“Out, Wesley,” Madeline commanded, folding her arms over her chest.
Wes smirked as he walked out, stopping at the doorframe. “The only thing is, Madeline, I can’t decide which of you is hotter in your red dresses.” He ran his eyes all over her. “I could take a bite out of both of you.”
“Wesley!!”
Chapter 21
Back in my street clothes, Wes whisked us across Beverly Hills in his Lamborghini. Since we were in a hurry, I thought it better that he drive. We pulled up to a curb and daytime valets ran up to the car, opening our doors.
“What now?” I asked as we stood on the sidewalk.
“Now we get your hair styled.”
I looked up at the sign. “This is the Luca Rossi Salon. Haircuts here cost like two hundred bucks.”
“Even more when Luca cuts your hair himself.”
“What? No, Wes. Can’t we just go to Supercuts? They have one in Westwood near UCLA. We could be there in like five minutes.”
“Have you ever even been to Supercuts? They’re butchers. I wouldn’t send my dog there.”
“You have a dog?”
“Focus, Sunflower.” He pointed at the door. “Haircut. Inside. Now.”
“Can’t we go some place cheaper?”
“No. Luca is cutting your hair.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, fine. But do you really mean to tell me the owner of one of the trendiest salons in Beverly Hills works on a Sunday?”
“He does this Sunday.”
Wes placed his hand on the small of my back and led me through the doors.
The interior was shades of white with metallic accents. The salon chairs and tables were boxy, the mirrors square. Customers sat in most of the chairs. Their stylists wore silvery gray uniforms and were busy cutting and styling while everyone chatted.
Wes walked us up to the girl sitting behind the cube shaped reception desk and said, “We have an appointment with Luca.”
She swiped her finger on an iPad mounted behind the counter. “Are you Mr. Callaway?”
“That’s us.”
“Have a seat and Luca will be right with you.” She stood up. “Would you two like some water?”
Wes deferred to me.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m kind of parched. I could use a glass.”
The receptionist smiled and walked into a squarish side nook while Wes and I sat down on a boxy white leather couch in the waiting area. A minute later, she returned with a rectangular silver tray that held two square glasses with spherical ice cubes and a square carafe. She set the tray on the low round table in front of us.
When the receptionist went back to her square chair, I said to Wes, “Why are the ice cubes and the table round when everything else in here is square?”
“Contrast,” he said.
“Good point.”
He poured water into both glasses and handed me one. “Cheers.”
We clinked glasses.
Before I took a sip, I said, “How do they make round ice cubes anyway?”
“I think they’re the tears of angels. They freeze in the upper atmosphere as they fall from heaven.”
“Shut up,” I laughed.
“Wes! How good to see you!” A handsome man in his forties with olive skin and black hair walked up to us, arms wide. Unlike the stylists, he wore black.
Wes stood up and hugged him. “Hey, Luca. Good to see you. You ready to cut some hair?”
“Always for you, my friend.” Luca had a very Italian accent. He looked at me. “Is this her? She is beautiful.”
“You’re telling me,” Wes chuckled, looking down at me on the couch.
I stood up, embarrassed. Nobody ever talked about me like this. They didn’t even talk about Chelsea like this. Well, maybe sometimes. Either way, it was kind of ridiculous.
“Bella,” Luca said, arms wide.
I nervously stepped into his embrace and he hugged me passionately. I patted his back, not sure what to do, but he released me just as quick. He ran a hand through my blonde hair. “Your hair is nearly perfect, Bella. Why are we cutting it, Wes?”
“We need it styled for tonight.”
“Sí, sí, sí. Is okay with you, Bella?”
“It’s Chelsea,” I giggled.
Wes leaned toward me, “Bella is beautiful in Italian.” Wes said the word bella with the same accent Luca had.
Luca laughed deeply. “Yes, while you are here, we call you Bella, no?”
“Uh, yes? No? Bella is fine,” I giggled.
Luca beamed. “Shall we get to work?”
