“She’s not too bad,” Landon defends, a smirk crossing his face, his forest eyes holding a tone of friendliness. I scowl at both of them, angry they’re talking as if I’m not even standing in the room.
“I’m sure you would think so,” she clips. “They’re waiting upstairs for you.” She nods toward me before turning, picking her dress up, and walking back up the stairs.
“Please, don’t turn me into a Barbie,” I plead to Landon. He chuckles and runs his thumb over his chin.
“Would you like breakfast, Charlie?” he questions, lowering his hand and placing it on my lower back. His hand is large and takes up the small of my back. My memory takes me back to waking up in that hotel room by myself — no breakfast, no man, just a stack of cash. My body hums from his touch, but my mind barks out uncontrollable anger from the flashback. My logic winning this battle, I grasp Landon’s arm and tear it away from my body.
“How about we save the crap. You’re not a nice guy, and I’m not a nice girl. I don’t have a clue why you’re being nice to me, but stop. Oh, and it would be pointless to have breakfast and pretend to have small talk, when we both know I’m here to be your employee, your toy for money—”
“Charlie, you want me to be nice to you. Because by the end of all this, you will hate me more than you do right now,” Landon interrupts, his face masked with anger as his jaw clenches.
“Just show me to the team,” I mutter, unaffected by his threat.
Landon steps back and runs his hands through his hair, his chest lifting as he inhales deeply as if he’s trying to control his anger.
“This way.” He points ahead of me, walking up the stairs. I let out the breath I was holding and follow him.
Landon takes me to a room which looks like a mini-salon and massage parlor mixed into one. A large mirror is outlined in bulbs, with every kind of hair product sitting on a table beside it and a black swivel chair in front of it. At the back of the room, there is a large open window with a small padded table placed in front of it, possibly a massage table.
“You must be Charlie.” My head snaps to look behind me, finding a man and a lady walking in behind us. The lady has black hair bunched on top of her head and she’s tall. Her face is in the shape of a kissing fish, or like she just ate something too sour. Her lips are dark purple, matching her purple dress which hugs her neck and falls to her calves. The man has dark-colored, spiked hair, the front of it splashed a bright red, and he’s much shorter. His black-rimmed glasses are too small for his face. My eyes trail down his small frame, noticing he’s wearing a pink shirt and dark blue jeans with green shoes. I quirk a brow at his choice of clothes. They’re very flashy.
“She doesn’t want to be a Barbie,” Landon mocks, a small smirk across his face. I purse my lips at him and roll my eyes. “Find me when you’re finished,” he demands, walking off with his hands in his pockets.
“What should we do with her hair? A bob maybe?” she suggests, tugging on a strand of my wavy hair.
“Oh, Michelle, don’t you dare touch her hair with scissors. We haven’t had the opportunity to work with such beauty before,” the man scolds, his eyes wide and mouth gaped open as he looks at my hair with awe. I’m stuck frozen while they argue over cutting my hair, scared they’ll hack it all off.
“Oh, Gabe, don’t be so dramatic.” Michelle rolls her eyes.
“Sit,” Gabe demands, pointing to the chair. I swallow hard, fighting my nerves, and sit in the chair. Jeez, is everyone around here so bossy?
For the next three hours, I am picked, prodded, waxed, and peeled. My entire body either burns or itches from all the beauty procedures I’ve endured. That massage table turned out to be a thing of nightmares. It’s where you lie to have hot wax torture. The only break I had was when a doctor came and took a blood sample then examined my private parts. Getting poked by a needle was the least painful of everything, strangely. I feel violated from head to toe right now.
“So, I’ll start the makeup if you want to go buy the wardrobe,” Michelle states, handing Gabe the chart with my body measurements on it.
“I’m on it. Oh, you should do a smoky eye shadow, but nothing heavy.” Gabe lights up, looking me over with excitement.
“I’m sorry, are you shopping or doing makeup?” Michelle props her hand on her hip and tilts her head to the side. Gabe rolls his eyes, throwing a hand at Michelle dismissively as he walks out of the room.
I feel like a doll being morphed into the perfect candidate for some lonely man. Even with all the glamour this place has to offer, I feel alone.
“You all right?” Michelle asks, her forehead wrinkling with worry lines.
I shrug and sit in the makeup chair. I haven’t said much the entire time, except to call her or Gabe a bitch when they yanked a strip of wax off my private parts. They’ve pretty much been doing all the talking while fighting over me like a piece of meat.
“It isn’t so bad, you’ll see.” She smiles, grabbing some makeup from her black bag.