I sighed. “He did vote ‘no’.”
She waved her hand. “He’s obviously an idiot.”
“Maybe, but there has to be a reason why he wants me to drop out. Maybe it’s because we know each other, and he’s afraid of getting kicked off the show?”
“Past tense. You knew each other.”
“Still, I just can’t believe he asked Remy to work on me.”
“You actually know Ransom?” asked the seventeen-year-old girl in my chair.
“Kind of.”
She sighed, dreamily. “Is he as gorgeous in real life as he is on television?”
“Cock-bite-shithead,” murmured Mrs. Conway.
Smiling, I turned back to my customer. “Well…”
Just then the front door of the salon jingled, letting us know that someone had entered. I stepped around the partition to see who it was, and nearly dropped my comb.
Ransom.
Along with two men, who I assumed were his bodyguards, although he towered over the both of them with his tall, lean frame.
Taking a deep breath, I set the comb down on the counter. “Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute, Eve.”
“Okay.”
Ransom stared at me with such intensity as I moved towards him that I was suddenly conscious of every step that I took in my white leather boots.
Nobody had a right to look that handsome, I thought. The fact that he was dressed in a tight, white T-shirt with low-riding jeans, and had obviously spent some kind of time in the gym didn’t help matters either.
“Ransom,” I said. “What an unexpected surprise.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “You left out ‘pleasant’.”
I smiled coolly. “Did I?”
He let out a low, rumbly chuckle and something whirled in my stomach.
I folded my arms under my chest. “What do you want?”
He looked around. “This is a salon, right? Isn’t it obvious?” he said, running a hand through his long hair. “I need a haircut.”
“I see that. Let me check when Felicia is available,” I said, grabbing the schedule. There was no way in hell that I was going to cut his hair.
He stepped closer to the counter and leaned forward. “Are you available?” he asked in a low voice. “Because you’re the only one I want touching me.”
I knew what he meant but it didn’t stop my cheeks from burning. I stared down at the schedule, petrified of looking up into those silvery eyes. “I’m busy right now,” I said, evenly. “If you can come back in an hour, I might be able to fit you in.”
He tapped his fingers on the counter. “That’s fine, my afternoon is free. I’ll just wait here.”
Crap.
“Uh, are you sure? There’s a coffee shop next door, maybe you’d like to wait there, instead?” I asked, looking up.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Isn’t it the other way around?” I said quickly, unable to stop myself.
Our eyes held for a few seconds, and then he grinned. “Touché.”
I pointed towards a stack of magazines sitting on the coffee table in the lounge. “Well, if you are going to stay, feel free to check out the magazines. We also have a soda machine in back, if you need caffeine or sugar.”
He nodded and ran a hand through his wavy dark hair. “Thanks.”
“You bet.”
He turned back towards his security guards, murmured something, and seconds later they left the salon without him.
I put down the pen and nodded. “Um, I’ll be back at my station, if you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, walking over towards the magazines. He picked up one of the tabloids, and chuckled. “Looks like I made the cover again. Oh, and look, I’m a father of triplets.”
My eyes widened. “Triplets?”
He shook his head, walked over to the garbage can, and threw the magazine away. “The bullshit they come up with.”
“So, it’s not true?”
His eyebrows lifted. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“My friend told me that there is usually some truth about all of those stories.”
“The only thing true about that particular magazine is the month and year on the cover, Tiffany. Don’t believe everything you hear or see.”
I lowered my voice. “So you’re not an out-of-control-rock-star who drinks to access, drives like a bat out of hell, and goes through women like water?”
“Rolling Stone may have exaggerated, a little. I don’t drink and drive, like a bat out of hell at the same time. That would be pretty fucking stupid.”
“Right,” I snickered.
He laughed and picked up a magazine with a sexy model on the front. “Looks like Sela Royce is pregnant.”
“Do you know her?” I asked, remembering that Sela had once been engaged to Sinclair’s boyfriend.
“I only knew her one night,” he answered with a devilish grin. “At least, that’s what she said. I guess I was too shit-faced to recall much of anything.”
I snorted. “You’re a sick man, Ransom.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Hey, she’s the one that took advantage of me when I was hammered. You tell me who’s sick?”
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s tough being me,” he went on, sitting down near the window. “Women are always trying to get me into the sack. I mean, hell, God not only gave me a decent voice, but he also made me irresistible to women. It’s damn exhausting.”
“Same old Ransom, I see. Cocky and arrogant.”
“I wish I was the same old Ransom,” he answered, his face growing serious. He opened up the magazine, and started flipping through it. “So, I guess I’ll be right here when you’re ready for me.”
“Okay,” I said, wondering if he was breaking some kind of ‘American Icon’ rule by being here, and if so, why he was risking it. I knew one thing, there was no way in hell I’d let him talk me out of dropping out of the contest. I didn’t know what kind of game he was playing, but I wasn’t the young girl he once knew, nor was I easily manipulated.
