She stood back for a few seconds, holding up the secured ponytail so they could all see what she had done.
“Finally, we’ll roll up the last ponytail over the others, and secure them with the bobby pins. I think about six should do it.”
When she was finished, she stepped back. “Voila! What do you think?”
While the other girls examined her work, Morgan was turning side to side, doing her best to see the back of her head in the mirror.
“Can I borrow your phone to take a pic?” Amber asked Priscilla.
“Great idea.” She pulled it out of her pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over.
Amber took the photo then showed it to Morgan, who gushed, “I love it!”
Wade popped his head inside the room. “Hello, ladies.”
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
“What’s up, Wade.”
He grinned at the various greetings, then caught Priscilla’s eye. “Are you ready to go, Priscilla?”
“She’s Cilla,” Amber said.
Wade’s eyes widened. “Well, okay then. Ready, Cilla?”
Reluctantly, she said her goodbyes and together they took the stairs down to the first floor.
“Sorry to have to leave you alone,” Wade said. “Did you get enough of a look around?”
“For now, yes.”
He hesitated. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to my office, but you are welcome to come out here anytime you like. It is somewhat of a drive, however.”
“No problem, Wade.” She began walking toward the exit. “I’ll talk, you drive.”
Minutes later they were on their way back to the coast.
Wade switched on smooth jazz, the instrumental music feeding their quiet thoughts until Priscilla spoke up. “I would like to volunteer at the center.”
“Like I said, if you don’t mind the drive, you can visit anytime.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I want to really get involved.” She swiveled around in her seat, her gestures animated. “I can teach the girls how to do their hair.”
“Their hair.”
“Yes. How to braid it—oh, you know there are so many kinds of braids.”
“I did not know that.”
She frowned. “Don’t be a man right now.”
He coughed a laugh. “What?”
“Seriously, Wade, there are all kinds of braids: snake, waterfall, Dutch, and of course, French. And all kinds of ‘updos’ too. I want to be there for them to, basically, answer their questions about hairstyles and hygiene.”
“I’m sure they’d love that.”
She nodded once. “It’s settled then. On another subject, are you aware of the way Candace looks at you?”
He turned down the music. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
“Candace. She’s quite interested in you.”
“That is ... so far from being true.”
Priscilla leaned her head back and gaped at him. “You’re oblivious. But that’s better than giving someone the cold shoulder outright. I will say, though, that maybe a girlfriend would be good for you, Wade. Might soften some of those edges.
“Are you trying to fix me? Do I look like I need fixing?”
“I like people to be happy.”
“Not everyone finds their satisfaction in happiness.”
“Oh no? Then why are you driving like a maniac?”
He laughed. “What?”
“You’re speeding now and I can tell it makes you exceedingly happy.”
He glanced at his dashboard, and by the sound of the engine, he was easing up on the gas pedal. “There. Happy?”
“You mean do I feel as if I might live? Then, yes, I’m quite happy.”
Wade wagged his head.
“So, as I was saying ... where do you find your happiness, Wade? I mean, other than in your maniacal driving habits.”
He sputtered a little, obviously agitated, though she couldn’t fathom why. “I find it in my work,” he said, “in making progress on my pursuits. Those kinds of things.”
“That’s not happiness—that’s simply coping.”
“Really. So in addition to your cosmetology license, you have a degree in psychology now?”
She brushed the air with a hand. “That was rude.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing. “Sorry.”
“Listen, I know what it’s like to bury yourself in work, travel—you name it. But what helps me more is quite simply looking for the bright side. Looking forward helps me overcome rather than dwelling on the sins of yesterday.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “You don’t look like someone who’s faced much adversity.”
“My husband left me.”
The words dropped from her mouth starkly against the dark night. She wasn’t looking for sympathy, but she sensed something was bothering Wade, and it very well didn’t help for him to think that her life was as rosy as it may have looked.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “Is there any chance for a reconciliation?”
“He left me for my neighbor, well, our neighbor. Then they had a baby together.” She glanced out the window, the terrain in shadows. “Taking him back isn’t an option.”
“I understand.” He paused. “I hadn’t realized you were married before.”
“The ironic thing is I always wanted children, but he did not.”
“So you agreed.”
“Agreed to what? Not have children?”
He glanced at her. “I apologize. It was not my place to ask.”
“It was a fair question, since I was the one who brought this up.”
He nodded.
She sighed. “That’s complicated. But ultimately, marriage isn’t about always getting what one wants.”
He glanced over at her. “I’ve never been married, so excuse me if I am overstepping here, but it must have been difficult to hide the desire for something as life changing as children.”
She shrugged, suddenly tired. Maybe divulging personal information from her past hadn’t been such a grand idea after all. “You know what they say ... c’est la vie. I’ve found a new life here, so I have nothing to complain about.”
“Are you happy?”
