Page 45 of Your Masked Haunting

“Well done,” Shantae, the head of the department, praises me, and I swear I could flip a car right now. “She looks great.”

Shantae continues on, checking on the other works in progress, and it takes me physically pinching myself to stop a squeal from slipping free as I plop down into the makeup chair. Peyton shimmies beside me, just as excited as I am.

Brett—one of the SFX, special effects, artists I’ve recently gotten to know while partnering with Peyton—saunters over, acting casual in front of Shantae, but freaking out when he nears. “You killed that.”

My face warms, feeling like I’m under a heat lamp from the compliments being thrown my way. “Thank you.”

“Do mine next.” He smirks, batting his lashes at me. “Maybe then, I’ll catch the hottie owner’s attention.”

“What?” I chuckle, caught off guard. “Who? Cambrie?”

I’ve never spoken with her, only watched her strut by on an important mission. She’s gorgeous. Long blonde hair. Legs for days. The type of pretty that when you see her, you have to do a double take.

“Eww, no.” Brett looks at me like I just said the dumbest thing. “She’s stunning. But you know I don’t like women. I mean, I love women, but not like that. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

My eyes flutter closed for a brief second while I fight the giggle behind my quivering smile. “Is she not the owner?”

“No,” Peyton adds. “I think it’s her brother?”

Brett whips his phone out of his pocket, typing rapidly. “Yes, he’s her brother. Casper Ridley. Six-five. Delicious eyes. Delicious body. Delicious hands …” His head tips to the side as he studies something intently, an eyebrow kicked up and a smirk on his lips. But he snaps from his stupor with a shake of his head. “Sorry. I found a family photo of theirs when they were in the Hamptons last summer. My God, how many abs does he have?”

“Don’t be rude.” Peyton scoffs, extending her arm and flexing her hand. “Show us.”

An owner I haven’t met? Either I’m blind or he doesn’t come here very often. He could silently own the place and have his sister run it though.

Brett passes the phone to Peyton, who gasps, hearts in her eyes.

“I’ve only seen him once, in passing, but he unfortunately had a shirt on at the time.”

“Oh, come on.” I laugh, a tightness forming in my chest. “I’m sure Casper‘s some rich guy who has more money than morals. Who cares if he’s hot?” I groan. “Let me see.”

Money’s always been a part of my life in a way that someone like him will never understand. I’ve fought tooth and nail just to survive, scraping together change that I found on the street to pay for my gas or my next meal.

Someone like him, like Cambrie, they’re likely nice people. Maybe. Probably not. The rich people I’ve had the displeasure of meeting in my life have all been major disappointments.

Peyton juts the phone toward me, and I spin in the makeup chair to reach it.

“Mr. Boss Man,” I murmur mockingly as I take it, glancing down at the Instagram post on Cambrie’s page, and a train slams into me. “Shit.”

Oh God. You have to be kidding me.

It’s him.

The guy from the craft store who called me gorgeous. Who I told to fuck off. Who came to my booth opening night. Whose face I painted a butterfly and unicorn on before flipping him off.

Shit.

“What?” Peyton kicks my chair, and I don’t think it’s the first time she’s asked it, based on the force behind it. It’s just the first one I heard. “Oh my God. Do you know him?”

I chuckle, more of a nervous scoff as I question how I still have this job. “Sort of.”

Brett slowly inhales, trying to contain his excitement. “Go on.”

Handing his phone back to him, I scratch the back of my neck.

“Well, how do I say this?” Puffing my cheeks up, I shift the air side to side before parting my lips and telling them everything I just recounted in my mind.

They’re both in shock when I finish, and if it was physically possible, their jaws would be on the ground, along with Brett’s phone that he dropped halfway through my spiel.