never would have pegged Shelly and Anisa as fast friends. They couldn’t have less in common. If Anisa was a peacock, then Shelly was a brown peahen. From what he could see, in the short time they’d been around one another, she never did anything special with her hair and always wore clothes that were dull and colorless.
Of course, Anisa probably could stand to wear a little less makeup. And sometimes her clothes were so fashion-forward that Linc felt a bit embarrassed for her.
Snapping out of his reverie, Linc realized he had to get rid of Shelly before she threw his date completely off track.
“Well, Shelly, we don’t want to keep you. After all, it’s Friday, and you must have plans,” he said.
Refusing to take the bait, Shelly leveled her eyes at him. “No, no plans. Unless you count a date with my pillow and blanket,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “It was great meeting you, Anisa. Thanks for the hair salon tip. I’m going to check it out.”
Linc watched Shelly walk out of the restaurant, wishing he’d let her sneak away unnoticed, after all.
True to her word, Shelly went straight to bed when she got home. But going to bed a hair before ten o’clock threw off her internal clock, and she was wide awake at five in the morning.
She’d gone to bed feeling proud and confident at the way she’d handled her potentially uncomfortable run-in with Linc. But this morning, in the dawning light of day, she realized how she must have looked to him—like a single woman who desperately needed a bib when she dined alone on Friday nights.
It was only the fact that Shelly knew Linc already held her in fairly low regard that had allowed her to keep her composure through his teasing jabs at her appearance and empty social calendar. It was a tool she’d developed in high school, when the popular girls made fun of her lack of designer handbags and stylish clothes.
In high school she’d been a nerd, and she’d known it. There had been little point in trying to impress girls she had no chance of competing with. But in college she’d started wearing makeup, and she’d had a roommate who talked her into growing her hair long so she could teach her how to do fun things with it. Her whole life had changed then. Men had started asking her out, and she began to realize that she was an attractive woman.
She hadn’t felt otherwise until now. She knew what Linc saw when he looked at her. He saw the plain, unpopular girl she’d been in high school. He had no idea that she’d learned to work with what she had. He didn’t know that she’d just been too busy to put in the effort since she’d come to Houston.
Staring in her bathroom mirror, Shelly blanched when she realized that she was actually worrying over what Lincoln Ripley thought of her. Why should she care if he saw her as attractive? She certainly didn’t think of him in that way.
Well, he was attractive—if you liked movie-star handsome. But that didn’t mean she wanted to date him. Even if they didn’t work together, they’d never get along. Two dates and they’d probably kill each other.
Running her hands through her frizzled mess, Shelly almost convinced herself that she shouldn’t improve her image, just to spite Linc. But she quickly reminded herself that not fixing herself up for fear of what Linc might think was just as bad.
Even though it was Saturday, Shelly had planned to pull out her laptop and finish up the training procedures for Monday’s session. Instead, she found herself looking up Anisa’s hair salon online. It looked like a very swanky place in the photographs, and a quick click on the services page showed that their prices reflected as much.
Shelly made a very healthy salary, and truth be told, she could probably afford to pay a couple hundred dollars for her hair. But her common sense wouldn’t let her do it.
Exiting to her Web browser, Shelly searched for a more sensible option. She found a reasonably priced salon that was only ten minutes from her house. And they even allowed her to make an appointment online.
After requesting an appointment for mid-morning, Shelly headed for the shower, vowing to unpack the rest of her clothes when she returned. It wouldn’t hurt to have some more stylish options for work now that training was getting under way.
Miss Celia’s Salon was not quite what Shelly was expecting when she arrived for her appointment later that morning. From the polished Web site and the high-tech online appointment system, Shelly was expecting the building to possess a degree of sophistication.
Unfortunately, Miss Celia’s Salon had seen better days. Paint-chipped walls and torn leather chairs underscored the salon’s need for a face-lift. Still, Shelly remained optimistic. It didn’t matter what the shop looked like as long as Miss Celia could do some hair.
“Can I help you?” an older woman asked.
“I’m Shelly London. I’m here for my ten o’clock appointment.”
“I’m Miss Celia,” the older woman said, clasping Shelly’s hand between both of hers. The older woman had warm dark eyes and short salt-and-pepper curls. “I know this is your first time here, but we hope it won’t be your last.”
Miss Celia’s pleasant demeanor put Shelly at ease. The woman slipped behind the reception desk and started typing on her computer. “It looks like Tonya will be doing your hair today. Please help yourself to some coffee, and she’ll be right with you.”
The prospect of finally having her hair done properly put Shelly in a good mood. “I really loved your Web site. It’s what convinced me to give your shop a try.”
Miss Celia’s face lit up. “Thank you. My grandson Troy designed it for me. He’s a computer science major at the University of Houston. He swore to me it would bring in new business. Now I can sure enough tell him he was right.”
After Shelly finished her coffee, Tonya escorted her back to the shampoo bowl. A young stylist, Tonya seemed nice enough as she made small talk with Shelly. And she gave her a fantastic scalp massage.
“I’m just going to put in your conditioner,” Tonya said. “Then you can sit up for about ten minutes before I wash it out.”
Just as Tonya started working the conditioner through Shelly’s scalp, Miss Celia, who was shampooing a client two bowls over, said, “Hey, is that my Silky Tresses moisturizing conditioner?”
Shelly’s eyes snapped open at Miss Celia’s tone. Tonya looked at the bottle in her hand. “Yeah. I borrowed yours because mine ran out.”
“What did I tell you about borrowing my supplies?” Miss Celia scolded. “Each stylist is responsible for buying her own products.”
Tonya’s neck swiveled as she spoke, her anger rising. “I didn’t have time to buy my own supplies, because you’ve been overbooking my clients.”
Now Miss Celia, who had seemed so sweet just moments ago, had her hands on her hips as she shouted back at Tonya. “If you can’t handle the work, you know what to do.”
Before Shelly could take that in, a bottle of conditioner whizzed past her face.
“Here! Take your funky conditioner. Too bad your mamma never taught you to share,” screeched Tonya.
Shelly lifted her soaking-wet head out of the bowl in time to see Miss Celia
