More Than Sorry

9: He Helps the Girls

ZACH

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

Murder flickers in Andie's narrowed eyes. There's the slightest tremble in my finger when I push up my glasses. I'm on high alert. All signs point to that woman launching across the salon to kill me where I stand.

I glance at Yvette for support. No help there. She is loving every second of the drama from her perch at front reception, a lazy grin spreading across her face.

Yvette lifts her shoulder like my presence is no big deal. "Zach made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

Offer isn't quite the right word. Blackmail? That's closer to the truth.

My silence about Yvette's real name and the fact she is the daughter of a prominent judge is finally going to cost her. I recognized her the second we met, but she practically begged me to keep that information to myself.

No idea why Yvette doesn't want the girls to know—her secrets are her business—but I'm calling on the favor she said she owed me. I want a day at the salon to learn more about Eden's work.

Andie pushes the sleeves of her black shirt up over her shoulders. Her eyes don't leave mine. A warning. Like she's preparing for a cage match. "Eden isn't working here today."

"I know," I reply. "That was the plan."

"Plan?" Andie's eyes narrow on me before flicking to Yvette. "One of you better start talking. What's going on?"

"Hey, keep your accusing eyes off me," Yvette says. "This was all his bright idea."

Andie's scowl turns back to me. It's too much. My eyes drop to trace the uneven lines of the wooden floor under my feet. Thoughts are swirling, but sometimes it takes a moment to bundle them all together and force them out of my mouth. When I'm sure I can speak without stuttering, I lift my eyes back to Andie.

"I want to understand more about your salon," I explain. "Eden and I never talked much about work. I didn't want to bore her with mine, and I had this stupid idea in my head that she was putting on a brave face about hers because she was struggling on minimum wage working for some dive."

Andie's eyes are pure murder. "A dive? You think this place"—she holds her arms out wide and motions around the salon—"is a dive?"

Embarrassed, I drop gaze to my feet. My dumb assumptions—well, they were way off. I know that now.

You don't get more upmarket than Eden's salon. Tucked down one of the best streets in Sydney, it's a whole vibe. Exposed brick, industrial, but somehow all sparkle and luxury—just like Eden. Her special touches are all over this place. The greenery, daisies, and delicate glass lamps lighting up all the dark corners. The crazy cat art on the walls. Oversized fluffy white lounges. It's all her.

Andie's hands go to her hips. "You reduce everything Eden has achieved to nothing. She's worked her ass off for fifteen years to go from an apprentice to one of the most highly sought-after stylists in the country. Do you get that?"

"I know I was wrong. And I should have made the time to listen to Eden. I want a chance to understand what her days are like... so I... so I..." My thoughts are getting stuck again, so I pause, taking a second to collect myself. "I want to know how everything works here so I can support Eden better... if she ever needs me."

"Eden doesn't need you," Andie bites back. "She has us. We never let her down."

Yvette rolls her eyes. "Spare us the dramatics. Can't you see he's trying? Give the poor bastard a chance."