Page 30 of Black Sheep
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With my dressbag in hand, now containing my work clothes while I wear the gorgeous black number and the heels Britta selected, the personal shopper escorts me to the salon. Sally, the revered owner, crosses the floor to greet us.
As soon as Britta leaves, Sally tilts her head to the side and studies me. Before she speaks, I know she knows my secret.
“You’re wearing a wig. I wasn’t told to expect that. Why? What are we working with here?”
Activity buzzes in the salon, and I lower my voice to whisper my rehearsed lie so only Sally can hear me. “He’s into blondes ... but my hair is dark, and I love it too much to kill it with peroxide and bleach. But after tonight, I don’t think he’ll give a damn what color my hair is, if you know what I mean.” I add a little wink for effect, hoping I’m not overplaying my hand.
For a moment, Sally’s face stays stony. Then she throws her head back and laughs so loudly that every woman in the salon pauses to look at her. When she finishes cackling and chuckling, she smiles widely at me.
“You are a smart woman. I like you. He will never know—until it’s too late.”
A shiver of foreboding skates down my spine, and it almost feels like Sally’s making a prediction that applies to a hell of a lot more than hair.
“Thank you. I appreciate your discretion, ma’am.”
With a gleam in her faded blue eyes, she leads me to a station in the front. “Call me Sally. We women have to stick together. When I’m done, no man will be able to resist you. The rest is up to you.”
An hour and a half later, I look freaking phenomenal. The simple dress sets off my expertly curled and arranged hair—and Sally refitted the wig even better than I could so that it’s secure and perfect. The makeup artist followed my touch-up instructions to the letter, perfecting my contour, since Drew’s cheekbones are much sharper than mine are normally.
I could tell she wanted to ask why I was wearing ten pounds of makeup, but she was polite enough not to voice the question.
Sally, who bonded with me over sisterhood and shared stories of the lovers in her past, gave me one final piece of advice before I left the salon.
“You’re like me, self-possessed and sure. Don’t be afraid of a little uncertainty in your life now and then. Sometimes it’s exactly what you need to flourish.”
Her words follow me out to the sidewalk, where, at 7:44, a Bentley pulls up at the curb and Cannon climbs out of the back seat.
Oh no. Not. Fair.It should be illegal for a man to look that good in a suit.
He also changed, because he didn’t have a tie on earlier. The one he’s wearing now is a silvery gray with a green stripe that manages to match his eyes perfectly.
I wonder if Britta picked it out for him.Another unwarranted stab of jealousy accompanies the thought, and I bat it away.
Fact-finding mission. Interview. Not a date.
But even the reminder can’t stop the throbbing between my legs.Hell.
17
Cannon
“Christ,” I murmur under my breath.
Drew walks out of the salon on stilettos I want digging into my back while I pound into her until she screams my name. This is not how tonight is supposed to go.
I’msupposedto have a platonic dinner with an employee I can’t put my dick in. And then when the dinner is over, I’msupposedto give myself a pat on the back for keeping her out of Dom’s clutches.
But the only thing I can think about right now, or with, is my dick. Blood rushes south, making the traitor twitch against the silk lining of my suit pants.
I want her.
Every possessive instinct that roared to the forefront when Dom tried to claim her comes rushing back tenfold.
This isn’t in my plans.But why not? Why can’t I have her? Who the fuck can stop us if we’re both interested?
I grapple with my rules until she halts in front of me.Fuck it. I’m going with my gut.
