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By the time I’m finished sweeping the floors, my back is aching. When I walk back to the closet to put away my broom, I spot Gia leaning against the counter, talking to a male stylist she has her eyes on at the moment. He seems to be into it, though, leaning into her as much as she leans into him. I just don’t get what guys see in her. Maybe they don’t stick around long enough to see her rotten personality. That has to be it.
She glances over his shoulder, spotting me. The smile on her face is anything but kind as she says something to him, and they both laugh.
She calls out, “Isabetta, you should really take better care of yourself. No one wants to see a sweating mess when they come here. They expect high-end services.”
I could point out that I’m sweating because I’ve been working for the last hour, but I don’t dare say anything. Gia is the type of person who will go low to win a fight, and that means bringing up my weight. I know this because she does it at least once a week.
Forcing my lips into a smile, I pass her and drop my broom off in the closet before heading to the area where the shampoo stations and laundry are. The area is thankfully clean, only because Carlo is the other person who works back here, and he understands what it’s like to clean up after others. Sadly for me, he’s not around today because he was going to see a show in the city with his boyfriend. If he was here, we’d grab a bite to eat after work. When I think about it, Carlo is my only friend. I don’t even have friends at school.
Going to the dryer, I empty the towels into a basket and then grab the wet towels from the washer, tossing them into the dryer. I add dirty towels to the washer and then start both machines. It’s not hard to keep the laundry caught up, it just takes a good system. Grabbing the basket, I carry it to the counter next to the shampoo station and dump the towels out so I can fold them.
Laundry is cathartic for me, allowing me to get lost in my thoughts. Sometimes, I dream about what kind of photo I could be taking if I wasn’t stuck at work. Other times, I think about problems I’m having with schoolwork. I rarely think about my dad while I’m here, but I’m not as lucky when it comes to freaking Gia. If I’m feeling ornery, I like to imagine what I’d say to her if I wasn’t scared of retaliation. Like today, for example. If I didn’t need the money, I’d tell Gia what I think about her.
I’d tell her that being slender shouldn’t be the basis of her entire personality. I’d ask her what has hurt her so badly that she has to make fun of others. I’d tell her she doesn’t have to be mean. That it’s okay to just be herself.
I’m getting worked up to the point that hot tears fill my eyes. With each towel that I fold, I slam it on the counter.
“Easy,Dolcezza,” a deep voice says from behind me. “I’m sure the towels didn’t mean whatever they did to anger you.”
Spinning, I come face to face with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s older—in his thirties, if I were to guess. He towers over me by at least a foot. Tan skin. Dark eyes that are full of sin. Dark hair that’s longer than most men I know wear. A beard that is well maintained. He’s wearing a tailored black suit that fits his muscular frame perfectly and screams two things. Money and power. Two things I’ve learned are never a good thing, especially in this neighborhood.
“Can I help you, sir?”
His lips lift and I get a glimpse of his white teeth. “You are Isabetta, no?”
He says my name in perfect Italian, and I have to resist sighing. Gah. He makes it sound so pretty and sophisticated. Not like the morons at my school. I realize he’s waiting for me to answer, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“That’s me. I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“No, you don’t know me, but I was told you were the one who would wash my hair before Vinny cuts it.”
Jeez. I’m so stupid. This is literally what I do at the salon—wash people’s hair. Like, what did I think he wanted with me?
“Right.” I clear my throat and motion to the shampoo station. “Please have a seat.”
He lowers himself into the black leather chair, leaning back so his neck sits perfectly in the neck rest of the sink. His legs are so long that he doesn’t need the footrest extended. I try not to notice how the material of his pants pulls taut against his muscular thighs and fail miserably.
“Not to rush you,Dolcezza, but I have things to do today.”
My gaze snaps to his face where I find him looking up at me with a wicked glint in his eyes, as if he knew what I was thinking moments ago.
“Sorry. Would you like to be rubbed?”
His eyebrow lifts, shock etched on his face. “Pardon?”
Kill. Me. Now.
“Uh, the chair has a built-in massager. Would you like it on?”
He snorts. “No,Dolcezza, I don’t want to berubbed.”
Is it possible to die on the spot? Because I’m pretty sure I’m *this* close to it.
Clamping my lips together so I don’t say anything else embarrassing, I turn on the water, letting it warm.
Most clients close their eyes as I wash their hair, but not this man. No, his eyes stay open and sometimes we make eye contact. Each time it happens, heat licks my skin. My only saving grace is that he doesn’t try to make small talk. He’s thankfully silent as I wash his thick hair. Gah, even his hair is nicer than most of the men who usually visit Vinny’s salon. My fingers glide through the silky strands. He lets out a throaty moan when I grip the hair on the back of his neck, tugging. Clients seem to love this and he’s no exception.
I’m almost finished when he speaks.
