Page 60 of Solemn Vow

I blink.

“Two thousand? For a school play? How many kids are there?” I have two hands and cannot perform miracles.

“There’s fifteen kids. Six girls. The boys only need a little glitter spray in their hair. They are supposed to come with their hair already washed and curled, but the music director is a complete micromanager. He wants someone to make sure they all look uniform. The makeup will be all you, though. They’re going to be fairies, so whatever you think about that.” She digs through her purse and hands me a pamphlet that is going to be the school playbill. Then she hands me a check for one thousand dollars. “You’ll get the second half the night of.”

I take it. I have a wedding on Saturday and now the play next weekend. After this, I’ll have all the money I need for Jimmy’s next payment and a little left over toward the next one.

“If you think you need to bring someone to help, that’s fine. Just invoice the school for the extra staff.” She leans closer. “They have a healthy budget for this sort of thing, so feel free to take advantage.”

“Are you sure you want me?” I ask hesitantly. Last time I saw Mrs. Randall, she’d looked at me as though I should have the letterAseared into my forehead.

“The woman in charge of hiring the last makeup artist tried getting my husband into bed with her.” She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t appreciate that sort of thing.”

“Mrs. Randall, I promise your brother and I—” I’m cut off with her hand on my arm.

“I know. Michael swears there’s nothing between the two of you. He explained everything.”

I don’t know exactly what Michael told her, and I’m not taking a chance that I say something that could ruin this deal for me.

“Good.” I push on a smile that’s more to hide a wince from the pain in my feet than anything.

“Okay then.” She steps back with a grin. “Promise me you can do this. I’ll be the hero for my daughter and make that bitch look even worse than she already does.”

“I can do it.” I fold the check in half and slide it into my back pocket. “I’ll be there at two.” I’ll be working both weekends. I don’t think Viktor will like it, but that’s his problem.

I can’t start letting his feelings on things change my decisions. He’s not a permanent fixture in my life, just a passing ship.

This morning was too intimate, too perfect. I can still feel his lips on me, his arms wrapped around my body.

Space is definitely a good thing.

“Great. I’ll see you there then,” she says and walks away.

“Hey, Marlena, I have to run.” Janelle hurries up to me. “My sitter just called, and Jerry just puked all over his bed. Do you mind doing the trash for me?” Janelle asks while shoving her arms into her pink puffy winter coat and holding her purse between her knees.

“Sure. No problem.” I wave her away. “Go. Hope he’s better soon.”

“He’s four. He’s a walking petri dish, but thanks.” She zips up, tosses her purse over her shoulder, and runs through the salon and out the front door.

The salon is closing up so it’s just me and a couple of people left. I straighten my station and grab the trash from my can and walk over to Janelle’s to get hers.

I check my phone as I walk to the back of the salon to toss the bags and see Viktor hasn’t blown up my phone tonight. He’s only sent a message asking if I ate dinner and then another telling me he’d have dinner for me when I was done.

“Oh, are you going out to the alley? Can you take this too?” Carter hands me his bag of trash. “Damon is almost here and if I’m late again, he’s going to have my ass.” He grins. “Well, Imean, he probably will anyway, but there’ll be drama first.” He laughs and snatches his coat from his locker and rushes away.

I message Viktor that I’m just cleaning up and will be done in about fifteen minutes. He responds immediately.

Then I will be there in ten

I roll my eyes but can’t help the little smile that tugs at my lips.

Maybe Izzy is right. Maybe it’s sort of nice to have a man who cares about my safety.

I push through the door to the alley with my trash bags in hand. A crisp chill hits me, sucking the breath from my lungs.

Why do I insist on living in a place that hurts my face in the winter?

I catch my breath and hurry to the dumpster, tossing in the bags. The metal lid slams, echoing in my ears.

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