Page 36 of Hunted Obsession

When I hear her heels quickly clicking behind me, I know she’s had enough of my walking around, and she wants to be in the middle of my business.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” she asks. “We have some brand-new beautiful pieces.”

I’m sure she does, and I also know that I could never afford any of them, but she doesn’t need to know that. Turning my head, I look over at her and smile as I face her completely.

“I’m not sure if there’s anything here that is my style,” I say, attempting to be cool and unfazed by anything and everything before I take a nonchalant sip of my coffee.

Her smile wavers, but she replaces it quickly. “What style are you looking for? I’m sure we can commission something from one of our renowned artists.”

Shrugging a shoulder, I walk away from her, pretending to analyze the pieces in front of me. They’re all done by the same artist, and while they’re pretty, I can’t imagine anyone would actually pay for them and that they would spend anywhere from ten thousand dollars to fifty thousand dollars on one piece, especially in Nights.

This whole thing stinks, and not just because I cannot stand this woman.

Emmie’s shoes click behind me as she follows me around like a puppy. It’s off-putting, and if I really did have enough money to spend here, I wouldn’t because of her hovering. Poking my tongue out slightly, I act as if I’m very focused on this piece in front of me.

The painting is oil, and it’s of a man’s bare back. The lines are gorgeous, and it does appear as if his muscles could jump out at you. The man in the painting seems to be looking out at a field of sunflowers. I don’t understand why he’s shirtless, looking at sunflowers, but I’m not an artist.

“This is my favorite artist. You’ve really chosen well with this.”

I give her a reserved smile, trying to keep my upper-crust semi-bitchy demeanor. “It’s not for me,” I state. Then, with a heavy sigh, I look at her. “I don’t see anything to my liking. When will you be showcasing new artists?” I ask.

I know it’s rude, but I don’t care. The personality I’m portraying is rude. Emmie blinks, then looks down at her shoes before she lifts her gaze to meet mine.

“The Nights Art Gallery showcases one up-and-coming artist a year.” She lifts her hand, extending her finger to point at the painting in question. “This was the artist this year.”

I hold my breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. “Well, it seems as if I’ll have to go elsewhere. Thank you for your… time?”

I leave the gallery without another word, my nose in the air and acting like a true snobby bitch. Inwardly, I chuckle. I know she’s watching me, no doubt with narrowed eyes. Just wait until she sees me later at her nail appointment. But before that, I need to change my clothes and my hairstyle so I look just different enough that she double-takes.

I should have been doing this from day one... this shit is a blast.

After puttingon a pair of leggings and a crop top, I refuse to look at my reflection. I would never actually wear this, not because I think it’s a bad outfit, but mostly because of my own lack of self-confidence.

But I’m not being myself today, so after I put on a pair of socks and sneakers, I throw a belt bag on and head straight for the salon. I was able to get a spot right next to Emmie’s and asked for the exact same treatment. I’m sure it’s going to be expensive, but I’m completely invested in this now.

Stopping for another coffee, this time an iced one, I continue to the nail salon. I am raging, full of energy without an outlet to unleash it. Between the caffeine and the pure adrenaline of what I’m about to do, I’m unable to contain myself.

I tug the door to the salon open, thankful that it’s not as heavy as the art gallery’s door. The moment I step into the reception area, I am bombarded with bright lights, neon signs all over the place, and a nail polish display.

Behind the counter is a girl who looks like she’s twelve but is probably eighteen. “Can I help you?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and bubbly sounding.

“I have an appointment,” I say with a smile.

She asks my name and then points to a station behind her and tells me that the tech will be right out but to go ahead and take a seat. Emmie isn’t sitting down yet. I’m sure she hasn’t arrived. I can’t imagine she does much of anything in a timely manner. She just seems like someone who is always late.

Sinking down into my chair, I look around the salon. I’ve never been in a place like this before. I’ve always just done a simple solid-color nail polish and then covered it in a clear coat.

I’m not even sure what to ask for. The excitement, nervousness, and confidence I possessed walking in here a few moments ago have begun to deteriorate. My knee begins to bounce, my heart racing against my chest. I feel like I could claw my own skin off. I’m nervous, anxious, and regretting the caffeine.

Right when I’m about to stand up and get the hell out of the salon, Emmie breezes over and sits down beside me. I don’t look at her, not yet. I need to calm myself down first. I am panicking for no good reason. This is supposed to be my moment to shine, and I’m over here freaking out like a big dork.

I inhale a deep breath and hold it for a moment, then let it out slowly. The technicians appear and ask us both questions about our nails, almost as if they’re in sync. They must ask every single client the exact same questions, all day, every day. That would suck.

I’m not sure what to tell the tech because when I called and made the appointment, I told them I wanted exactly what Emmie was getting. So I stare at her with my eyes wide, unsure of what to say.

I end up telling the technician that I want something simple, just a manicure and pedicure. I scheduled both because that’s what Emmie had for the appointment, but I don’t know the details of her services, and there is so much happening here that I can’t hear what she tells her lady.

The tech smiles, then dips her chin and begins to work on my hands. I have no idea what I’m doing here, and I take a single deep breath in an effort to calm myself immediately. It works, thank God, because I’m on serious edge, and I don’t need to be.

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