7
Mark showed up at eight on Monday morning, as if he didn’t know I was running a three-person project on my own. I don’t even have to go into the office so I don’t waste time commuting — and still, at eight-oh-seven, he was knocking on my door.