Submission Specialist(Still a Bad Boy #2)(85)

“Mmmm, that’s divine, what are you wearing?” asked Becky.

“Uh… a shirt and…”

“No, your perfume.”

“Oh, that’s from AquaVell, the masseuse used some kind of aromatic oils.”

“Ah, AquaVell, of course. Their own stuff, nobody knows where they get it from. Smell her, Beth, you know what I’m thinking would go with this?”

Beth leaned in and they both inhaled me like I was a flower before looking at each other in agreement.

“Grand Extrait!” they chorused.

Becky knelt by the side of my chair and tilted my head every which way with gentle pressure on my chin, inspecting how I looked with light coming from different angles I guessed.

“Wow, honey, your skin is flawless. Look at her bone structure, Beth, you see? Why are you hiding under this mop?”

I shrugged. There wasn’t enough time in the day to go through all the reasons. Because I didn’t know what to do with it for one, because hiding had always been the path of least pain for another. Becky stood and moved behind me, running her fingers through my hair, draping some over her hand like a bolt of cloth for a project she was considering, and inspecting the tips.

“Well, it’s healthy, thick, and long at least. That’s more than you can say for most people. We can work miracles with that. Do you trust me, Kendall?”

I looked at all the pictures on the wall of celebrities and random beautiful women posing with Becky along with notes thanking her. Then I looked back at myself, the same scared small-town girl I’d always seen in every mirror my whole life. I gulped.

“OK. I trust you.”

That trust was immediately shaken when Becky took me to a private room and the first item she unveiled from her grand plan was for me to have a Brazilian wax. I almost ran for the hills, but she did a remarkable job of lying about how much it would hurt, and how it was all part of her head-to-toe service.

“It’s all part of the attitude, honey,” she said. “It puts a special kind of look in your eye in a way that nothing else can. Confidence.”

When Becky’s girl was finished with the lower half of my body, legs too, I was left alone for a moment to get dressed again. I ran my fingers over my pubic mound, marveling at how incredibly smooth it was under my fingertips and the heightened sensation on my skin.

Every move I made drew my attention between my legs, I had to believe her when she said it put a special kind of look in your eye. My jeans slid up as if they were made of silk, I’d never managed to get my legs this smooth before.

Over the next hour or two an army of women swarmed around me, led by General Becky, doing things with scissors and make-up brushes that I couldn’t begin to understand. At last, Becky held out her hands, told everybody to step back, and pulled a sheet off the mirror.

With all the time they took, I was almost expecting to look like a painted clown, but what I saw was like an alternate-reality version of myself. It was a version of myself where I’d moved to Hollywood as a child, found my fame and fortune on the big screen, and now I was the country’s darling.

If I didn’t know I had make-up on, I wouldn’t have been sure of it from looking at my reflection. Everything Becky had done was subtly perfect. I looked healthy and glowing, my hair had a slick sheen to it and flowed like a wavy liquid off my shoulders as I turned my head slowly from side to side.

“There, Beth, see? That’s what I’m in this business for. Moments like these. That look on her face. I’m going to cry.”

The front door opened and a man with a clipboard entered. He talked with the girl at the front desk and my attention was torn from the mirror when I heard him say he had a delivery for Kendall Brookes.

“Over here, come through,” said Becky.

The man was holding a small gift-wrapped package, and I slipped my hand out from under the hairdresser’s poncho thing to accept it.

“Sign here, please,” he said.

I put my mark on the line he indicated and he thanked me and went on his way. Beth and Becky crowded around. Even Becky’s small army, now busy with other customers, were looking out the sides of their eyes.

The wrapping paper came off and joined my hair clippings on the ground to reveal a little jewelry box. When I opened it, my eyes widened.

“Are… are these real?” I asked the two of them.

In the box was a pair of earrings with, to my eyes, huge diamonds set in platinum, silver, or white gold. Beth and Becky crowded in for an even closer look.

“Tiffany doesn’t do cubic zirconia, doll,” said Beth.

Inside the lid was a small note folded in half. I pulled it out and read it.

“You deserve this – J.B.”