Chapter Eight
Tiffany
––––––––
“SO,” I SAID when Ransom planted his butt into my chair ten minutes later. “How do you want it?”
He raised his eyebrows, and stared at me in the mirror. “How can I get it?” he asked with a wicked grin.
I groaned. “For thirty dollars, not the way you’re thinking.”
He laughed, and I couldn’t help but c***k a smile of my own as I draped the plastic cape around his shoulders.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“About two years,” I replied, noticing that my hands were trembling slightly. The affect he had on me was unnerving.
“Do you like it?”
“I really do. It’s fun improving people’s images.”
He rubbed his chin. “Hm...”
“Seriously,” I said, running my fingers through his hair, enjoying it more than I probably should. “What do you want?”
“Hell, just
