Page 42 of Obsessed Heir

“This is Holly Reed,” she says into the phone. “Who am I speaking to?” She nods as if the person can see her. “Wonderful. I need to schedule a complete spa treatment but need it before noon today.”

So, I guess I’m going to the spa.

As Holly waits, her gaze strays to the wall. She brings the phone to her chest and turns, wide-eyed, toward Camille. “Do we have a seamstress on board?”

“I’m not sure. You’d probably need to check with the laundry manager,” she suggests.

Holly turns back to the wall.

“Can you grab one of those?” She indicates the sheer white nighties up on display. “Make it two…three instead.”

“Certainly.”

Holly returns to her call as Camille gets to work on the request. “Make it happen,” she says with authority. “Just getcreative with the explanation, and throw in a bonus if you have to. This is top priority.”

Top priority… No pressure. No pressure at all.

“Let me help you with those, Camille,” I offer, trying to make myself useful.

“Thank you.” She hands off the three black velvet-covered hangers. All three pieces combined don’t use as much material as the T-shirt I liked.

I clutch the scanty nightgowns to my chest. I guess actual clothes will have to wait until later, when I can find some time to myself.

“Perfect. We’re on our way,” Holly states, ending the call with an air of finality.

Chapter Sixteen

Abigail

“We can do something dramatic with her hair,” the stylist suggests to Holly. “Some highlights around her face to call attention to her eyes.”

“No.” Holly shakes her head firmly then turns to me. “Abby, can you let your hair down.”

After fifteen minutes in the sauna, I was sent off to the shower with a loofah and instructions to wash my hair. There wasn’t much I could do without a brush or dryer.

Preparing for the worst, I pull the towel from around my head, letting my hair tumble down my shoulders and the back of my robe. Self-conscious, I drag my fingers through the tangled strands, trying to separate them and smooth them out a bit.

“Oh, I see what you mean,” the stylist murmurs, stepping closer to inspect the damp mess. Her critical gaze makes me feel like I’m under a microscope. She studies my roots then picks up a few strands to check the ends.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t brush?—”

“You’ve never had anything done?” She stares at me as if it’s an alien concept.

“No, never.” I shrug, a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “It’s usually a trim to get rid of split ends.”

“We’ll keep the length,” Holly says. “Trim only if needed. I want to keep Abby’s fresh, natural look about her as much as possible.”

“Yes, of course.” The stylist nods enthusiastically. “We’ll add some body to her hair. The curl will take care of the rest.”

“Fantastic.” Holly glances down at her phone. “Can you get me the style I need?”

“Absolutely. Just leave it to me,” she replies.

“Come this way, Abby.” Holly takes the towel and my clothes out of my hand. “Here.” She passes them to the closest attendant.

“Send these over to the laundry,” Holly instructs. “Then have them delivered to Mr. McClelland’s suite.”

The implication in her words makes my cheeks turn warm. Suddenly, I feel like everyone’s attention is turned to me.

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