Page 7 of Wicked Player
“Those look amazing on you,” she says. “What should we do with your hair?” She runs her fingers through my shortish bob. I'm already at a disadvantage since I'm sure all the other women will have a long locks of flowing hair, the kind of hair men fantasize about pulling. Mine is very short, but with my straight locks, it looks much better this way.
“We could do some cute curls,” Cassie suggests, “maybe a flower in your hair.”
I roll my eyes. “Not a flower. Maybe a pretty barrette,” I concede. “I am at your mercy. Do your best.”
She smiles wide, and I know she's got me.
* * *
Following a very short drive, I arrive and park my Jeep in the parking area, next to a bunch of little coupes. I'm so nervous, I can barely breathe. I stumble out of my car, feeling out of place already. I’m not used to heels, but they are surprisingly comfy, and I can actually walk in them, which is a good thing. Thank God we didn't pick tall heels. I'm sure everyone else will be wearing five inch heels, but that's okay. And to make matters worse, I’m already short, so that's not going to be great, but what can you do.
I stumble a bit only because I'm nervous. Yes, I’m that kind of nervous, the kind where you forget how to walk properly. My heart is pounding as I approach the main door. I do not ring the doorbell. I just stand there for the longest time, contemplating my life choices, and the decision that has led me to be here right now. I want to turn on my heel, but I’m already here, and I need the money. And besides, Cassie would be greatly disappointed in me if I did run, and I can’t let my best friend down.
Butterflies whirl around in my stomach as I finally press the doorbell. A few beats later, the door is slowly opened, and Martha stands there with a wide smile.Does she live here full-time? She must work twenty-four seven.
“Anna, so nice to see you again,” she says as she welcomes me in.
Oh, crap.
She thinks my name is Anna because that's what I wrote down on my questionnaire. I need to remember that my name is Anna, not Clara.
“It’s so nice to see you again,” she says once more, and then she leans in closer. “I was hoping you’d make it in,” she whispers. “I like you. You’re sweet.”
“Uh… thanks.” I’m once again mesmerized by the space. It’s like an art gallery in here.
“You are a bit late, but no worries,” she says.
“Sorry… my friend was in charge of making me presentable, and she’s not the fastest…” My words trail off.
She smiles. “Well, she did a great job. You look lovely.”
I blush a little. I haven’t even stepped into the party, and I’m already feeling ill-at-ease.
“There's quite a few of us here already,” she tells me, “so make yourself comfortable. Introduce yourself, chat a bit.”
Easier said than done.
She leads me to the great room, and when I say great, I mean great. It must be two stories high, with copper accented coffered ceilings. It’s airy and bright and contemporary; white walls dotted with colorful artwork, and floor-to-ceiling windows.
There are so many women, about a dozen of them. They are busy mingling, and not a single one of them seems to notice me walk in. As my eyes dart across the room, a realization dawns on me.
This is a harem. Colton Rossi has a harem, and I am a part of it. Suddenly, I feel very shameful. I know I should walk straight out of here, but I probably won't get my money if I do. And the chances are slim that I'll be back, so I may as well soldier on, and make the most of this.
