Page 75 of Filthy Hot Billionaire
“A spa?” I asked as I scanned the rest of the space, my gaze swinging over white leather sofas and brushed nickel accents.
“And it’s yours for the day.”
I frowned again. What did that mean?
As though she’d heard us, a kind-eyed, smiling woman appeared, greeting me by name.
Stewart handed me off as though I was a precious gift and then disappeared back the way we’d come. From that point on, I was swept away in a world where I was the center of attention.
For the next few hours, I underwent the full experience starting with a mud bath, complete with a facial. Once I was relaxed, they moved me to another area where I was pampered head to toe. Literally. I got a wash, cut, and highlight by a stylist with a name that I was sure was famous. While I waited for the color to set, they started on my manicure and pedicure. I snacked on a variety of cheese, crackers, and two glasses of sparkling water infused with fruit. By the time I was done, I had a fancy new style and burgundy fingernails and toenails, then it was on to a hot stone massage.
The ladies who took care of me were so kind, so sweet, I found myself on the verge of tears often. When I’d gotten similar treatments at the mansion spa back when I lived at home, it had been with cold, unfeeling hands by people who were told not to look me in the eye.
This was a much nicer atmosphere, that was for sure.
It took tremendous effort to relax in the beginning, but I finally had, enjoying the hours of being pampered.
Just when I thought it was over, I was brought into another room with another padded table.
“What’s this?” I asked, stretching as I tried to maintain my post-massage euphoria.
“It’s time for your Brazilian wax.”
I slowly lowered my arms and stared at the woman. “What?”
“Would you like me to explain the process?”
“Yes,” I insisted. I had no idea what she was even talking about. “I’m not … I don’t … why would I get a wax?”
“It was requested.” The woman—Claire—smiled even as she began pulling out the items she would evidently be using. “I’ll be as gentle as I can,” she said. “I’ll start by trimming so it won’t hurt as much.”
“Trimming? Trimmingwhat? What kind of hair removal is this?”
“Your pubic hair.”
What the hell? Who would do something like that? “Wait. Requested bywhom?”
“Mr. Montgomery.”
“Knox?” I stared at her, my jaw unhinged. Why would he…?
“Is there a problem?” Claire asked, her expression reflecting her endless reserve of patience.
“No. I just…” I was at a complete loss. Knox wanted them to remove my pubic hair?
“If it helps, this is a very popular procedure,” she went on to explain. “We do many.”
Why wasn’t it mentioned inCosmoorWomen’s Health, then? Or better yet, why hadn’t Priya or Siobhan ever said anything? Granted, we didn’t exactly prance around naked, so there really hadn’t been much reason to bring it up.
“Why is it popular?”
Claire smiled. “Well, many reasons. Some women simply prefer it for grooming purposes, some for hygiene.”
“You remove”—I swallowed past the anxiety—“allthe hair?”
“We’ll leave a thin strip that you can maintain at home. However, I do have quite a few clients who prefer to simply be bare. That way there is nothing to maintain.”
So there was a difference between a Brazilian wax and being bare? I was so dumb I didn’t even know that. It made me feel inept, as though I was in a whole other world. One where I was not going to succeed.
