Pleasure In His Kiss. Pamela Yaye
especially when she was driving on the freeway, but everyone in the salon was listening in on their conversation and if she cursed Morrison out her staff would never let her live it down.
“I couldn’t have asked for a better employee and I’m thrilled Reagan’s part of the Beauty by Karma family,” she continued, speaking from the heart. “She’s a smart young woman with a great head on her shoulders and a very bright future in the cosmetology field.”
“Cosmetology?” Morrison scrunched up his nose as if someone had tossed a stink bomb through the window. “Reagan’s going to university in the fall, not beauty school.”
Karma raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing, knowing it would only make things worse if she told Morrison that his niece had changed her mind about becoming a lawyer and wanted to become a makeup artist instead. Karma should know. She’d helped Reagan fill out applications for cosmetology school weeks earlier, and written recommendation letters for her, as well. Unique and creative, with boundless enthusiasm, Reagan had raw, natural talent, and with the right training could one day be a household name in the makeup industry.
The telephone rang, and Karma picked it up, feigning excitement even though she was annoyed with Morrison-I-Think-I-Am-The-Boss-Drake. Thankful for the interruption, she chatted for several minutes with the celebrity publicist and penciled her name in the leather-bound appointment book for tomorrow morning. Her schedule was jam-packed, filled with so many bookings she’d have to work through lunch, but Karma wouldn’t have it any other way. For years she’d dreamed of owning a beauty salon and, thanks to the kindness of her A-list clients, Karma was the go-to hairstylist and makeup artist in the Hamptons. I wish my mom was alive to see me today. She’d be so proud of everything I’ve accomplished—
“Is Reagan working today?”
Karma consulted the appointment book, saw Reagan’s name at the bottom of the weekly schedule, and nodded. “Yes, but not until ten o’clock.”
“Good, I’ll wait,” he announced. “And, if she doesn’t show up I’m calling the police.”
Panic streaked across Abigail’s heart-shaped face, and Karma knew they shared the exact same thought: Hell no! He can’t stay here for an hour! Karma opened her mouth to suggest Morrison go grab a coffee at the café across the street, but she thought better of it. Didn’t want him to think he wasn’t welcome at the salon. He wasn’t, especially when he was insulting her and shouting at her staff, but since she didn’t want to make any enemies in the small, tight-knit community, she racked her brain for another solution to her problem.
Her gaze strayed to the red, high-heel-themed clock hanging above the front door. Karma didn’t have time to babysit Reagan’s uncle. She had to finish balancing the books, update her website and blog, and when Jazz showed up she wanted them to talk. Had to find out what was going on with her best friend. Karma had work to do, and lots of it, but she feared what would happen if she left Morrison in the waiting area. What if he picked a fight with someone? Or insulted her staff? Or worse, caused a scene when Reagan arrived for her shift? Left with few options, she said, “Mr. Drake, let’s speak in private. I can tell you more Reagan’s job description, and give you a copy of her monthly schedule, as well.”
Abigail sighed in relief, and Karma winked at her, wanting the single mom to know she understood her frustrations. It was hard to find good staff, and she wanted her employees to know she supported them wholeheartedly.
“Relax, relate, release,” Abigail chanted in Karma’s ear, gently rubbing her back. “If you need me, text me 9-1-1, and I’ll come running.”
Karma swallowed a laugh. Her employees were the heart and soul of her business. They were her family, the brothers and sisters she’d never had, and Karma could always count on them to have her back, especially when she was dealing with hotheads like Morrison Drake.
“I don’t want my niece working here, so consider this her two-week notice.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Drake, that’s not your decision to make.”
“I’m Reagan’s legal guardian, and what I say goes.”
His tone was so cold, Karma shivered, but she didn’t shrink under his withering glare.
“Maybe at the courthouse, but not here. This is my business, Mr. Drake, and I don’t appreciate you causing a scene,” she said in a quiet voice, even though she was fuming.
Surprise covered his face, and his eyebrows shot up his forehead.
That’s right, she thought, feeling triumphant. This is my spot, and I call the shots around here, Mr. Bossy Pants, not you. Resisting the urge to dance around the desk, she forced a smile. “We can discuss the matter further in my office while we wait for Reagan to arrive, or you can leave. It’s your choice.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. Reagan should be doing her homework, not doing nails, washing hair and sweeping floors. She’s a Drake. It’s beneath her...”
The murderous thought that popped into Karma’s mind must have darkened her face because Morrison broke off speaking. “Oprah was a grocery store clerk before she became famous, Brad Pitt wore a chicken costume and Barack Obama’s first job was at Baskin-Robbins. You should be teaching Reagan to be humble, not proud and pompous.”
“You misunderstood what I said—”
“No, I didn’t,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I heard you loud and clear.”
Music filled the air, a strong, infectious beat that drowned out the noises in the salon.
“I have to take this call,” he said. “It’s my brother. Hopefully he’s heard from Reagan.”
Recognizing the chart-topping song, Karma couldn’t resist swaying her hips to the music, and tapping her feet.
Fishing his iPhone out of his back pocket, Morrison touched the screen with his index finger, then put his cell to his ear.
Morrison liked Jay-Z? He listened to rap music? No way! He had a stern, no-nonsense demeanor, but hearing his ring tone made Karma think she’d pegged him all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t an uptight jerk, she thought, giving him the once-over again.
Intrigued, Karma studied him closely. Everything about him was sexy—the way he talked, the way he carried himself, his commanding presence—but he wasn’t her type. Karma liked men with tattoos and dreadlocks, who had a wild, adventurous side. Still, there was something about Morrison that appealed to her, that made her mouth wet and her heart race. Morrison Drake was the yummiest judge she had ever met, and if he wasn’t bossy and short-tempered she’d give him her number. And more.
Karma waited patiently for Morrison to finish his phone call, and when he did she gestured for him to follow her. He did, and as they headed through the salon, Karma noticed they had an audience. Women ogled him from behind fashion magazines, handheld gadgets and hooded dryers. Walking with Reagan’s drop-dead gorgeous uncle at her side gave Karma a dizzying rush, one she’d never experienced before and couldn’t make sense of.
“Hey, Judge!” called a divorcée seated at the nail station. “Looking good!”
“If I was ten years younger I’d make you my second husband!” joked a single mom.
“Whooee!” hollered a reality TV star, her eyes wild with desire. “I’ve been a very bad girl, Judge Drake. Hold me in contempt of court in your private chambers!”
Cheers and raucous laughter erupted inside the salon. Karma glanced at Morrison, expecting to see a broad, grin spread across his face, but it wasn’t there. To her surprise, Morrison looked concerned, not pleased that he had the attention of everyone in the salon, and Karma knew he was thinking about his niece. Had to be. That’s why he’d driven over to the salon and stormed inside. Because he was scared Reagan was in trouble.
Feeling guilty for asking him to leave, Karma decided to do everything in her power to help Morrison find Reagan—including