“Okay, you’re good to go,” she says. “You’re presentable.”
I roll my eyes.
“Thanks Trish. I didn’t know that Pretty Pink Nail Salon required its nail techs to look like movie stars. Do actresses use glitter on the red carpet, come to think of it? Or is that considered tacky?”
She merely shrugs.
“You need to look good, Margot. It’s high time because he’s waiting outside.”
I stare at her before narrowing my eyes.
“He? My next client is a woman. What are you talking about?”
But Trish is now pushing me out from the private office area in back and into the public area of the shop. I try to carry myself with grace and dignity, slapping a smile on my face to meet this new client. But instead, I stop in my tracks when I see who it is. Because it’s Dane, looking huge, forbidding, and just a wee bit anxious. His black hair swoops over one eye, and those blue eyes seize mine.
“Margot,” he rumbles. “Can we talk?”
13
Dane
The curvy girl looks even more beautiful than I remember. Of course, I’ve seen Margot from a distance every now and then, but I haven’t been within a ten foot vicinity of her for months now. She’s even more ravishing than before. Those pink cheeks are flushed and her rosebud lips part in a startled “O.” Her curly hair is wild, and … is that glitter on her cheeks? Somehow, she seems to have gotten some sparkly stuff on her face. But no matter because I’m here to hash out what’s happened.
“Can we talk?” I ask in a low voice. “I need to catch you up.”
Margot shakes her head.
“No, I’m working Dane. This isn’t a good time.”
Suddenly, a sassy redhead from the back calls out.
“I can take your next client, Marg. Why don’t you step out for a coffee? Or feel free to use the back room here, if you want.”
Margot turns and shoots daggers at the redhead.
“Thanks Trish, but Dane was just leaving. Weren’t you?” she asks me meaningfully.
But I’m an asshole when I want to be, and right now, the urge to claim this woman is frighteningly strong. I have to tell her what’s happened, and I grab her elbow, dragging her to the back.
“Thanks so much,” I tell the redhead. “We’ll just be a few minutes.”
The woman called Trish nods and smiles knowingly.
“No problem. Take all the time you want, Mister.”
Finally, I manage to wrangle Margot into a small office that they have at the back of the nail salon before slamming the door shut and locking it. The space is nothing to speak of. It’s small and cramped with a metal desk from the 1970’s as well as metal shelves filled with folders, some of them yellow and aged.
“Wow, who knew that a nail salon had so many files,” I remark casually. “I thought there’d be a lot of chemicals and linens, but I guess a business is a business. Everyone has to file paperwork.”
Margot spins on me, her expression angry.
“For your information, we do not belong here. You do not belong here. This is the manager’s office, and should only be used in times of duress.”
I nod amiably.
“Well, this is definitely a time of duress, sweetheart.”
“You can’t just storm in here and tell me what to do!” Margot says, her voice growing louder and stronger by the minute. “You don’t own me –”
But here, her words are cut off because I lean in to kiss that peachy pink pout. It’s lush and tastes like strawberries, exactly as I remember. She freezes beneath my lips but then melts into me, her arms twining about my neck.
“Margot, sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much,” I breathe against her slim neck. “Have you missed me?”
But then she pulls away, and this time, I see that the girl is literally shaking. There are tears in her eyes, and they begin to pool and spill over as I watch.
“You can’t do this to me, Dane. Please don’t do this to me,” she begs. “It hurts too much.”
Immediately, I gather her into my arms.
“It won’t hurt after I tell you what’s happened, baby girl. Let me start from the beginning.”
She pulls away again, her eyes dull this time.
“You’re having a baby with another woman, Dane,” she says in a slow voice, her syllables over-enunciated. “A baby. There’s no room for me.”
That’s where she’s gone wrong.
“No,” I say forcefully. “There’s no baby, and there never was.”
Margot blinks and then her head jerks up.
“What? What do you mean? I was there when Amelia told you she was pregnant.”
I nod.
“Yes, but she made it all up. There was never a baby. There was never a pregnancy, even. She made it all up as a ruse to get back together.”
Margot looks utterly confused.
“But why? Why would anyone go to such lengths to try to rekindle a relationship? It seems absolutely crazy, not to mention desperate.”