Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted #2) - Shayla Black Page 0,26
maybe you’re not better, but you’re the youngest so we’re pulling rank. Tell him.”
Logan gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed. “I hate you two. I’m so getting you back. When you least expect it—”
“Tell me what?” One-Mile demanded impatiently.
For a moment, no one said a word. Finally, Logan sighed. “Have you looked at your phone lately?”
“No.” He unlocked it and glanced at his boss.
“I know there’s no way you’re not cyberstalking Brea. Open Facebook.”
Those words jabbed fear in his gut as he launched it. “Why?”
“Cutter called us earlier. Don’t forget; no dragging your drama to the office.”
One-Mile opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on when he saw the announcement on the salon’s Facebook page.
Congratulations to our stylist Brea Bell and her fiancé, Cutter Bryant, on their engagement last night. Wedding details to follow!
His blood turned to ice as he lurched to his feet, chair scraping the floor. “What the…?”
“Sit down, big guy,” Logan tried to soothe. “Whatever you think you and Brea had? It’s over.”
“The fuck it is.”
Chapter Five
It was just shy of five thirty in the afternoon when Brea heard a familiar male voice around the partition dividing the salon from the reception area. Over the whine of the blow dryer in her hand, she froze.
It couldn’t be…
“My mother-in-law is driving in from San Antonio for Thanksgiving dinner,” huffed the newly minted Mrs. Gale. “Michael says his mother is coming to help since I’ve never cooked a turkey on my own, but she stuck her fingers in our wedding every which way until I hardly recognized the ceremony I’d wanted. Of course she’s going to try to run all over me in my new kitchen.”
“Uh-huh.” Normally, Brea would have found a diplomatic way to point out to the newcomer from Beaumont that Michael Gale had been a mama’s boy most of his life and that wasn’t likely to change. Instead, she found herself trying to hear the low exchange on the other side of the privacy wall.
There was the rumble of male again, a voice with just the right depth and the perfect amount of gravel. She tensed. It couldn’t be Pierce. Why would he come here? Why would he seek her out now?
Unless he’d heard the news…
Suddenly, Rayleigh bustled around the divider, eyes wide, and headed straight for her. “Brea, you have a visitor. He’s very insistent.” Her mouth gaped open as she whispered, fanning herself. “And so hot.”
Since all the ladies knew Cutter and he was still in Los Angeles, Rayleigh didn’t mean him. Or Cage, either, though a couple of the other stylists had expressed their interest in the big cop.
Brea tried not to panic. “I’m finishing Mrs. Gale’s hair.”
The last thing she wanted was to have it out with Pierce in the middle of the salon. He probably wouldn’t be shy about airing their laundry in public, and Brea couldn’t afford to give the locals something other than her recent engagement to chew on.
“I tried to tell him that. He’s not going away.”
Shelby Gale patted her arm and stood. “It’s all right. I could use a trip to the ladies’ room and a coffee.”
When her client disappeared down the salon’s back hall, Brea pinned Rayleigh with a pointed stare. “I know what he wants and I don’t want to see him.”
“Why don’t you tell me that yourself?”
Brea whipped around at the sound of Pierce’s voice. She didn’t know what stunned her more—the fact that every head in the place turned to watch this suddenly interesting exchange…or the feel of her heart seizing up at the sight of him so big and fierce and seething.
She did her best to ignore her forbidden thrill. “What are you doing here?”
Rayleigh melted into the background. The rest of the salon fell utterly silent. But no one looked away.
“Taking a big fucking risk to talk to you.” With a glance over his shoulder, he looked at the partition blocking their view to the street, then faced her again. “I only came here because no one outside can see in.”
The big wall had been designed so that passersby wouldn’t catch a glimpse of their neighbors in foils or perm rods, but why did Pierce care? Clearly, discretion didn’t mean a dang thing to him.
“I want answers.” He glanced around as if suddenly realizing all eyes were on them. “Where can we talk more privately?”