escaping from the stylist she headed to work. She quickly tamed the fluffiness as best she could, wrapping her hair into a bun. Maybe she could deal with the color. Maybe she could wear a hat.
She grabbed a baseball cap out of her batting bag and instantly felt better. She wasn’t willing to test whether blonds really did have more fun. She was way too sure that they did.
Mackenzie entered her office, thinking this was the last time she’d ever come here. She started boxing up seven years of hard work and was unsurprised when Rob came in, sitting down in her uncomfortable chair like it was a cozy sofa.
“You’re marrying the boss? I didn’t see that one coming.”
You and me both, she thought.
She tried a smile. “He wore me down.”
“There was a bet going on how long it would take for you two to sleep together, but no one guessed you’d ever get engaged.”
She closed her eyes. She’d been very, very right about having to quit. She would never be able to show her face here again.
Rob said, “I lost a packet. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
She looked up, trying to decide if that was a compliment or an insult. His smirk made her lean toward insult. “You should leave before you say something really stupid.”
He stood up slowly. “Probably.” He pointed to the chair he’d just vacated. “Take that thing with you before it injures someone.”
She shut the door behind him and leaned against it. She wasn’t really sad about leaving. She had no one she even wanted to say good-bye to. Rob was as close to a friend as she could call a co-worker, and she wouldn’t exactly miss the guy. But it felt like a closing. This chapter of her life was ending, a situation she’d been working toward for quite some time now, but the suddenness of it kept catching her off-guard. Technically, she had six weeks left. As far as anyone knew, she was only taking a vacation. But she knew she’d never come back.
A bet about their sex life? Ugh. Ethan was going to pay for that.
She finished packing her things, smiling slightly when she took out her hidden stash of chocolate. She’d miss that. She’d miss Ethan waltzing in and disrupting her life. She shook her head. This time he’d made it a doozy.
She threw the boxes into the trunk of her car, looking longingly at her batting bag. She could go spend an hour at the batting cages or she could go home and wash the gunk out of her hair and prep for an evening filled with Ethan O’Connor and camera-wielding crazies.
She sighed, slamming the trunk. She was not getting paid nearly enough.
Cassandra greeted her at the door with her mouth hanging open. “Well, that’s different.”
“Here’s a general rule. Don’t get your hair done with the mother of the man you’re pretending to marry when she hates your guts. Even if she knows it’s pretend.”
“It doesn’t look bad. It’s just different.”
“As different as she could make me without surgery.”
Mackenzie flipped the bathroom light on and inspected her now blond hair. “This was not what she was going for. She should have taken me to a stylist not quite so versed in bleached blonds.”
Cassandra started opening drawers and piling makeup on the counter. “With this color you’re going to need more dramatic makeup. Your usual boring look will wash you out.”
“Please. I have spent the afternoon with a woman who would like to run me over with her car. Can I get a little less lip from my best friend?”
“What’s a less insulting word for it. Demure? Your usual demure makeup will wash you out with this color.”
“Don’t make me look like a clown.”
“I will be the judge of that. You think any lipstick brighter than nude is clownish.” Cassandra patted the toilet seat cover. “Sit. Let me work my magic.”
“I need to wash my hair first. Tame this wild beast.”
“Don’t wash it out!”
“I look like a floozy.”
Cassandra shook her head. “You look gorgeous. Now that I’ve gotten over the shock. Very Anna Nicole Smith.”
“Oh, that’s going to win you this conversation.”
Cassandra pushed Mackenzie down. “I meant from the early years, but I can see how you wouldn’t like that comparison. Even if you have caught yourself a very rich, older gentleman.”
“Ethan is probably only five years older than me; emotionally he’s a good ten years behind. And I haven’t caught him. If anyone is dangling on the