Chapter Seven
Ransom
I stretched my legs out and yawned as I caught glimpses of Tiffany while she cut her client’s hair. I’d been up most of the night again, this time sober, which was rare. But, I needed to clear my head, and figure out how I was going to persuade her to drop out of the competition.
Taffy.
Seeing her today only strengthened my resolve. She was still naïve and much too innocent for Hollywood. I’d witnessed firsthand how tainted the road to superstardom could be, and if she went all the way, I was convinced that like me, she’d lose herself and regret making wrong choices for the rest of her life.
Our eyes met briefly again as she peeked around the partition and I bit back a smile. From the way she’d blushed, it was obvious that she still had a little crush on me, just like when she was a teenager. But she wasn’t in junior-high anymore and the young doe-eyed girl that I’d remembered had grown into a beautiful, sexy, young woman. One that was off limits.
But damn had she blossomed.
It didn’t help that today she wore a short, yellow sundress that emphasized her toned legs and delicate tanned shoulders. The horny bastard that I was, I pictured her thighs wrapped around my waist, her blond hair fanned behind her head, and my jeans tightened.
Fuck.
I had to stop thinking of her in that way. This was Tiffany. I seriously needed to clear my fucking head.
She said something to the girl and then they both peeked around the partition at me, and giggled. It brought me back to the years when I still lived at home with my sister, and mother. It seemed like yesterday that Tiffany and Remy used to play hopscotch or rollerblade on the driveway while I practiced with my old band, Soul Bandits, in the garage. I could usually see the two of them through the window, and it always brought a smile to my face when they’d lip-sync or dance to one of our songs. In those days So
ul Bandits had been more of a cover band, although I usually slipped in a couple of the songs I’d written at each performance. Eventually, we were playing at parties, weddings, and local dive-bars, until we’d graduated to the larger venues. Then, when I’d entered the American Icon contest on a dare four years ago and had actually won, everything changed, including my friendship with the guys from the band. Instead of being happy and supportive, they blamed me for the band crumbling.
“Can’t you get another singer?” I’d asked Robby, the lead guitarist, and my best friend. “At least until this thing is over?”
“You just don’t get it, man,” he’d said. “We’re a team and your voice is part of what makes us what we are. Shit, Ransom, it holds us together, bro. You leave, and it will never be the same.”
“So, what do you want me to do? Turn it all away? We’re talking about millions of dollars, Robby, and a chance to go all the way to the top. You seriously expect me to give that up? I would never lay that kind of pressure on you, man.”
Robby sighed. “No, of course not. Just… don’t forget about us. In fact, force them to sign all of us on now that you’ve won. We’re a team for Christ’s sake.”
Unfortunately, I’d signed my life away when I’d originally entered the singing contest. Not only was I appointed a new band hand-selected by the show’s sponsoring record producers, but every decision regarding my career, was taken away from me. I had no control of anything and all because I’d been a cocky, arrogant punk who thought he’d known what he was doing, and hadn’t bothered to read the fine print.
“Hey.”
I’d been staring blindly at one of the magazines when the other stylist, an attractive mocha-skinned woman, with thick false lashes and a blonde weave, approached me. With her hour-glass figure and round booty, she reminded me of one of the chicks in my last music video.
“Hey there,” I replied, sitting up.
“Hey, Mr. Ransom,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve got something I want to say.”
I smiled. “It’s just Ransom.”
She raised her hand and I stared in awe at her long, blue nails, wondering how anyone could cut hair with those talons. “Whatever, just listen up, okay? I don’t know what kind of game you’re playin’, but my girl, Tiffany, she can sing. With a voice like that, she don’t need to be cutting hair or any of this shit, so quit doing whatever it is that you’re doing, and let her be, you know what I’m saying?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Whatever it is that I’m doing?”
She glared at me. “Don’t play me, Mr. Rock-star, okay? I’m not twenty-one, and I’m not wet behind the ears. Stay out of Tiffany’s way in this contest. You got yours, and now it’s her turn to get hers.”
“But-,”
“Na… na… na… ” she said, shaking index finger at me. “No buts. Just let the girl reach for her own stars, and keep your ass planted on the ground, far away from her. You feel me?”
“Ah… I guess.”
She pursed her lips, and glared at me. “You guess? Let me tell you something-”
“Hey, what’s going on over here?” asked Tiffany, coming up behind the other stylist.
“It’s all good, I’m just welcoming Mr. Celebrity into our salon, Tiff,” said the woman, turning away. She walked back to her customer, hips swaying with attitude. “Make sure he understands a few things.”
Tiffany raised her eyebrows.
I shrugged.
“Could you do me a favor?” asked Tiffany.
“What?”
“My customer, Eve, wants your autograph, but she’s too shy to ask you herself.”
I looked over at the young girl peeking around the room divider, and winked at her, making her giggle. “Of course.”
Tiffany handed me a note pad and pen. “Thanks Ransom.”
When I finished writing, I handed the notepad back to Tiffany, and she read it. “To Eve, dream big, and never lose sight of yourself. Ransom,” she smiled. “Oh, that’s very sweet.”
“Yep, that’s me. Sweet,” I replied, dryly.
