Chapter 20

By the time we reached the hair salon – a twenty-minute drive away – I was absolutely famished. Stupidly, I'd completely forgotten to eat and was starting to feel light-headed. Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with food, and had everything to with Jake.

Sitting in the stylist's chair, I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd learned.

The way it looked, Jake had tapped a gold mine. I never would've pegged him as the entrepreneurial type. He was too brash, too obnoxious, and way too reckless to build a stable anything. And yet, somehow he had.

At least one thing finally made sense. I now realized why he was famous to some people, and not to others. Except for the random viral video here and there, I almost never watched videos on-line. Neither did most of my friends.

I had a sneaking suspicion that I'd be watching a lot more of them from now on.

Carlie, my impromptu stylist, was just finishing up when Bianca appeared over my shoulder. She frowned at me in the mirrored reflection. "That's not what we talked about," she said.

For the last hour, Bianca had been on the far side of the salon, getting her own hair done. Unsurprisingly, it looked totally gorgeous – gathered in a thick mass high on her head, with long, styled tendrils framing her perfectly made-up face. 

I glanced in the mirror at my own hair. It wasn't nearly so elaborate, but it didn't look too bad. Under the stylist's care, my highlights practically shimmered, and my hair fell in soft waves around my face.

Bianca gave my stylist a sour look. "You were supposed to put it in a bun," she said.

Carlie, who'd been setting aside a spray bottle, paused in mid-reach. She said nothing.

So I did. "I know," I told Bianca, "but I wouldn’t let her."

Bianca's gaze narrowed. "You wouldn't let her?"

It was true. The last thing I needed was a schoolmarm hairstyle to go with my schoolmarm dress. Enough was enough. "If I were going to wear my hair in a bun," I told Bianca, "I could have done that myself."

"Not as well as Carlie could." Bianca glanced toward the stylist. "Of course, that's assuming she can follow simple instructions, which I grant you, is debatable."

In the mirror, Carlie looked from me to Bianca. She opened her mouth, and then stopped short at a low rumbling sound that, embarrassingly, was coming from me.

"What was that?" Bianca said.

In unison, we all looked down toward my stomach. I slunk down in the chair and tried to become invisible.

"God, do you always sound like that?" Bianca said. "Do you have a medical condition or something?"

My face absolutely flaming, I lifted my chin. "No. I just didn't get the chance to eat. That's all."

"You can't be serious," she said. "What were you doing in the food court?"

"Nothing."

"Whatever," she said. "Forget it. At this point, I don't even want to know."

I was tired and starving, and yes, a little bit humiliated. "Good," I said, "because it's none of your business."

She drew back. "Excuse me?"

Facing off in the mirrored reflection, I studied Bianca's hair. "And why isn't your hair in a bun?" I asked.

"Because," she said, "I have my style. You have yours."

"Right," I said.

"What, were you expecting?" she said. "To go as twins?"

"You know what?" I said. "You've been giving me a hard time all day. And honestly, it's getting old."

Behind me, Carlie glanced toward the front register. "I'm going to, uh, check on something," she said, "I'll be back in five minutes, okay?"

"Don't bother," Bianca said. "We're leaving." She gave Carlie a scornful look. "And I hope you realize, you're not getting a tip for this."

I narrowed my gaze. "Yes, she is," I said.

"Really?" Bianca said, meeting my gaze in the mirror. "With whose money?"

I glanced down at my purse, where Jake's money – what little remained – was folded up in an inside pocket. I opened my mouth, hoping for a snappy comeback. Nothing came out.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bianca said with an overly sweet smile. "I forgot. You're a charity case." She gave a condescending laugh. "I guess it's easy to be generous when you're not the one paying. Isn't it?"

I whirled around and pushed up from the chair. I faced Bianca head-on, trying to control my rapid breathing. I gave her hair a good, long look. "So," I said, "who paid for yours?"

She drew back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Around us, the salon had grown oddly quiet. Carlie looked from me to Bianca. I glanced around, hoping for something, anything to fill the deathly silence. And then, something did – a low, rumbling noise that seemed to fill the whole salon.

My stomach.

I wanted to die of embarrassment.

Silently, Carlie reached past me. She opened a side drawer on her station. She pulled out a granola bar and handed it over. I glanced around. Everyone was staring. At me. I blinked long and hard before turning to Carlie.

"Thanks," I said, "I'll, uh, just eat this in the car."

But I didn't. Sitting in the back seat, food was the last thing on my mind. Between the stress of the day and uncertainty over what I'd find at Jake's place, my stomach was churning with more than hunger. Next to me, Bianca sat in frigid silence, neglecting even her phone as she looked out her car window watching the miles pass.

In front of the glass partition, Henry navigated the streets, apparently oblivious to the tension in the back seat.

About five minutes from Jake's, Bianca turned to face me. "I suppose you're going to tell on me," she said.

"Tell on you?" I said. "Like we're in grade school?"

When she spoke, her voice was very quiet. "If you're smart, you'll stay away from him."

She didn't need to say who she meant. But I made myself say it anyway. "Who? Jake?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"Yeah?" I said. "Why's that?"

"Because," she said, "if you're not careful, he'll destroy you." Her voice hitched. "Just like he's destroyed me."

Caught off guard, I stared at Bianca. Sitting in her perfect clothes, with her perfect hair and perfect nails, she looked anything but destroyed. "What do you mean?" I asked.

She glanced toward her lap, not meeting my gaze. "You see," she said, "he gives me money. And…" She let the sentence trail off.

"And?" I prompted.

"I do things for him."

My gaze narrowed. "What kind of things?"

She looked up, finally looking me in the eye. "Things you'll be doing if you're not careful."

My stomach, already churning, gave another lurch. The implication was obvious. "And he pays you for that?" I said. "I'm finding that hard to believe."

She gave a bitter laugh. "Really? Why's that?"

"Because," I said, "you seem to really like him." I blew out a long breath. "I guess I figured you wouldn’t—" How to put this? "—uh, need money for that."

Her voice became brittle. "It's not all fun and games," she said. "Some of the things are—" She looked away, breaking eye-contact. "—unpleasant."

I recalled the sounds that were coming from Maddie's room the previous night. As far as I could tell, nothing remotely unpleasant was going on in there. Then again, Jake wasn't paying Maddie for those kinds of services, not that I knew of anyway.

Did Jake expect something extra when money exchanged hands? I shook off the whole idea. Jake didn't pay anyone for sex. I was sure of it.

Or was I?

A horrible recollection hit me. Every once in a while, Maddie did get paid for sex – from Julian, and from a few other customers from the strip club. Was Jake one of her customers too?

My queasiness grew.

Next to me, Bianca was turned to stare out her car window. Was she serious? I shook my head. She couldn’t be. I knew Jake. He wouldn’t pay for it. He was smoking hot. He wouldn't need to pay for it. When we pulled up to Jake's building, I still didn't know what to think.

I opened my door, grabbed my packages, and stumbled out on shaky legs before Henry could even think of getting the door.

From inside the car, Bianca called out, "Luna?"

Relucantly, I turned toward her. "What?"

"If you tell Jake any of this," she said, "I'll be fired." She fidgeted in her car seat. "I know it doesn't look it, but I do need the money. So please don't. Okay?"

This was way too strange. "I don't know," I said.

"Believe me," she said. I am sorry. I know I was awful today. But about the dress, you'll look great. Trust me."

I wasn't born yesterday. I didn't trust her one bit. Still, the smartest thing was to let it drop. So silently, I turned and trudged into the building.

But an hour later, as Jake and I faced off in his penthouse, I wasn’t feeling terribly smart about that, or anything else for that matter.