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There’s a special chair waiting in front of the sink. I take hold of the hose while Ms. Shirley gets seated and eagerly tilts her neck back.
Awkwardly, I turn on the faucet and rake the water over her forehead. Black curls streaked with grey grow limp and heavy. Taking the shampoo, I slather it over her scalp and try to remember how I got myself into this ridiculous situation.
“Oh, oh! That’ so good. Right there, baby. Deeper.” Eyes closed, Ms. Shirley trembles like she’s about to die.
I bite down on my bottom lip and keep going.
After all this humiliation, I’d be damned if I let Cobie Simmons go without her name on that blasted contract.
Chapter 3
Cobie
I’m surprised he stayed. If his pride and annoyance hadn’t kicked him out the door, Ms. Shirley’s inappropriate remarks should have had him running for the hills.
But Griffin is sticking it out.
In fact, he turns the tables and has us all panting when he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt to prepare for the shampooing.
Time slows.
Light glows behind his back and a strong wind starts blowing out of nowhere. I swear.
Pretty sure, Ms. Shirley’s granddaughter snaps a photo.
I, for one, take an extra peek at Griffin’s strong forearms covered with dark hair that travels over his pale skin to blunt fingers.
My thighs tighten when I study those hands.
I’m a big hands kind of girl. I’ll admit it.
More drool dribbles from the corner of my mouth.
Ms. Shirley just about explodes.
Can anyone blame us? Someone that gorgeous shouldn’t be allowed to walk around sans an entourage and a couple beefy security guards.
Yet, Griffin’s here.
In my cramped studio apartment-slash-business space.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
He’s enjoyable to look at and he’s lending me an extra hand, but something about him—I don’t know—it unsettles me.
Not in a creepy, Lifetime movie way.
It’s just… he looks at me like he knows me. Like we’ve met before. There’s a hint of familiarity in his voice and softness in his eyes when he speaks to me. It seems out of place for a business proposition between two strangers.
I’d put my life on the line to say I’d never met him before. If I’d passed a face like Griffin’s in the street, you’d best believe, I’d be doubling back to take a second look. Maybe even a picture.
It’s bothering me.
He’s bothering me. Why should a perfect stranger—who probably has a load of girls on speed dial—get under my skin like this?
“Cobie?” he calls for me.
I frown.
