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“Are you going to bring that up every time?”
He opens the glass door of the salon and grins. “As long as it gets me what I want.”
I narrow my eyes at him as I walk into the salon. Polished marble tiles, white walls, black lacquered stations, and gorgeous oversize black chandeliers on the ceiling. There’s club music playing on the speaker of the packed salon. The smell of bleach permeates the room. It’s heavenly.
Will slides my coat off my shoulders and hands it to the receptionist at the counter as I remain slightly dumbstruck by the high-end establishment.
“This is Melissa Jones. She has a ten o’clock appointment with Genevieve,” he tells the woman.
She points to her computer screen behind the counter. “We have you right here. VIP for full color and highlights. Can I get you a cappuccino, espresso, water, or iced tea?”
“I’ll take a water,” he states. “Melissa?”
“I’m good,” I say with a sigh. I don’t get overwhelmed often, but this place is really nice, possibly out of my budget, and Will is acting very laissez-faire.
He leans into me and places a hand on the small of my back, his breath tickling my ear. “Does this constitute as a Joe Schmoe establishment?”
I elbow him in the ribs, and he chuckles—a deep,arm vibrating down to my toeschuckle.
“Will!” A woman appears from around the half wall that separates the reception area from the rest of the salon. Her arms are up in the air as she crashes into Will for a long hug. Then, she extends a manicured hand to me. “I’m Genevieve. You must be Melissa. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Thank you for squeezing me in. I’d imagine it takes weeks to get an appointment here.”
Genevieve grins at Will. “I owe this guy a favor. He helped my brother get on the straight and narrow a few years ago. When this man calls—and he rarely does—I always make my chair available.”
I smash my lips. “Brought women here before, Officer Bronson?”
“My mother, smart-ass. I bring my mother. Gen has been doing her hair for years.”
Genevieve waves me toward her. “Come on back to my chair, and we’ll get you settled in.”
She starts walking, and I follow until I realize Will isn’t behind us. I do an about-face and walk back to him by reception. “Are you waiting here?”
“I’m gonna leave. Gen will text me when you’re done.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“You seem disappointed. I hope you don’t mind me ambushing you, but Genevieve is my friend and an incredible colorist. I’ve seen her work throughout the years, and it’s remarkable.”
I lift a strand of my hair. “Anything is better than this, I suppose. She seems nice too.”
“She’s the best.” He slides his hands into his pockets and lowers his gaze to me. “I’d never put you in a situation that made you uncomfortable. If you want to leave, we can hightail it out of here.”
I gnaw at the inside of my cheek. “Well, you did go out of your way to make this happen. I’d hate to be ungrateful.”
“You can thank me later. And don’t worry. Genevieve has great chair etiquette. What’s said in the chair, stays in the chair.”
I hate how much I love the way he remembers our shared moments.
“So, I can gossip about you and your tawdry behavior?”
He lifts a brow. “Maybe skip that part.”
I tap him on the nose. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe with me.”
With a salute, I turn around and walk to Genevieve’s station. She’s standing behind it, waiting for me to be seated. An assistant has a black cape that she puts around my neck as soon as I take a seat.
Genevieve’s hands are on my shoulders as she assesses my look. “The color is definitely a result of overcorrecting. We’re going to use the formula your color specialist used, but if you’re okay with it, I’d like to soften your base first with a warm ashy blonde. I’ll paint the pieces onto the hair in between your highlights.”
