by M. H. Soars
The ginger’s face turns beet red when he finally catches on. He clears his throat and turns to stare at his laptop.
“Good. I would like to book recording studio time as soon as possible. I’m trying to get your debut single in one of the CW’s new shows.”
“Wow, really? That’d be amazing.”
“I was just telling Tabatha that I hired a new stylist.”
My friend turns to Allan and glares at him. “And I already told you I’m not happy about that. We don’t need a makeover.”
“I’d be down for a makeover,” Remi says as she joins us in the open room.
“Where did you come from? I didn’t hear the doorbell,” I say.
“Uh, Oliver gave us keys yesterday. He didn’t give you one?”
I whip my face toward him. He is already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. “No, he didn’t.”
“Oops, must have slipped my mind.” He smiles like an imp and my eyes narrow to slits.
“Right.”
“Hey, is that a new dress? It’s gorgeous.” Remi’s comment makes my face flush. Shit, I so do not want to explain why I’m wearing Charlotte’s dress to her.
“It sure is.”
We all turn to stare at Oliver’s sister, who just stepped onto the landing. What’s up with everyone making surprise appearances?
“Char, didn’t you say you were going to San Fran and wouldn’t be back until Sunday, or did I imagine that?”
“I changed my mind last minute.” She struts across the room to sit on the high stool by the kitchen island and begins to eat the pieces of fried bacon Oliver has already put aside.
“I told Saylor she could borrow some of your clothes. I hope you don’t mind.” He bats her hand away from the food.
Charlotte’s shrewd gaze hits me square in the face before she turns to Oliver. “Why, may I ask, did she need to borrow clothes?”
Oliver comes back into the living room, holding a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. He hands me the plate with a smirk, and I hope he can see the murderous glance I’m giving him in return.
“Because I may have gotten a little too impatient last night.”
“Wait? What? Did you…”
“Yes, Oliver and I are back together. Can we talk about something else now?” I say while my face is in flames.
Remi reaches us in two long strides and hugs Oliver and I both. “Yay! Finally. I knew you would work things out.”
She steps back and eyes my plate. “Oh, that looks yummy. I hope you made enough for everyone, boss.”
“Sure, help yourself.”
We hear hurried footsteps coming up the stairs, and a moment later, Sticks appears on the landing, looking flustered and out of breath.
“Sorry, I’m late. I overslept and hit major traffic coming here. What did I miss?”
Sticks for once is not wearing her baseball cap and her long hair is still damp and hanging loose. I’m about to ask her ‘late for what’ when Allan stands up and looks at her as if he’s seeing a ghost.
“I know you,” he says.
Sticks turns to him, her face now ashen.
“Your mother used to work for mine,” he continues. “You tried to teach me how to play the drums. Now I feel like an ass for not recognizing you. Why didn’t you say anything?”
She shrugs and looks away. “I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Hey, stop making her feel bad for your memory issues,” Remi says.
Allan’s face turns a deep shade of red and he rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Did you all know?”
Tabatha and I nod, and Remi says, “Yup.”
Allan turns to Oliver but he just raises his hands up and takes a step back. “I know nothing, mate.”
“Jeez, you guys are so full of drama. I’m beat. I’m heading to bed. Saylor, you can keep the dress. It looks better on you, anyway,” Charlotte says as she makes her way to the guest bedroom.
“Uh, did I miss anything? What is Sticks late for?” I look at everyone.
“As I was saying before, I hired a new stylist and the only free time he had for a consultation was this morning. I sent you a text last night. It was last minute, my apologies.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rings.
“That must be him,” Allan says.
I follow Tabatha’s lead and take a seat on one of the office chairs. A minute later, a petite Asian man with a mop of bright blue hair walks into the living room. He removes his sunglasses with a grand gesture and takes his time looking at each one of us.
“Good morning, everyone,” he finally says.
“Tabatha, Saylor, Remi, Sticks, this is Monni, one of the best stylists in the world.” Allan introduces the man.
My jaw drops of its own accord. He can’t be serious.
“Aw, Allan. You’re always so kind.” Monni pats Allan’s shoulder affectionately before turning to us.
“Nice to meet you, ladies. Are you ready to have some fun?”
Remi and I trade glances and she mouths O.M.G. to me. My eyes catch Oliver’s expression across the room. He’s fighting to keep his grin suppressed. I turn my face to the man in front of us again. He paired tight jeans with a button down shirt and a hot pink scarf wrapped around his neck. The long sleeves of his shirt end in big ruffles, reminding me of flamenco dresses. Every single finger on his hands is adorned by a ring, some heavy on the bling. Does the guy think he looks stylish dressed like that? I’m not sure about fun, but today promises to be a very interesting day.
Twenty-One
SAYLOR
Monni, the world famous stylist, with his blue hair and bright veneer teeth, turned out to be a freaking genius. That should teach me not to judge anyone’s talents by their appearance. After the initial shock of meeting him for the first time, he proved to us he knew what he was talking about. He used to work for a major design house in Milan as their brand director before he decided to go solo. Within five minutes, he had won all of us over, including Tabatha.
