Page 83 of Dust Storm

Nadine stumbled back as a girl no older than eighteen or nineteen wedged in front of her.

She blew a pink bubble of chewing gum and let it pop before snapping it and chomping down again. “Don’t worry. I won’t let her give you the realtor special. Your bone structure is too good to make you look like you sell houses and pyramid scheme crap between PTA meetings and lunch with the ladies.”

I blinked, taking her in. “Uh, thanks?” Looking around, I realized that no one else was coming to my rescue.

I gave the girl another assessment, starting with her black combat boots and moving up the ripped fishnets to the black miniskirt adorned with chains. She was wearing a Michael Jackson glove, a button-up shirt and vest duo complete with a necktie, charcoal black lipstick, and the heaviest smokey eye I had ever seen. She tucked her jet black shag behind her ears, showing off a row of piercings.

“I think I’ll be just fine on my own,” I said magnanimously.

The girl snapped her gum. “You touch my makeup samples and I’ll kick you to the curb.”

Now that was something. “Yourmakeup samples?” I looked around at all the pink, then at the goth princess in front of me.

She tapped her name tag. Beneath her printed name,Roxy,read, “owner.”

“Don’t be fooled by the pink. It’s just marketing. Same with the name. Get an old lady to quoteSteel Magnoliasand she’ll hand over her life savings.”

She snapped her gum again, and the sound made my spine itch.

Roxy cocked her head to the over-teased lady she had hip-checked five seconds ago. “So’s Nadine. The old bats around town love her, and she’s in good with the mayor—if you know what I mean. She’ll talk your ear off and stuff your basket.”

Little Miss Ray of Death was savvy. I liked it.

“Now you’re my kind of woman.” I sat my ass down in the chair and grinned. “Alright, Doom Cookie. I’ll let you work your magic on me in exchange for a little insider information.”

Half an hour later, my face was perfection. Morticia flexed some serious skills. I had a new—unexpected—best friend, and the final details of my devious plot to make Christian Griffith shit a brick over what I wanted to do to his beloved ranch.

Roxy had gone simple, but her technique was flawless. She leaned into the vintage hair Amanda had given me and went with a creamy face, a light dusting of blush, winged liner with devastating mascara, and a savage lip that matched the red bottoms of my stilettos.

Roxy had just finished bagging up my reinforcements and handing over my receipt when I spotted the reflection of Christian’s truck in the store windows.

“I’ll expect a full report next time you’re in town in exchange for the info I gave you,” Roxy said as she unwrapped a new piece of bubble gum.

“A full report on what?”

“About whatever you’ve got cooking for the ranch. Keep me in the loop. But that thing about the mayor stays between us.” She snickered. “And I’ll need the scoop on whatever’s about to happen with that cowboy who’s looking at you like a coyote looks at a little baby bunny.”

I didn’t deign her last comment worth the time of a response. But deep inside, I felt it.

I craved it.

I wanted him to look.

So I made him.

Christian stood by the truck as I strutted out of the shop with a little extra swing in my hips. His boots were crossed at the ankle in an attempt to look casual, but I could feel the tension radiating off of him.

Slowly, he peeled away his sunglasses and peered at me, unencumbered, from beneath his cowboy hat.

Christian let out a low whistle. “Look at you, Princess.” His eyes raked up and down the black sheath dress I had thrown on this morning, and he licked his lips.

I was about to say something sassy—maybe about how I was going for more Cruella and less Cinderella—but my phone rang.

I looked at the caller ID. It was a Texas number, but I didn’t have the contact saved.

Maybe it was one of the investors calling me back from a local office.

“Cassandra Parker,” I said, answering the call and giving Christian the “one moment” finger.

---