She chuckled. “So, I’m almost done with Eve. You still doing, okay?”
I cracked a smile, and stretched my arms behind my head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m doing just fine here.”
I was actually doing better than fine. For the first time in a while, I was doing something completely normal – waiting to get my hair cut without bodyguards or media annoying the fuck out of me.
“Well, good.”
“Just take your time,” I said, closing my eyes. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Chapter Eight
Tiffany
“So,” I said when Ransom planted his butt into my chair, ten minutes later. “How do you want it?”
He raised his eyebrows, and stared at me in the mirror. “How can I get it?” he asked with a wicked grin.
I groaned. “For thirty dollars, not the way you’re thinking.”
He laughed, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile of my own as I draped the plastic cape around his shoulders.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“About two years,” I replied, noticing that my hands were trembling a little again. The affect he had on me was unnerving.
“Do you like it?”
“I really do. It’s fun improving people’s images.”
He rubbed his chin. “Hm...”
“Seriously,” I said, running my fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness. “What do you want?”
“Hell, just cut it all off,” he said, waving his hand. “Well… not all of it… just make it short. I need a change.”
“Okay, if you say so,” I said. “Why don’t you follow me and we’ll wet your hair down?”
He stood up, followed me over to the sink, and then sat down on the brown leather reclining chair.
“Lean back, please,” I said, turning on the water.
He did and then looked up at me, his eyes studying my face intently.
“What?” I asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
His lips curled up. “Nothing.”
“You know, you can close your eyes.”
“Does my staring bother you? Hell, most girls would be thrilled,” he said with a shit-eating grin.
“I’m not most girls. Besides, we’ve known each other for years, and I’m not going to fawn over you just because you’re famous now.”
“No?”
I grabbed the hose and began rinsing his hair with warm water. “No. Now, close your eyes.”
He closed his eyes, and smirked. “I never knew you were so damn bossy, Taffy.”
I deliberately sprayed his eyelids with water and he frowned. “Oh, sorry,” I said, smirking.
He wiped the water from his eyelid with his fingertips, and pursed his lips. “Right.”
“So, um, is the water temperature okay? Not too hot or cold?” I asked, fighting the urge to touch his five-o’clock shadow with my fingertips, and press my lips against his.
Crap, why did I still have to be so attracted to this man?
Even now I pictured myself sitting on his lap in the damn recliner.
His grin was dark and sexy. “It’s pretty good but if you want to go hotter, damn girl, I won’t object one bit.”
I swallowed hard. “Actually, I think we’d better cool you down,” I said, meaning myself more than anything.
He opened his eyes, and grabbed my wrist to stop me from adjusting the water. “Hey, I’m not ready to be cooled down. Now, unless you’re prepared to get wet with me,” he said in that deep, silky voice of his. “I’m going to request that you keep that water the way it is, and no funny business.”
“I’ll leave it alone,” I replied, feeling the heat rise into my cheeks. I wasn’t sure which was crazier- the fact that we were arguing about the water or that it was turning me on.
He released my wrist, and closed his eyes, again. “Too bad. I kind of liked the idea of seeing you wet.”
This time my cheeks weren’t the only things hot. Thankful that he’d closed his eyes, I shoved all kinky thoughts of him out of my mind, and quickly changed the subject. “So, um, what’s it like being famous?”
His lips tightened. “Not nearly as thrilling as you think.”
“Oh, why is that?”
Before he could answer, Felicia peeked her head around the corner. “Tiffany, Justin is here.”
My stomach turned sour. “What?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you want me to get rid of him?”
That was one thing I loved about Felicia, she wasn’t afraid to bust anyone’s balls.
I sighed. “No, I’ll just see what he wants.”
Justin was my ex-boyfriend, my slightly-psychotic ex-boyfriend who had a temper, and a jealous streak that had snuck up on me right after I’d turned twenty-one, and had become of legal age to drink. We’d been dating for two months, and he’d actually been an amazingly attentive boyfriend until my very first ‘girl’s-night-out’, where he ended showing his true colors. I still felt nauseated as I thought back to that night, which had started out awesome but ended so horribly.
“You went clubbing in that?” he’d asked after my friends had dropped me off at my apartment, where I found him sitting alone in the dark, obviously waiting for me.
I’d stared down at my faded blue jeans, white camisole, and mini-jean jacket, wondering what had gotten him so riled up. All of my skin had been covered, save for a little cleavage, but that was only when I’d bent down. In fact, most of the girls in the bar had been naked compared to what I’d been wearing that night. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
He’d chugged down the rest of his beer and set it on the glass coffee table. “Your jeans are too tight, and everyone in the club was probably leering at your tits, which are barely covered in that little top,” he’d slurred. “It’s not really appropriate, unless you’re trying to draw attention to yourself.”
Shocked at his behavior, I’d laughed nervously, “Justin, there’s nothing wrong with this outfit. You know that I dress like this all the time at work. Besides, if someone had been checking me out, who really cares? You’re my boyfriend, and the only one that matters.”
Tangled Mess Page 5