Yesterday, we spent the day in a fancy hair salon in Beverly Hills, getting plucked and buffed until we looked like a million bucks. None of our makeovers were anything drastic, Monni just gave us a better version of ourselves. My long hair stayed long, the hair stylist only trimmed the dead ends and I got a Brazilian keratin treatment to add some shine to it.
Tabatha got bronze highlights that turned her jet black hair dark brown. The lighter color did wonders to soften her face.
Sticks surprised me when she asked to dye the tips of her hair purple. Monni proved he’s in this business for a reason. He suggested an ombre effect, and instead of purple, Sticks’s natural brown hair faded into a rich burgundy color. The result was phenomenal.
The only time there was a bit of tension was when Monni bickered with Remi after she insisted on keeping her skater girl look. He said her fashion choices were clashing with the overall image of the band, which is rock and roll chic, but she would not budge. In the end, they compromised, and Remi let Monni add a few essential elements—according to him—to her style.
Today, we have a photoshoot scheduled with an upcoming photographer because the band needs official photos to use in promotion. Riley Michaels is her name, a petite blonde with bob-length hair and lots of energy. I liked her immediately.
My hair and make-up are all done, but I’m still wearing a white robe. Monni comes in with a portable rack and there are several expensive looking outfits hanging from it. Attached to each hanger, I see a tag with my name.
Monni turns to Richard, the make-up artist. “Oh, I love what you’ve done to her face. Stunning.”
“Well, it’s easy when the canvas is already flawless.” The guy winks at me and I blush.
“I second that,” Oliver says and my mouth hangs open. I was hoping he wouldn’t be here. I’m still getting used to the idea that we are together and Oliver doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself in public.
“Boyfriend?” Richard asks.
“Lucky girl.” Richard gives Oliver an elevator glance while he has his back to us, perusing the outfits hanging from the rack.
He pulls one out, inspects it for a moment, then turns to Monni. “This is the one.”
“I had a feeling you would choose that one,” Monni says.
I crane my neck to see the dress Oliver has selected. It’s a leather mini that looks too small to fit me. Oliver catches me staring and smiles.
“Would you mind trying it on, sugar?”
I get up and take the hanger from his hand. “Sure.”
The studio is an open warehouse, so there aren’t any rooms with closed doors. The ‘changing room’ is nothing more than a corner protected by a partition. At least there are mirrors in here. I drop the robe to the floor and wiggle my way into the dress. It’s as tight as I predicted but at least it doesn’t have a plunging neckline. I actually look badass in it.
Oliver sneaks in and looks at my reflection in the mirror before stopping behind me. “This dress was made for you.” He runs both hands over the sides of my body and my skin breaks out in goose bumps. I close my eyes and imagine them going up my dress and touching me in other places.
He kisses my exposed neck at the same time his fingers dig into my waist, pulling me flush against his bulging erection.
“Ollie, we can’t…”
“I know.” He bites my earlobe, eliciting a moan from me.
A throat clearing behind us has me jumping forward and out of his reach. Riley is standing there just outside the partition.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we should start soon.”
There’s a small grin on her face when I walk out, and that makes me even more mortified.
“Sure. I’m ready.”
Oliver pinches my butt when he walks by and I reward him with a glare. All he does is wiggle his eyebrows up and down in response.
I’ve never been to a photoshoot before, but I quickly discover it’s not as glamorous as people make you believe. It’s hard work and tiring. The bright lights are hot and we constantly need our make-up refreshed. I’m sweating like a pig underneath the dress and not even the industrial fan Riley has pointed at us is helping cool off my skin.
“Alright, guys. We’re almost done with this round,” she says.
“Wait? This round?” Remi says under her breath.
Riley gives as a few more directions and then calls for a break. I step out of the spotlight with glee. The leather dress is glued to my body and I can’t wait to get out of it.
Monni tells us we have three more looks to go through before we are done and we all grumble in unison. I search for Oliver in the vast warehouse. I thought his presence would make me uncomfortable, but after a while, I forgot he was there. I find him in a corner, having a conversation with Allan. I wonder when he got here. Next to me, Sticks makes an undecipherable sound and walks in their opposite direction. I’m almost one hundred percent sure there’s more to the story between her and Allan than she’s letting on, but it’s not my place to ask.
I veer first toward the refreshments table to grab a bottle of water and a bite to eat, but my attention is still on the power duo. Allan tells Oliver something he’s clearly not happy about. I can tell by the way Oliver runs his hand through his hair in a jerky motion.
“What’s going on?” Tabatha appears next to me, her gaze trained on them as well.
“No clue.”
In silent agreement, we stride in their direction. Their conversation halts abruptly when they notice our approach and it raises all sorts of red flags in my head.
“Hey, Allan. I didn’t know you would be here too,” I say.
“Yes. I had some news that I wanted to deliver in person.”
“You don’t sound too happy,” Tabatha says.
