Page 47 of My Totally Unfair Deal

“Is there a problem, Mr. Silo?” Harrison asks, looking as offended as I feel.

Frederick doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps toward me, pulls a pen from his pocket, and twirls it through my hair like he’s testing thread count. He recoils and gasps.

“Tablet, please,” he snaps, and one of his minions whips out an iPad like they’re armed for battle.

“Split ends that haven’t seen shears in years,” he declares, lifting my chin with the tip of his pen. “Decent standing posture,but needs correction. Uneven fingernails—jagged, rough. They belong on a farmhand.”

“I do work on a farm.”

“Shhh.” He places a manicured finger over my lips. “No need to add to your list of unfortunate traits…”

I bite my tongue, hard. One more comment and I swear I’ll shove that tablet where the sun doesn’t shine.

“She has a good arch to her eyebrows, but they’re buried beneath a layer of fur,” he continues. His hands settle on my shoulders. “Beautiful collarbone structure—ruined by a terrible drop to the cleavage line.”

“She’s not wearing the right size bra,” he announces. “You strike me as a 36C. What size do you have on?”

“38B.”

“No wonder they’re not standing at attention like they should be.” He sighs, deeply disappointed. “Why aren’t your ears pierced?”

“I never got around to it.”

“We’ll need to arrange for that.” He waves it off. “Do you have any tattoos? Tramp stamps?”

“One.”

Harrison arches a brow, visibly surprised.

“Where is the tattoo?”

“Somewhere you’ll never see it.”

“When you do her full body wax, let me know where the tattoo is,” he says, already turning back to his tablet. “Moving on to?—”

“I don’t want to be waxed,” I say sharply. “Shaving is just fine.”

“It can’t be,” he scoffs, crouching to inspect my calves. “There are hints of stubble everywhere.”

“Harrison?” I look at him, holding in the scream building in my throat. “Can you please tell your friend that waxing won’t be happening?”

“Can you try not to make it painful for her?” he says instead, like this is a routine dental cleaning. “I’ll be back on Sunday.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re leaving—again?”

“I have another emergency client who needs me.” He pulls a gummy bear from his pocket and it lands in my mouth before I can object. “Do whatever needs to be done, Mr. Silo. Hope the extra day will help.”

“An extramonthwould help.”

“Make do with what you have.” Harrison walks out of the suite without a backward glance.

I stare after him, stunned. Then slowly turn to Frederick.

He claps his hands once. “Let’s start with the hardest part first,” he says, with theatrical delight.

Then he snaps his fingers.

“Someone get me some duct tape for her mouth…”

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