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Actually, I’m not going to. I have a plan to save the packets of pills for when I really am dating someone. That way, I won’t have to pick them up at the clinic. I’ll have a stash ready.
But Dr. Thompson doesn’t say anything to my remark. He merely nods and scribbles on his prescription pad before handing me the small square of paper.
“There you go,” he says kindly. “Mary will take you by the dispensary on the way out. Now did you have any more questions, Ms. Kane?”
The fact is that I have dozens of questions. His visit has only raised more issues, but clearly, the good doctor doesn’t plan on answering anything. He’s already scuttling towards the door, nodding a goodbye.
“I’ll see you next time,” he says courteously before exiting. The door closes, and I’m left alone in the waiting room again. What just happened? I stare at the slip of paper before me. Birth control pills. Wow. This must be some club if they’re that concerned about pregnancy. What exactly goes on in the bowels of this place?
But before I can give it more thought, Mary knocks and enters.
“Hi again,” she chirps brightly. “Come on, it’s time to get cleaned up. I see Dr. Thompson did a good job with your scrape,” she says, looking at the cut on my forehead. “You’re all cleaned up now and ready to get pretty. That’s my job,” she says cheerily. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”
My head nods as I slip off the exam room table and follow her back into the hallway. What’s going on? What’s next for me in this day of unexpected horror and surprise? The only semi-good part was meeting the billionaire who greeted me at the elevator. What was his name again? Mr. Carmichael?
At that, I go hot all over. He was so handsome and charismatic, his powerful frame decked out in the perfectly-cut suit. What does he want from me? Hopefully something naughty. To my shame, my heart begins pumping hard at his memory, and I suppress a delightful shiver. After all this primping is done with, Mary’s supposed to bring me to his office … and I can’t wait.
Chapter 7
Gemma
I look at the outfit Mary’s holding up in front of me.
“No way,” I say. “I can’t.”
She clucks, shaking her head. “There’s no can’t at the Billionaires Club,” she scolds gently. “All the women here work, and we have uniforms. Look at me,” she says, gesturing to her loose white scrubs. “This is what spa workers wear, and because you’re a waitress, this dress is what you’re going to wear.”
I protest again, shaking my head.
“But Mary, you’re covered up,” I say. “This piece of nothing called a dress … it’s well, I mean, it’s nothing! It’s even worse than my old Silver Star uniform!”
Mary shakes her head again.
“That piece of silver lamé you came in with?” she asks with one eyebrow arched. “That was trashy and you never should have put it on. It’s right for a place called the Silver Star Diner, but it’s definitely not right for the Billionaires Club. Come on, try it on,” she says, urging me towards a private changing area behind a screen. “You’ll look divine, I’m sure.”
Reluctantly, I allow myself to be pushed behind the wooden screen. If this were anyone else, I’d scream, but Mary’s been so nice to me these last few hours. She gave me a facial, stayed in the beauty salon as my hair was done, and then had some pointers for the make-up artist too.
“Emphasize Ms. Kane’s lips,” she said, directing the other woman. “Gemma has a beautiful full pout that would look just dazzling with some pink lipstick.”
I was about to interrupt and say that I never wear lipstick in real life. There’s no point when you have a tendency to bite it off, the way I do, or eat it off, which also happens to me. But the make-up artist studied my bone structure, and nodded.
“You’re right, Mary,” she replied. “Great eye. I swear, you should be the make-up artist, and not me,” she chuckled. “We’ll highlight Ms. Kane’s lips with some raspberry lipstick, and then slick a bit of clear gloss over it before daubing just a bit of Vaseline in the center. Perfect!” she remarked, leaning back to look approvingly over her work. “You look like a model.”
I wanted to laugh because I was absolutely not model-like. Not even with a face full of make-up and my hair falling in gentle waves over my shoulders. Although, truth be told, I did feel like a million bucks after the extravagant pampering. I can see why ladies look forward to Spa Day when you get treated like this!
But still, all of this was way over my head and totally unnecessary. Lip gloss plus lipstick, plus a tiny dab of Vaseline? What was that last part for? The make-up artist seemed to read my mind and turned my chin just so towards the light.
