Take It On The Run

Chapter 43

POV: Sloan

We strode into a boujee salon without an appointment—well, Liam strode. I more or less hobbled in my six-inch heels and tight lilac getup.

The velvet bodycon dress and its plunging neckline had been one of the least formal things I could find in the expansive wardrobe this morning. It hadn't escaped my notice that my betrothed had failed to provide me with a single pair of pants or shorts.

In the waiting area, there were framed photos of celebrities who'd patronized the establishment, movie stars and singers I easily recognized. A lot of time and money had gone into the decor—plush armchairs, floor-to-ceiling mirrors and windows, avant-garde light fixtures and artwork and chandeliers, and a sound system with enough bass to make you feel like you were in a popular nightclub.

This place was swanky as fuck. There was no way they took walk-ins.

I waited for them to turn us away, but the girl at the front desk took one look at Liam and led him straight into the salon without question.

Before I knew it, I was sitting in an adjustable swivel chair. Judging by the way a good number of the hairdressers were glowering at me, they'd slept with my fiancé and felt some type of way about it. Little did they know I'd happily trade places with them any day.

"Get her as close to her natural color as you can, Bridget," he directed the pretty, older stylist who stood behind me. She had kind brown eyes and short bouncy curls the color of saffron.

I didn't know if anything had transpired between the two of them, nor did I care. Even if I were possessive, I wasn't the type to hate another woman over the choices a man made.

"Let's see what we're workin' with, shall we?" She removed my scrunchie and used her fingers to quickly comb out my hair. I almost moaned at the pleasant graze of her manicured nails on my scalp. "Pretty and healthy but quite thick. We can have you outta here in a few hours more or less..." Her questioning eyes met mine in the mirror.

"Sloan," I provided. "My name is Sloan." And god did it feel weird to tell someone my real name. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I'd introduced myself without an alias.

"Nice to meet you, Sloan." She smiled, and the warm gesture, along with the fact that she was talking directly to me instead of about me, made me like her immediately. "Usually, I get brunettes tryin' to go blonde, not the other way around."

"What can I say? I went through an emo phase. Now I'm in my janky-girl era."

I was only half joking, I realized as I caught sight of my reflection again. My long hair was a wild wavy mess, the faded light brown starting several inches below the roots and smattering the gold at random, giving it an overall dingy look.

I styled it for work and wore makeup to increase my tips, but otherwise, maintaining my appearance had been a luxury I couldn't afford, both time and money-wise.

She chuckled. "Not for long, you're not. Especially not if you're with Liam Murphy." She winked at him. "We'll start by stripping the color, then we'll add partial highlights and toner to brighten it. The roots should blend naturally as it grows out." She frowned slightly as she held the bottom of one lock up. "Maybe a trim for the dead ends as well."

"Keep it long," Liam replied quickly.

I was tempted to steal the sheers from the station in front of me and hack off a big chunk of hair. What was the expression? Cutting off one's nose to spite one's face? Yeah, that sounded good to me.

He laughed at my expression. "Don't pout, macushla. I'll need somethin' to grip on our weddin' night."

That earned me several more scathing looks from the women around us who were pretending not to listen.