“Darling, I live near the sea with friends who have become like family to me. What’s not to love?” She put a smile on her face, which made her feel better already. “Okay, now that I’ve told you something personal, how about you?”
“How about me what?”
“Tell me something about you, Wade Prince.”
“You mean other than what you know already—that I had my heart broken publicly?”
“Just a blip on an otherwise fascinating life, I’m sure. What else have you got?”
He chuckled. “That’s one way to look at it.” He inhaled roughly before speaking again. “Fine. Here’s something: the charity is out of money.”
“Oh no. Now, that’s tragic news. But it’s not exactly personal, now is it.”
“It is when you believe in something wholeheartedly and it is struggling to keep its doors open.”
“I can see that. Yes, absolutely. What happened?”
His expression turned grim. “A major sponsor reneged.”
“That’s terrible. But surely there is something that can be done? Is there a plan to recoup what has been lost? Perhaps some fundraisers? An auction—I’m sure the inn would donate a weekend stay or two. Or perhaps, sell bricks with people’s names on them?”
He peered at her, a smile forming. “You really do look on the bright side of things, don’t you?”
“Well, darling, you need a plan if you’re going to turn this around. Do you have one? Sophia runs social media campaigns all the time for her fashion line. Perhaps you could talk to her.”
Wade released a sigh. “That’s not necessary. The plan I have for the center is more ... personal.”
“Oh good. So you have a plan.”
“Yes. Yes, I d
o.”
A pop of relief settled within her, but it was temporary. Now that she’d seen the center and had been inspired by its potential for growth, she hated to see it fade away. She stole another glance at Wade. His eyes were on the road, the firm set of his jaw illuminated by passing traffic. Gently, she asked, “What are you going to do?”
“For starters,” he said, “I’m going to donate a million dollars.”
Wade hoped he wouldn’t regret telling Priscilla his secret.
“A million dollars,” she had repeated. “Well. If that’s only for starters, I cannot wait to hear what else you’ve got up your sleeves.”
The lack of surprise on her face told him that she did not believe him. Did she think he had been toying with her? He pondered that. It might be better to leave it that way. Maybe this was his “out.”
She continued, a sober quality displayed in her profile. “Have you thought of how you will eat?”
“What do you mean?”
She turned to face him, bare concern on her face. “I mean, when you empty out your savings. I can’t imagine you’d have much left to live on after pouring a million bucks into the center—as noble as that is. Unless I’m being presumptuous.”
He stayed silent.
She squinted at him. “You mean you have more than a million in the bank?” When he didn’t answer right away—did she really expect him to answer that?—she said, “How much more?”
“That’s mighty forward of you, Ms. Cornwall.”
“I’m inquisitive. Comes with being a hairdresser.”
“There is the potential for more, yes.”
“Wow.”
“Yes.”
This time, she fell silent. She watched him beneath eyelashes.
He cut into the quiet. “Best not to spread that around.”
His cellphone rang and he glanced at it on its stand, sensing a scowl creeping onto his face. Laura was calling but he let it go to voicemail.
“So,” Priscilla continued, “how did you acquire a million extra dollars ... may I ask?”
“The old-fashioned way.”
She continued to stare at him.
“You know, hard work. Good investments. ADHD.”
She laughed now. “What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t stop much.”
“As in, you don’t sleep?”
“True. And I don’t usually discuss my financial state with ...”
“Strangers?”
He paused. “Do not be offended. Let me explain.” He exhaled. “I own a building in New York with other investors. Right now we are working on selling it to a developer with incredible plans for the neighborhood, but the deal is contingent on them convincing the entire block to sell. They are almost there.”
“So does this mean you will be donating your proceeds to EduCenter?”
He turned slightly, one eye raised. “Part of them.”
“So you’ll be donating part of your proceeds?”
“Right.”
“And it’s a sure thing?”
A knife of tension had been in his back since the onset of this deal. Her question turned it slightly. “Nothing is a sure thing, but I believe the developer will succeed.”
“What happens if he doesn’t?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I find all of this fascinating, but if you would rather not divulge ...”
He exhaled. “The building needs work. Over time it has come to our attention that, should we hold onto the property much longer, we will have many repairs to complete—expensive ones.”
“So this deal will be quite a blessing for you.”
He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. “Yes.”
“Then, for your sake—and the center’s sake—I hope it all goes well for you.” She smiled at him. “I’ll pray for you.”
“Thank you.”
“And I will also pray you get some sleep.” She laughed when she said this.
He leaned toward her, his voice a whisper. “So now you know something personal about me.”
“What? That you don’t sleep much?”
He might have allowed her to think that’s exactly what he meant, but she continued, “Or that you’re a millionaire?”
He pressed his lips into a line for a moment. “Something like that.”
Slowly, she turned. “Wait ... just how rich will this deal make you, Wade?” Laughter bubbled out of her, the sound of it infectious. “Don’t tell me it’ll make you one of those billionaires.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘one of those’?”
