ARIA
The phone on the reception desk kept ringing repeatedly, cutting through the low hum of the makeup studio. I was in the middle of checking inventory sheets when the sound drilled into my skull.
“Zainab,” I called over my shoulder, not looking up from the clipboard. “Marcy’s not on seat. Can you please get that? It’s driving me up the wall.”
“Yes, ma’am. I'm coming right now.”
She hurried across the open floor, her heels clicking softly against the polished concrete. The studio smelled like fresh foundation, vanilla candles, and the faint metallic tang of new packaging.
My makeup studio was growing rapidly. Most days, it felt like magic. Today, it felt like pressure.
Zainab reached the phone just as I glanced at the clock. Almost 5:30 p.m. The day was slipping away, and so was m