“It’s about Scott Rowan.”
“Let me guess. He didn’t like the new song either.” I glance at Oliver who has a rare somber expression on his face.
“No, on the contrary. He loved it. But he won’t be able to record the single with you any time soon.”
“Why the hell not?” Tabatha asks, ready for a fight. I wouldn’t put it past her to jump on a plane and drag Scott Rowan here, by his hair, if necessary.
“He got into a car crash earlier this morning. Broke a few ribs and one of his legs.”
“No way!” Remi says as she joins our group. “Poor, Scott.”
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do now,” Tabatha grumbles.
“Actually, I just suggested Oliver step in and sing the duet with you.”
“What?” I say at the same time that Remi says, “That’s a great idea.”
Tabatha narrows her eyes at Oliver. “Hum, I don’t know.”
“Guys, it will be perfect. The media will love it, especially when they find out Saylor and Oliver are together.” Remi clasps her hands together, excited like a little girl.
I hope she sees the stink eye I’m giving her. I so don’t want my love life dissected by the press.
“I told Allan it would be up to the band. It won’t hurt my feelings if you say no.” Oliver looks pointedly at me.
“I thought you were retired,” I say. It’s lame, but it’s the only response I can come up with right now. I don’t know how I feel about recording the single with him yet. We have already mingled our professional and love lives enough.
He shrugs. “One never completely retires from this business.”
I turn to Tabatha and Remi, searching their faces for a clue to their thoughts. Remi is totally onboard. It’s pretty much down to Tabatha and me because I don’t think Sticks would care one way or another. Tabatha must have sensed my dilemma and stares straight into my eyes.
“I’m okay with it if you are, Blue.”
Great. Now I’ll be the bad guy if I say no. I turn to Oliver again and my chest tightens a bit. His facial expression seems indifferent but his eyes tell me a different story. There’s something vulnerable and expectant in their depths. He might claim he won’t care if I say no, but I don’t think that’s true. That helps me make my decision.
“Let’s do it.”
Twenty-Two
SAYLOR
After cancelling on me two times, Derek finally has time to meet me at a café near the Children’s Hospital. He’s fifteen minutes late, but mercifully, he’s wearing regular clothes, not his Disney character scrubs.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. It’s almost impossible to escape the hospital. It usually takes me an hour to make it from my department to the front door.”
Derek has always been super dedicated to his goals, but right now, his hard work is actually showing. He has dark circles under his eyes and has also lost some weight. He still looks like a Calvin Klein model though.
“You work too hard.”
“When you are holding people’s lives in your hands, there’s no other option but to work hard. Now, enough about me. Let me see your CAT scan results.”
Jeez, so much for small talk. I hand him the large envelope and Derek quickly pulls all the beautiful pictures of my brain. His lips flatten and his eyebrows furrow as he examines the images. Then he looks at the written report. I can tell when he realizes my case is not inoperable, as I had led him to believe.
He glances up and I don’t know what to make of his expression.
“You are choosing to die.” His voice has a hint of disbelief.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple. Why?”
“Because the possible outcomes of brain surgery terrify me, okay? I don’t want to become a vegetable.”
“Jesus, that’s the worst case scenario possible.”
“But it can happen.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at my results again. “Your clot is not in an area difficult to reach. A good surgeon would be able to ex
tract it with minimum damage to brain tissue.”
“But there would be some damage.”
“So, you would rather die? Think of all the things you will miss out on.”
I look away because I don’t want Derek to see my tear filled eyes. “You don’t think I know that?”
Derek reaches out and grabs my hand. “Saylor, let me refer you to another specialist. My mentor Dr. Laurent is a brilliant doctor, considered one of the best brain surgeons in the country.”
“Derek, please. Don’t insist. I’ve made up my mind. Are you going to help me, or not?”
He pulls back and flattens his lips. His blue eyes are dark and calculating, and I’m afraid he will go back on his promise. Oliver hasn’t broached the health certificate again, but I know he will if I don’t present him one.
After what it feels like an eternity, Derek pulls an envelope from his messenger bag and slides it across the table. “Here’s your certificate.”
I retrieve the envelope quickly before Derek changes his mind and shove it in my bag.
“Thank you, Derek.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. You need to tell Liv at least. She deserves to know she won’t have her best friend around for much longer.”
His words make the guilt in my heart grow exponentially, becoming almost unbearable. If I tell Liv she will never accept my decision.
“You still love her, don’t you?”
Derek’s frown turns deeper. “This has nothing to do with my feelings for her. And no, I’m no longer in love with Liv, so wipe that pitying look off your face.”
“So, are you seeing someone?”
Derek flattens his lips and crosses his arms. “Are you seriously asking me about my love life right now?”
“What? It’s better than listening to you lay the guilt trip on me.”
He rubs the scruff on his jaw before he flags a waiter.
“No, Blue. I’m not seeing anyone. I don’t have time to date.”
“Make time, Derek. You’ll never know what life can throw at you.”