Page 7 of Ten

My stomach dropped, and my heart pounded. Mouth dry, I said, “Kiki is my ex-husband.”

“I know, but that’s what she said. She has that creep with her. You know, that Chad Whatshisface that’s always on TikTok and FB with his lives on crime scenes? He’s recording everything on his phone and a Go-Pro.” Mandee wrung her hands. “Tiara is up there right now trying to get rid of them. Do you want me to get Billie to throw them out? Or Savannah?”

As much as I would prefer to let someone else handle this, I shook my head. “I’ve got it.”

When we drew near the lobby, I heard Tiara’s raised voice. “You shouldn’t be here! This is not—.”

“Is there a problem?” I asked, lifting my shoulders back and assuming my best professional voice.

“Mrs. Acevedo, do your clients know that your husband is a serial killer?” Chad Asshole shoved his phone in my face, and I reared back to avoid getting hit.

“My name is Ms. Nisha Jackson,” I clarified calmly. “That monster is my ex-husband.”

“But do your clients know what kind of woman is cutting their hair?” Chad insisted, shaking his phone at me.

“They know she’s a fighter who survived what you can’t even imagine,” Tiara hissed before smacking the phone out of the way.

Guilty about the way I had imagined her rubbing her perfect hands through Ten’s hair, I smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

"Chad, step back.” The attorney looked fresh out of school. She had that nervously arrogant energy about her, like she wanted to project cool, collected professionalism but didn’t have the experience to back it up. The polyester shine of her trendy but cheapSHEINpantsuit didn’t help.

She was obviously doing the best she could on a small budget, and if she wasn’t here to harass me, I would have pointed her in the direction of resale shops that served professional women just starting out in their careers.

“Ms. Jackson,” she said too loudly. “I’m here to—.”

“Let’s speak in my office.” I cut her off before she could say his name. I pointed at the man with a phone in my face. “And you need to take your phone and recording equipment outside. This is a private establishment that provides spa services. We do not allow our guests to be recorded.”

“My name is Chad—.”

“Did I ask your name?” I interrupted brusquely,

His face turned red. “You don’t have to be—.”

“Sir, this is private property, and you are not a guest. Take your phone and go.” I glanced at Tiara. “Call the police to have him removed.”

“With pleasure,” she said brightly smiling at the creep.

“You,” I narrowed my eyes at the attorney, “can follow me.”

As I spun on my heel, I tapped slipped my earbud in place and clicked the call button on the salon headset, “Billie, get Savannah to the front, please. We have a problem.”

“On it.”

When I led the attorney through the employee access door to the back of the salon, I nearly collided with Savannah. She spared a withering glare at the lawyer trailing me. From the looks of it, she had gotten an update from Tiara at the front.

“If she gives you any trouble, I’ll trespass her myself,” Savannah warned. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

When we reached my office, I let her step inside first.

“I’m not here to play games. I’m here on behalf of my client.”

“Your psycho serial killer client?” I pulled the door shut behind me.

“Alleged,” the lawyer insisted, and I wheeled around on her in shock.

“Convicted,” I corrected. “Tried. Convicted. Sentenced. Appeals denied.”

“Not all of them.” She lifted her chin higher. “We are filing new appeals based on new evidence that has come to light.”

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