She Who Dares Read Free

you check my hair?’
    The woman jumped back from the glass like it had just burst into flames. ‘I totally forgot!’ She tucked her phone into the side pocket of her loose black trousers, grabbed a rat tail comb from a pot on the side, and started to peel back the foil.
    ‘Unh,’ the stylist said awkwardly. Nic found it suddenly hard to breathe. She instinctively knew that the verdict wasn’t going to be good. ‘I don’t know how to say this, but I think Scandinavian Blonde might have been a bad idea.’
    Nic closed her eyes. ‘Just tell me you can fix it.’
    ‘I can fix it,’ the woman said, with all the fake cheer of a kid’s TV presenter. ‘But you can’t keep the blonde. To be honest, I wasn’t convinced it was going to work anyway.’
    ‘So what do you suggest?’ Nic wasn’t sure she wanted to take advice from someone who only decided something was a bad idea after it had gone horribly wrong, but what else could she do? She’d promised herself a professional hair colour for the first time in her life, and that’s what she was going to get.
    ‘How does chocolate cherry sound?’
    ‘Like a pudding.’ There was nothing else to say. Nic felt like her lungs were being crushed in a vice, and what air she could get in tasted of hairspray. She gripped the edge of her seat and bowed her head. The next few minutes were spent in silence as the rest of the foil was stripped away. Her hair was washed, more cold goop was brushed onto it, another coffee delivered, this one with two Amaretti biscuits instead of just one. Clean cotton wool was tucked behind her ears, her head wrapped up in a cling film turban, and she was set under a heater to cook.
    ‘Cheer up,’ the hairdresser said, giving Nic’s shoulder a squeeze and meeting her gaze in the mirror. ‘Didn’t you tell me you were getting a new business partner? Maybe he’ll be astonishingly fit and have a thing for brunettes.’
    ‘Yes, and he’ll spend all his time stripped to the waist and smeared with oil, showing off his ripped torso.’
    ‘Really?’
    Nic sighed. ‘No. Most likely he’ll be middle aged and wearing slip on shoes.’
    ‘Don’t you want him to be fit?’
    An easy question, Nic knew, when you were glamorous and preened. She’d bet this woman hadn’t double-stuffed her bra all the way through secondary school, and didn’t have to get undressed in the dark. ‘I don’t care, as long as he knows one end of a car from the other.’A horrible thought sneaked into her head at that, but she pushed it away. Had Ella sold her share of the garage to Sebastian? No. It couldn’t be. The idea was nuts. Either the chemicals slathered on her scalp had seeped into her brain, or the heater had fried it. Okay, so he was Ella’s ex, and he had turned up at the garage asking for her stepsister by name, but that didn’t mean anything.
    Sebastian was the last person Ella would sell to. Wasn’t he?

Chapter Two
    ‘The house has six bedrooms, four and a half baths. The swimming pool is heated, of course, and there is also a fully equipped kitchen and wine cellar.’
    Sebastian unzipped his jacket and strolled towards the back of the house, leaving the rental agent scrambling to catch up with him. The thick white carpet silenced his steps as he wandered through into what he assumed was the living room. A leather sofa that looked like a giant marshmallow sat to one side, leaving plenty of space for the marble podium and stripper’s pole that rose out of it, and the pink velvet drapes sparkled.
    ‘Is it all like this?’ he said.
    ‘Yes,’ said the rental agent blandly, smoothing down his tie.
    Perfect. ‘I’ll take it.’
    ‘Do you want to see the rest of it first?’
    ‘No.’ Sebastian moved across to the sofa, dropped on to the seat. ‘I want a three month lease.’ He fixed his gaze on the man, daring him to argue. He didn’t. ‘Starting today.’
    ‘Absolutely, Mr Prince. There’s just the small matter of references, and a