Five minutes later, I wore a black silk salon robe belted at my waist and sat back with my head in one of the round salon sinks lined up in the rear of the room. A stylist named Fabiana was busy working shampoo into my wet hair.
“I can handle it from here,” Wes said.
“Is okay?” Fabiana asked uncertainly. She sounded Italian too.
My eyes had been closed but they popped open when Fabiana pulled her fingers away.
Wes’ face hovered above me.
“I can see your nose hairs,” I snarked. I couldn’t. He was handsome even from this angle. But I wasn’t telling him that.
“No you don’t, because I trim them,” he said confidently.
“Eww! You have nose hairs?!”
“You do too. I can see them.” His eyes were locked on my nose.
I covered it with my hand. “No I don’t!”
“Everybody has them, Sunflower. But yours are the sexiest nose hairs I’ve ever seen,” he smiled. “If you’re worried, I’m sure we can have Fabiana wax them after I finish washing your hair.”
“Do people really do that?”
“In Beverly Hills, people wax everything. Now would you relax so I can shampoo your hair?”
“Fine. But I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” Wes said confidently.
Fabiana pursed her lips and arched a doubtful eyebrow.
He ignored her. His eyes locked on mine as he worked his fingers into my wet hair, massaging my scalp like a pro, a smug smile on his face the whole time. Any tension I’d had from running around town melted away at the touch of his fingers. My entire face and neck warmed and I relaxed until my eyes closed and I eased into enjoyment.
This was a complete turn on.
“Imagine what it would feel like if this was your pussy,” Wes said just loud enough for me to hear.
My face burned red. “Wes!”
He chuckled throatily.
“Listen to him,” Fabiana said, shaking her head and grinning.
Wes smiled at her, “Can we have a minute, Fabiana?”
“Of course,” she waved her hand and walked away, leaving us the only two people in the sink area.
Wes’ hands kneaded and stroked my scalp.
It felt so good I couldn’t help but moan.
Wes chuckled, “I like that sound.”
I was dripping in his hands. This was the most sexual non-sexual touching I’d ever experienced.
“I bet your head isn’t the only thing that’s wet,” he said.
“You wish,” I moaned. He was so right. I did my best not to squirm in the chair. My entire body fluttered with warm gusts of pleasure. “You can do this all day if you want.”
“Oh, you’ll come long before then.”
My eyes popped open.
His twinkled down at me.
My nipples were hard and dying for his touch. My breasts tingled too, and everything south of my navel was throbbing, pulsating in time with his circling fingers.
“You can’t make me come like this,” I lied.
“Would you like to see me try?”
Yes. “No.”
“Too bad.” He leaned down until we were cheek to cheek. His earthy scent had a smoky quality that permeated my senses and sent sex signals straight to my clit, which was sizzling with him this close. And, my pussy slowly clenched each time hi
s fingers circled my scalp. He whispered, “You’re going to lie here and I’m going to make you rain.”
His words whooshed down my chest and stormed between my legs. His thumbs brushed ever so gently along my jawline, then danced across my ears. Every single cell in my body exploded at his touch. I shivered down to my toes. If he didn’t stop, I swear I was going to come inside of five seconds.
It occurred to me that we had never kissed or anything even close. Did I really want this gorgeous man that I barely knew getting me off in the back of a hair salon?
Maybe just a little.
Maybe just a lot.
“Are you raining yet?” He murmured in my ear.
“Ohhh,” I moaned, on the verge of an orgasm.
“Here comes the rain…”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Warm wet water rained down on my head as Wes rinsed my hair with the spray hose. The sound of the water spray echoing in the sink whisked away the mounting sexual tension in my body.
I scrunched my face as my pleasure left me and I giggled, “You ass!”
“Is your pussy pulsing?” he asked innocently as he rinsed away more shampoo, still running his fingers sensually through my hair.
Yes. “Not for you,” I sneered.
“But because of me.”
