Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“You’d better come back unharmed or I’ll be pissed.” Rising from his stool, he dropped a kiss on her temple. “Have a good day at work.”
“You, too.”
“Drive safely, and call me if you need me.”
She saluted him. “Will do. Watch your ass, not just that of your Alpha.”
The drive to Blue Harbor beauty salon took only twenty minutes. She parked her car in the small lot across from it. The lot was used mostly by employees of the short row of businesses on that particular street.
The bell above the salon’s door chimed as she stepped inside. The scents of fruity hair products, astringent nail polish, lemon cleaner, and chemical dyes washed over her—all of which were designed for shifters, so the smells didn’t irritate her senses.
The small reception area was simple but stylish. Buttercream plush chairs were positioned near the floor-to-ceiling window, along with a round coffee table on which piles of glossy magazines rested. Products lined a glass shelving case pressed against the far wall. Among them were shampoos, hand creams, massage oils, and small bottles of nail polish.
Framed posters of glamorous hair models were hung on the white walls, not only in the reception area but between the large mirrors at the two individual hair stations.
Stood behind the curved, tidy white counter on which a computer, phone, and card reader sat, Adaline smiled at her. She was their main hairstylist, not the receptionist. But since having to fire their receptionist a few weeks back, they’d all pitched in with reception duties while they waited for the Crimson Alpha female to hire a replacement. Nel didn’t come to the salon often, but she took care of the behind-the-scenes managerial side of things.
Raya was a master with more trendier haircuts and elaborate updos, so her clients tended to be younger. Lori was their nail technician, masseuse, and makeup artist. Quinley helped out Adaline where necessary by washing clients’ hair when she wasn’t otherwise busy. As a team, they made it work.
“Hey, you,” greeted Adaline. “How’s mated life?”
“The same as it was half an hour ago, when I replied to the text in which you asked that exact question,” said Quinley.
Lounging on the padded swivel chair at her station, Raya looked up from her phone. “She just worries. About you, that is. Me, she couldn’t give two fucks about.”
“That’s not true,” Adaline objected. “I care. I just don’t need to worry about you, because you have Lori.”
“And Quinley now has Isaiah.”
“I don’t know him well enough to be sure he’ll properly take care of her.”
Raya jerked up her chin in challenge. “Just admit that she’s your favorite.”
Rolling her eyes, Quinley let the quarrel become background noise as she crossed the space. She said a quick hi to Lori, who was pottering around the hair washing station. Black leather chairs reclined toward the row of sinks behind them. Cubbies were stacked with burgundy towels and hair products.
She headed through an arch and to the pamper room on her left. The scents of herbal shampoo, fur, chlorine, and almond oil greeted her, familiar and comforting. She placed her purse in its usual spot in a corner cubby and hooked her coat on a wall hanger.
The large space was fitted with a grooming station, jacuzzi, leather swivel chair, supply cart, and a desk on which a heated lamp and other equipment rested. Different shifter breeds required different “luxuries,” and she strived to cater for all.
Before long, clients began to trickle in. They were quick to notice her brand, especially her ex-pride mates. They nosily asked for details about Isaiah, the claiming, and the Olympus Pride. As always, Quinley was stingy with her answers.
Throughout the day, Isaiah popped into her mind often. Mostly because her cat wanted to know where he was and what he was doing. It left them both with a vague feeling of uneasiness that had no real rational source. It was just all tied-in to being bound to someone whom she hadn’t yet imprinted on. It messed with your mind on an elemental level.
As such, she was grateful when the end of her workday rolled around. The sooner she got home, let her cat see for herself that he was alive—and, yes, gave herself that same assurance—she’d feel a whole lot better.
“Right, I’m off,” she told her sisters and Lori, who were all gathering their stuff together.
Raya lifted her hand in a brief wave. “Later, sis.”
“See you tomorrow,” Lori called out.
“Say hi to—” Adaline cut off as her eyes darted to something behind Quinley.
In the process of zipping up her coat, Quinley turned … just as a tall figure pushed open the glass door. Her cat hissed, her hackles rising.
Zaire breezed inside, his face neutral, his body tense, a strange energy coming off him. His eyes locked on hers, and something flickered in their depths she couldn’t quite name. He slowly planted his feet, his jaw tightening.