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Layla frowned. “What did he do? Sonya’s used to ride Tom’s turkey, but he also attacked Tom whenever he walked by. Getting him neutered helped.” She looked to the side and said quietly, “A little.”
“He’s too young to neuter, I already checked. But to give you an idea of the level of evil in his tiny body, he killed Magic Mike.”
“The DVD?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
“The vibrator,” Sayla and Evie answered at the same time, their expressions morphing to understanding now.
“He also ruined my makeup, annihilated my Mason Pearson brush—” their audible gasps made me feel better “—and ripped up my bras and underwear.”
Sayla sank down into a chair. “That little bastard. What made him do that?”
“Do I look like a fucking cat whisperer? I don’t have a direct line to Satan’s minions to find out what his triggers are.”
“I’ll make your coffee an Irish one,” Evie assured me as she skedaddled through to the back where the coffee machine was.
Getting up and joining me where I was leaning against the desk now, Sayla wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her side. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, and we’re closed while they fix the broken tiles in the customer bathroom. Why don’t we act like badass rebels and go and get drunk at lunchtime?”
“Your sister texted and said we had to be at hers tomorrow.” I was pouting, but damn it, I had valid reasons for it.
“That’s not until three. We can meet up at twelve, enjoy the Saturday two-for-ones, and then go to hers. Heidi won’t mind.”
It took me all of zero-point-zero-one seconds to decide.
“I’m in, but someone better come up with something that settles that furry little shit down, or I’m making him into a warmer for my big toe. I had to lock my spare room to make sure he didn’t get in and ruin the stuff for the makeovers.”
“Do you really think he could get in through a shut door?” Layla chuckled as she moved to turn the sign to open on the door, not giving Damian the credit he deserved for being a fun-killing shithead.
“Yes.” The tone and level of seriousness I said the one-word answer in had her stopping mid-step.
This is where people went wrong with their killer pets—they underestimated them and then became not only a statistic, but the topic of funny television shows that ended up on Netflix and people discussing their stupidity online.
I wasn’t going to do that with Damian, but you can be damn sure I’d be going and kicking Canon Klein’s ass the first second I got.
“So, you’re the beauty we’re going to be working on,” Regis Roquette, aka Rockie, mused as he circled Lisa. Pulling up one of the wheeled stools, he took a seat in front of her with his finger on his chin. “What’s your dream look?”
I couldn’t say what she’d been like before the accident, but the Lisa I knew usually had her head down and pulled her hair over her cheek to hide the scars from the fire. It was heartbreaking to see because if she could just see the beauty everyone else saw when they looked at her, I’m sure her confidence would be through the roof.
At five-foot-ten, she was tall, with killer curves—and I mean killer. She’d always kept her hair as long as possible so she could hide the small, scarred patches on her scalp, and now it was reaching the top of her ass.
When she’d arrived earlier, the excitement had been apparent on her face, but there was also a lot of trepidation like she expected us to say we couldn’t help her, and I knew where it’d come from. Before I’d started doing her hair for her, she’d had three hairdressers tell her there wasn’t anything they could do to help with the scars. That might have been true, but there were definitely things they could have done and tips they could have given her to help Lisa hide them, so she had one less area to worry about.
Her hair was naturally curly, so at our second appointment, I’d done a Brazilian blowout to straighten it and help the condition of the strands. Some people struggled to get them to work, but her hair had loved it and was now in peak condition. It also allowed her to cover the scars, which started a couple of inches back from her hairline, without the hair curling if she got hot—which in Texas was a given. With some long layers cut into the back and some slightly shorter ones at the front to frame her face, her hair sat like a beautiful sheet of silk.
To be honest, if I had even a tenth of her beauty, I’d probably stare at myself in the mirror all day.
Something that Rockie picked up on himself. “How do you ever leave the house?”