Yes. “You wish.”
He snickered as he finished with the spray hose. Water dribbled into the sink as he gently squeezed out my hair. When he finished, he shook his hands into the sink and said, “Are you still dripping?”
“What do you think?”
He grabbed a towel and started blotting my hair. “The best way for me to clean up the rest of you is with my tongue.” He glanced at my crotch. “But I don’t think Luca would appreciate it.” He wrapped a fresh warm towel around my head and sat me up.
Now his crotch was right in my face.
He was fully erect in his ratty jeans.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I snorted.
“Doesn’t it show?”
I could easily reach up, unbuckle his belt, pull him out, and go to town. But we were in a crowded salon. So I stared up at him. “Do you have a magnifying glass? I can’t really tell.”
He was sizable and I was lying.
“Are you finished yet?” Fabiana asked as she walked into the sink area.
“For now…” Wes said suggestively.
“Promises, promises,” I whispered.
“Whoa, wait. What?” Wes sounded dumbstruck by my comment. For once, he was out of words.
“Nothing,” I smiled flirtatiously over my shoulder as Fabiana led me away.
Wes just stood there staring, slack jawed.
Served him right.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
An hour later, I sat in a boxy salon chair with Wes and Luca standing behind me. My hair had been cut and curled and arranged by Luca in an elegant but loose up-do. I couldn’t believe how good it looked.
“Perfetto,” Luca said. “She is like a cigno, a swan, this one.”
“I agree,” Wes said. He ran the back of his fingers down the side of my neck, sending hot chills through my body.
I clamped my eyes shut, trying not to get aroused again. “Thank you so much, Luca. It looks incredible. I’ve always appreciated a man who can finish what he starts,” I said it to Luca but shot a pointed look at Wes.
He smirked at me, “You can’t run a marathon without warming up first, Sunflower.”
What was it about Wes that said marathon sex sessions? Pretty much everything. I hid a smile as he thanked Luca and we made our way toward the front door.
“Don’t we have to pay?” I whispered to Wes.
“Already taken care of.” He opened the front door for me. “After you.”
We drove back to Madeline’s studio with the top up on the Lamborghini and the AC running. Once there, she and Jean-Paul helped me into the red dress, being very careful of my hair.
“Magnifique,” Jean-Paul said.
“Well done, Jean-Paul,” Madeline said. “It fits her like a glove.”
“I can’t wait to take it off,” Wes chuckled.
“Wesley…” Madeline warned sternly. “Out.”
Once the dress was off, Wes took me outside and walked me to a bistro up the street from the studio and bought food for us and ordered to go lunches for Madeline and Jean-Paul. We ate ours outside under the shade of a table umbrella and the sidewalk trees. The weather was perfect, not too hot and not too cool. I was a little worried about my hair staying nice, so I tried to keep my head still while eating.
“So, what’s this thing we’re going to tonight?” I asked as I forked arugula and a piece of roasted chicken off my plate and took a bite.
He shrugged, “Just an industry thing. Same old, same old.”
“What industry?”
“You’ll find out. Eat your salad. I don’t want you fainting later from hunger.”
“Do you always give people orders and expect them to follow like sheep?”
He winked, “In my business, yes.”
“Too bad I’m not a sheep.”
“Your salad says you are.”
“Shut up,” I laughed. “I’m not eating grass.”
“You sure? Looks like it to me,” he chuckled.
I rolled my eyes.
“Eat your salad, Sunflower. We have a schedule to keep.”
“I hate you.”
“I know,” he winked. “Just wait until we get where we’re going.”
“Do I want to know?”
He laughed.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
We walked back into Madeline’s studio.
A middle-aged guy in a suit sat on one of the gray couches in the front room. A large metal briefcase laid on the table in front of him. A tall imposing guy in a dark suit hovered near the back wall, hands at his sides, watching the front door intently.
