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Looking at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror, I exhale a long breath. I’ve been relieved of being Will Power for all of ten minutes, and I already feel lighter.
A gentle knock sounds on the door.
“Right on time,” I say to the woman who’s carrying a discreet black suitcase.
“Did your joke work?” she asks.
“Like a charm, Sarah. Now please, for the love of all that’s holy, make me look like myself again.”
“Of course, Mr. Colt.”
Sarah is the Will Power Industries’ staff stylist who makes sure everyone who works for us looks their best. Free haircuts, color, shave—Sarah provides one of the non-monetary perks of being a Power employee. And fooling her that I am Colt is my first acting engagement.
“Did you enjoy your weekend in Copenhagen?” I ask.
“So much!” She beams. “I went to eight bakeries and tried the wienrbrød at every one! I have an entire suitcase filled with the Danish pastries I liked best.” Her eyes widen, probably at my reaction, which I suspect looks like horror. “To share with the staff, Mr. Colt! Not all for me. Though, if they froze …”
I laugh because Colt would laugh.
“Please put me back together.”
“I’ve got a perfect wig and beard right here for you. It will take some trimming and styling, of course, but I’m convinced even you won’t know they’re not your natural hair.”
She’s right. Sort of. By the time she secures the hairpiece with some miracle tape that’s supposed to last up to six weeks, I find myself staring at my reflection. It’s a weird feeling, knowing I could grow this same hairstyle and be able to transform into someone who has an entirely different outlook on life. It’s equal parts off-putting and encouraging.
The beard is more of a pain since the spirit gum that holds it in place will have to be reapplied every twelve hours. The upside is that I get to sleep without it while I let my beard grow in to match Mr. Colt’s. That should only take five or six days.
The fake fur Sarah glues on is pretty damned perfect. Even up close, it looks like it’s growing out of my chin and from my upper lip.
“Back to normal.” She smiles.
“Thank you so much. It was disconcerting seeing Will in my reflection. But it was worth it for the joke. Which will stay between us,” I add, leveling a serious stare at her.
“Of course, Mr. Colt. A stylist protects her client’s secrets as if they were her own.”
“I can’t imagine a stylist has many client secrets to keep.”
Sarah’s hand covers her mouth, and she tries to hold in a giggle. “Have you ever heard of a merkin, Mr. Colt?”
I shake my head.
“Well, all I can say is that I have more than”—she counts her fingers—“more than five clients for whom I’ve made a pubic hair wig.”
I cough my surprise and can’t help but ask whether this is a service included in our employee benefits package.
She shrugs. “I guess so. I’ve never asked. I just … I do what I’m asked. New York Fashion Week in 2018 made them popular. Haute couture shrubberies were all over the catwalk. I mean, on people, not literally on the catwalk. And by shrubbery, I mean—”
I hold up my hand to stop her from talking. Colt may be the fun twin, but I imagine even he would find this conversation a little uncomfortable. Aiden, on the other hand? I’ll be asking him if he’s one of our hairstylist’s secret clients.
Sarah and I travel to the airport together. None of my brother’s flight crew appear to suspect I’m anyone other than Mr. Colt. That said, he shares staff with Brian and Aiden, so they’re not as dialed in to his quirks when he flies as my team is with mine. This works to my advantage when I sip what I expect to be tonic water, but is more gin than tonic, and react with an uncensored, “What the fuck is this?”
I cover my mistake with an apology, saying it’s too early for an alcoholic drink, it being before lunch and all.
This is going to be a long three weeks …
34. Virginia
A GENETICALLY MODIFIED MUSHROOM
