“Oh, well . . .” I barely slept last night? I had a long drive? I’m not actually my glamorous sister? Cass was drawing a blank. She attempted a shrug and a rueful smile—and felt a moment of indignation on behalf of her sister, who clearly worked in an environment where casual insults about her appearance were fair game.
Sasha Torres, according to Charlie, was tough but fair—and apparently had an enviable shoe collection. Although when Cass glanced down at Sasha’s shoes—mile high and electric blue—she didn’t feel a hint of envy, only wonder. How on earth did people walk in those things? Sasha now had her arms crossed and looked none too pleased. Think, Cass.
“I went to the hospital,” she said, as her sister’s words came back to her. “They checked me over. All good!”
Sasha’s expression lost a fraction of its irritated skepticism. “What exactly did they say?”
Cass was quickly realizing she’d have to wing it. Charlie had given her far too much information for her to retain it all. Back home, her days were predictable. It wasn’t going to be like that here.
“It was nothing more than a bump on the head,” Cass said. “Honestly, it’s not serious. I was just a little dazed yesterday from all the chaos after the accident, but I promise you, I’m fine to be working.”
Sasha stepped closer and held Cass’s gaze in a terrifyingly intense way. Cass held her breath, tried to keep her face neutral. “You look . . . different.”
How did Charlie live like this, with her appearance constantly under scrutiny? “It’s a new skin treatment I’m trying,” Cass replied quickly. “It’s . . . supposed to be skin-brightening.”
Sasha stepped back a foot and nodded with approval. “I’d like the name of the cream.”
“Sure thing.”
Sasha continued staring at Cass expectantly until the silence between them became awkward, and Cass realized Sasha was expecting the name of the fictitious skin-care product right that moment. Wing it, Cass. She said the first thing that came to mind.
“Sourdough.”
“Sorry?” Sasha asked.
“It’s sourdough starter. From my family’s bakery back home. I . . . started putting it on my skin once a week as a mask. I know how weird this sounds, but it really works.” Cass tried not to wince as she heard the feeble explanation leave her mouth.
“Sourdough starter, from your family’s bakery?” Sasha gave her a look like she had lost it, which was fair enough. Cass was blowing this.
“Yep. It’s, uh, full of nutrients, and probiotics and basically all the things expensive over-the-counter creams say they have in them. I started using it a few weeks ago, maybe? Anyway, guess it all just kicked in. Last night.”
Sasha blinked a few times. “This is a revelation,” she finally said.
“Well, you know I like to experiment in the kitchen. So, I recently decided to combine my two loaves—er, I mean, loves.” She laughed nervously. “And here we are.” Cass shrugged, forced a grin.
“Well, now I have to try this miracle treatment for myself. Will you bring me some?”
“Happy to!” Sasha is great, Charlie had said, as long as you work hard, and always give her what she asks for.
“Can you bring it tomorrow? I have a thing this weekend, and I need to look perfect.”
“You already look perfect. Honestly.” This was the truth.
Sasha waved a hand dismissively, though she looked pleased at Cass’s comment. “The bread mask, Charlie. Don’t forget. Now, let’s go. You’re late.”
Sasha started walking, and Cass had to run a couple of steps to catch up.
“Sydney is working on your prep,” Sasha continued, not breaking her stride. “Although she’s still waiting for you to send the file with the recipes for the rest of the week. And Priya is doing Austin’s makeup, but she’s probably ready for you now.”
“Okay. Great. Can’t wait to meet her!”
Cass realized too late what she’d said, but luckily Sasha was still slightly ahead of her, moving with shocking speed in her teetering heels. The soles of Cass’s canvas running shoes, still gritty with sand from her earlier beach visit, slapped against the floor as she tried to keep up.
* * *
? ? ?
Cass attempted to sit still and straight in the chair, trying—and failing—to follow Priya’s directions: “Close your eyes . . . Now keep them half open . . . There you go, open them super wide for me . . .” Priya riffled through the myriad powders and creams and brushes on the makeup counter. She rattled off the products as she went, talking about things Cass had barely heard of, let alone used: primer, highlighter, contour, setting spray, lip stain.