AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Winthrop Marketing?
Would some punk Chandra hired to fool me be this thorough?
I shuffle one foot in front of the next. My flip-flops skate against the exposed, cement floor. Wiggling my block-white toenails, I consider the fact that Chandra might have nothing to do with this call.
“I’d need to meet with you anyway,” Griffin Bech says. “How about we finish this discussion face-to-face?”
“Yeah… I mean… sure. Should I meet you or—?”
“I’ll come to you.”
“Great.”
We hang up and I let my smartphone slide into my hand. My client eyes me from the mirror with that nosy look women get when they smell a good story.
I’m too shaken to say anything because, honestly, I’m still not sure what happened. I never signed up for a competition.
Maybe it’s a mistake?
“Was that good news?” 4b asks.
“Not sure.” I shake my head. “Anyway, you were telling me about what your husband did last night?”
“Oh right.” Plump lips tighten and she dives right back into her story, waving dark hands around for emphasis. “So we’re in bed, in the middle of it, you know, and he just yells ‘Mariana’. Right there in my face.” She taps her chest. “My name is Jenifer.”
I bob my head at the right moments, half-listening as I detangle her hair and slather the locks in my special conditioner.
“I stopped it right there and addressed it, but he didn’t apologize. In fact, he got angry with me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He told me every man fantasizes about another woman in bed.”
“What a jerk,” I murmur.
Her voice cracks. “I told him I’d fantasize about Channing Tatum when we were doing it and he said go ahead. He seemed totally unbothered. Do you think he’s cheating?”
I shrug.
The answer to that is ‘probably’. More than likely. Yes.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the gossip that passes through every hair salon I’ve worked at—whether it’s a fancy one with proper equipment or one like mine—in the corner of a tiny apartment—it’s that all men are vermin.
Every woman has the same story—she’s been cheated on, used, abused, manipulated or hurt in some way or the other.
Which is why I have no interest in dating.
Zero.
I never want to become one of the clients in the chair, gushing about how my man’s done me wrong.
Chandra’s route is the only ‘love’ I’d consider. My best friend settled for a rich man instead of running after a complicated romance that would only hurt her in the end.
If I ever get with someone, it’ll be for a shallow reason like money. At least then I can leave the relationship with some kind of benefit rather than be crushed and moping after he dumps me.
Sympathetic to her plight, I put extra effort into washing out Jenifer’s hair and applying my leave-in conditioner. He curls pop when I run the Denman brush through them and it is so satisfying to watch.
Grabbing the bottle of coconut oil, I slather the fragrant liquid in my hands and slide my fingers through her wash-and-go.