The guy on the couch smiled at us and stood up as we walked inside. He kind of reminded me of Neil Lane, the guy who always brought out the engagement rings on The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, but I didn’t think it was him. It couldn’t be him. No, as I got closer I realized he had more of a Mel Brooks from Spaceballs thing going on. Earthier and mirthier.
“Hey, Abram,” Wes said, walking over to shake his hand. “Abram Cohen, meet Chelsea…” He shook his head. “You know what, Sunflower? I don’t know your last name.”
Abram smiled, “Don’t you think you oughta should know the girl’s name, Wes? What kind of a mensch doesn’t know his girlfriend’s last name?”
“Yeah,” I said accusatorially. “What kind of a mensch are you, Wes?” I wasn’t even sure what a mensch was.
Wes ran his hand through his chestnut hair, embarrassed. “I just call her Sunflower.”
“She is definitely a Sunflower,” Abram said, “but you should know her name if you’re shtupping her.”
I had a pretty good idea what shtupping meant.
“I’m not shtupping her!” Wes laughed.
“Yet,” Abram said, winking at me. To Wes, “What’s your girlfriend’s last name already? You oughta know by now. Am I right?” He nudged my arm with his elbow. I really liked this guy.
“Slow down, Abram,” Wes said. “Chelsea, Sunflower, would you mind telling everyone your last name?”
“Uh… um… Johnson?” I considered making up a name, but Abram and Wes were both staring at me and I couldn’t think of one.
“Are you sure?” Abram joked, his eyes shining with mirth.
Giggling, I said, “Yes. One hundred percent.”
“Ya got that, Wes?” Abram pinched Wes’ forearm and shook it. “Johnson. Say it with me, young man. Johnson. Johnson, Johnson, Johnson.”
“Johnson,” Wes said, chuckling.
Abram’s good humor was infectious. “Now that we’ve been formally introduced,” he said, “lets get down to business.” He led us to the couches. Wes and I sat down opposite him.
Abram opened the briefcase and turned it
toward us.
“Wow,” I gasped, suddenly feeling like I really was on The Bachelor, or in my case, The Bachelorette.
So many diamonds…
“You like?” Abram smiled.
“Um…” I laughed. “Yeah.”
“Incredible, Abram,” Wes said. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”
Inside the case, lying on royal blue velvet, were two gold necklaces with matching pairs of earrings. Both shimmered with enough diamonds to buy a tropical island. Even the chains were covered with diamonds. Priceless. Both necklaces had shiny gold pendants with even larger diamonds. Each had a unique design. One was spirals and curves, the other geometric lines and planes.
“Which one do you like?” Abram asked.
“Me?” I said, trying not to gasp. “I get to pick?”
Wes said, “I’m not gonna be the one wearing it. It’s completely up to you, Sunflower.”
“Wow,” I laughed. “Really?”
Abram and Wes both nodded.
“How about this one?” I pointed at the geometric one.
“Excellent choice.” Abram lifted the necklace out of the case with great care. “Let’s try it on.” He stepped beside me and draped it around my neck. It hung down past my cleavage.
It didn’t look right hanging over my print T-shirt.
Wes said, “It’ll go great with Madeline’s dress.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, looking down at it. “This is beautiful, Abram. How much does this thing cost?”
He smiled and shook his head, “You don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just, I’m a little worried about wearing it out. What if it breaks or…” I didn’t want to say, What if someone tries to steal it? I wasn’t used to worrying about expensive jewelry.
“I designed this one myself, Bubbeleh. And my jewelers do good work. It won’t break.”
“Don’t worry, Sunflower.” Wes rubbed my arm. “I’ll keep an eye on you and the necklace all night.”
I laughed. “Why? So you can stare at my boobs?”
He grinned big. “Why else?”
“You two,” Abram chuckled and waved a dismissive hand. “Wait until I’m gone already!” He lifted the necklace over my head and set it carefully in the case. “I need to take an inch off the chain. It’s a bit too long. I’ll take it to my shop and have it back in an hour. Will that work for you?”
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