Elle’s POV
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I guided Mom through the salon’s entrance, my chin held high despite the stares and murmurs that followed us. The reception area was
all white marble and gold accents, with stylists and clients who looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine.
The receptionist – a woman with perfectly sculpted features and ice–blue eyes – looked us up and down with barely concealed disdain. “Do
you have an appointment?”
“No, but I’d like to book something for my mother,” I said calmly. “What do you have available?”
“I’m afraid we’re completely booked for the next three months,” she replied without even checking her computer. “Perhaps you’d be more
comfortable at one of the salons in the mixed district?”
The dismissal was so blatant, so condescending, that I felt my temper flare. But before I could respond, Mom was already pulling at my
arm again.
“It’s okay, Elle. Let’s just go. I don’t need-”
“We’re not going anywhere.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a black card. “I believe this might change your availability.”
The receptionist’s expression shifted so fast it was almost comical. Her eyes went wide as she took in the card, and I watched her swallow hard before looking up at me with a completely different demeanor.
“Oh! Miss West, I… I apologize for the confusion. Of course we can accommodate you and Mrs. West immediately.” She was practically stammering now, her previous arrogance replaced by nervous deference. “Would the VIP suite be suitable? We have our best stylist
available right now.”
“That would be perfect,” I said sweetly, enjoying the way she flinched at my tone.
Within minutes, we were being escorted to a private area of the salon that I hadn’t even known existed. The VIP suite was like a luxury apartment, complete with its own styling station, private bathroom, and a sitting area with champagne and petit fours.
Mom sat in the plush styling chair, still looking overwhelmed by the sudden change in treatment. “Elle, what just happened?”
“Nothing important,” I assured her, settling into one of the watching chairs. “Just some people remembering their manners.”
The stylist – a middle–aged woman with kind eyes and gentle hands began consulting with Mom about what she wanted. I could see my mother relaxing under the woman’s professional attention, her smile becoming more genuine as they discussed options.
That’s when the shouting started in the hallway outside.
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Chapter 109
“What do you mean I have to wait? I’ve been a member here for three years!” The voice was shrill and indignant. “I have an important lunch date, and I specifically requested the VIP suite!”
I heard the salon manager trying to explain. “I’m so sorry. Perhaps we could-”
23
The door to our suite burst open without warning, and a tall, thin woman stormed in. She had orange–tinted hair styled in perfect waves, sharp cheekbones that looked surgical, and was wearing what was clearly a designer outfit from head to toe. Everything about her screamed new money trying desperately to look like old money.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, looking directly at Mom and me. “It’s you.”
She was the one who had said we were people from the edge district.
Amy, who had been quietly sitting in the corner, immediately stood up. “Excuse me, but this is a private suite. You need to leave.”
The woman laughed, a harsh sound that grated on my nerves. “Private? For them? Do you know who I am?”
“Actually, no,” I said calmly, not bothering to stand. “And frankly, I don’t care.”
Her face flushed red with anger. “I’m Vanessa Morrison, and I’ve been coming to this salon for years. I don’t know what kind of charity
case situation this is, but real members shouldn’t have to wait for… for whatever this is.”
She gestured dismissively at Mom, who had gone very still in the styling chair. I felt my protective instincts surge, but I kept my voice
level.
“My mother is a paying customer, just like anyone else.”
“Your mother?” Vanessa’s laugh was even nastier now. “Honey, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but there’s no way someone like her
can afford the VIP treatment here. Did you steal that card? Is this some kind of scam?”
Amy stepped forward again, her hand moving subtly toward her phone. “Miss Morrison, I really think you should-
“Stay out of this, Vanessa snapped, “I’m talking to the wannabes.”
She turned back to me, her expression vicious. “Look, sweetie, I don’t know what kind of arrangement you have with whoever owns that card, but this is embarrassing for everyone involved. Why don’t you just take your little charity case and go back where you belong?”
I felt the familiar sting of humiliation that I’d grown up with, the automatic urge to apologize and retreat. But something had changed in me over the past few months. Maybe it was Brad’s confidence rubbing off on me, or maybe it was just that I was tired of being treated like
I was worth nothing.
“Actually,” I said, standing slowly, “I think you’re the one who’s embarrassing herself.”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
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“You heard me.” I took a step closer, and I saw her instinctively move back. “You stormed into a private suite, insulted my mother, and
made assumptions about our finances based on our clothes. That’s not very classy behavior for someone who claims to be so important.”
“Important?” She practically shrieked. “Do you have any idea who I’m having lunch with today? Raymond Carter! The Raymond Carter! He’s one of the most powerful men in this city, and he specifically asked to see me!”
I kept my expression neutral. “How nice for you.”
“You know what your problem is?” Vanessa continued, stepping closer to me aggressively. “You think you can fake your way into a world
you don’t belong in. But people like us can always tell when someone doesn’t fit.”
She looked at Mom with such contempt that I felt my hands clench into fists. “Especially someone like her. I mean, just look at her. Does
she even know how to use half the tools in here?”
That was the moment I reached my breaking point.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found Raymond’s number. Vanessa was watching me suspiciously, probably wondering who I was going to call to intimidate her.
I hit the call button and put the phone on speaker, making sure everyone in the room could hear.
It rang twice before Raymond’s smooth voice filled the suite. “Elle? This is unexpected. Is everything alright?”
The silence in the room was deafening. I watched Vanessa’s face go from smug confidence to confusion to dawning horror as she realized
what was happening.
“Hi, Raymond,” I said casually, never taking my eyes off Vanessa. “Sorry to bother you, but I have a quick question. I heard you’re having lunch with someone today – a woman named Vanessa Morrison? What’s that about?”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