Priscilla leaned against the door of the car and stared at him with an incredulous smile riding on her face. “Like a hero in a romance novel.” She paused. “Wade Prince, are you on your way to becoming a billionaire?”
“Let’s just say ... I’m working on it.”
Priscilla hadn’t always planned on being a hairdresser. Not at all. Her parents, long retired in Miami—a cliché, but true—each had ideas of what she should become. Her mother thought, perhaps, a ballerina, while her father believed she had the focus and boldness to become a lawyer.
Dance classes lasted until about third grade. And she got over the thrill of arguing in public when Norma Eaton poked her sharpened claws at her after their teacher, Mr. Franz, declared her the debate winner in ninth grade English. They’d debated the merits of baked macaroni and cheese versus PB&Js in the school cafeteria. She, of course, won on the side of mac ’n’ cheese.
Priscilla’s shears moved deftly across Jackson’s full-bodied hair, her cutting tool an extension of her hands. She snipped and shaped, scissor over comb, trepidation long ago replaced by confidence. After training as a stylist, she put in hundreds of additional hours learning barbering skills—and she never looked back. She loved her work, the creativity in it, the resulting satisfaction on the faces of her clients.
“Shew,” said Katrina, who swept the clippings from around her chair across the room. “I’ll say it again—those are some mad barbering skills you’ve got, girl.”
Priscilla smiled at her co-worker. “Thanks, beautiful.”
In the mirror, she noticed Jackson’s eyes snap away from his phone, a confused look on his face. Priscilla winked at him. “You’re beautiful, too.”
Katrina cackled.
Jackson gave her a lopsided grin. “Guess you weren’t talking about me, were you?”
“I’ll tell you who’s beautiful,” Katrina said. “That Wade Prince is yum-my.” She shook her head. “That stud was in here earlier and—woo!—what eye candy he is.”
Jackson gave Katrina a quizzical stare through the mirror. “Aren’t you a happily married woman, K?”
“Yes, sir. What’s your point?”
Priscilla held back a laugh. She switched to clippers and began evening out Jackson’s sideburns.
“Anyhoo,” Katrina continued, “that Wade was sitting over there in Manuel’s chair earlier looking like he just walked off a movie set, all primped and camera-ready—even before he got a haircut.”
Jackson shook his head and Priscilla yelped. “Whoa there. I’ve got sharp scissors in my hand, boss.”
He grinned. “Sorry about that.”
They fell into the lull of listening to instrumental spa music as Jackson returned to engaging with his phone and she continued to shape his wavy hair.
When she had been with Wade the day before, he hadn’t mentioned anything about coming into the spa today. Was he avoiding her? She still didn’t know what to make of the truth bomb he had dropped into their conversation on the way home. The one about writing a million-dollar check to the center once the building deal went through. If it went through.
Priscilla paused. It wasn’t every day that she was tooling around the state with a man on his way to becoming a billionaire. Actually, that was more of a never-day occurrence. Not that it changed how she felt about him—he was still a good-looking, but somewhat irascible, guy who con
founded her every time she encountered him.
Her hands slowed. “That’s quite the scar you have hidden away up here,” she said to Jackson. “Does it have a good story to go with it?”
“Ah, yes. I was skateboarding down a perilously steep hill when I took a corner too fast and ended up rolling down the face of a sheer cliff.”
She put her poker face on.
He glanced at her in the mirror. “Not buying it, are you?”
“Nope.”
He chuckled. “I tripped over my untied shoes when I was a teen. Mom had warned me, but I had to learn the hard way.”
She nodded, smiling. “Don’t we all.”
Laughter bubbled up from them both until Priscilla’s mind trailed to a scar of her own, from a procedure she had undergone long ago, something she almost never thought about. She swallowed, burying that thought. “So,” she said, keeping her tone light, “what do you know about Wade’s love life?”
Jackson curled his upper lip. “Guys don’t talk about stuff like that.”
“Ha. Sure. Okay.”
“You question me? Your boss?”
“Oh, my. You’re playing the boss card. In that case, I give up.”
“You give up to easy. Okay, fine. I’ll tell you what I know.”
She shrugged, her smile lighthearted. “If you must.”
“You already know about his former relationship with Sophia, of course. What else do you want to know?”
“Oh, I don’t know ... well, has he ever dated anyone else, to your recollection?”
“Hm. I vaguely remember someone a long time ago. I think she worked for him. I was probably in high school then. She had short black hair and her name was like a flower.”
“Oh, really. Was it Petunia? Daisy? Lily?”
He shrugged and raised two open palms. “That’s all I got. How about you?”
“Me, what?”
“Are you interested in Wade? That is why you are asking about him. Right?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but Meg strolled in before the words would form.
Meg bent down and gave her husband a smack of her lips onto his cheek. She hovered there, smiling at him in the mirror though they were only inches apart. “Did you just try to set up Priscilla with Wade?”
Beneath a Billion Stars Page 4
