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This wasn’t happening, she thought grimly. It couldn’t be. How could she be losing her job when she hadn’t done anything wrong? If anyone was the injured party in all this, it was her.
She reached for the door handle.
“Wait,” Liz said. “You can still bring Jackson here for day care. You have a lot of credits.”
Allison was sure her former boss was trying to be helpful, but the words weren’t the least comforting. Yes, she had credits for now, but when they were used up, she would have to pay for day care if she wanted to keep working, and that sure didn’t come cheap.
She collected her things, signed out Jackson, then drove home. Once she got there, she pulled out her phone and stared at it, willing Peter to call. But he didn’t. There was only silence and the knowledge that everything was going to get a whole lot worse.
Three of Erica’s salons were on the Eastside of Seattle—that area defined as between Lake Washington and the Cascades. Bellevue (of course), on the lake in Kirkland at Carillon Point and Issaquah. The fourth was in the U District—the area around the University of Washington, just a few miles north of downtown Seattle. The salons were all sleek, modern facilities featuring clean lines and minimalistic decor, with comfortable furniture and luxurious treatment facilities. Hair care was the largest chunk of income, but the spas at each Twisted location did a thriving business.
The Bellevue salon had been her first, followed by the one in the U District. Issaquah had come third, and while she’d wanted to open in Kirkland earlier than she had, she’d been waiting for the perfect location. Once that had come available, she’d snapped up the spot and opened her fourth salon and spa.
She’d chosen to use the same color palette and furnishings in all of them, so clients always knew they were in Twisted, but there were little quirks to each of the stores. Bellevue’s pedicure rooms were all private, set up for one or two clients. At Carillon Point, there was a large lake view space upstairs where private parties could book group treatments for say a wedding party or a girls’ day out. In Issaquah, three of the treatment rooms opened onto private walled gardens. When the weather was nice, the French doors were left open and the tables could be moved outdoors.
While Erica considered Bellevue her home base, she had a small office in the other three salons and she spent at least one day a week in each of them. Even after all this time, walking into one of her salons gave her a flush of pride and a strong sense of achievement. When she’d bought out her mother twenty-five years ago, Mara had owned a three-chair salon in a run-down building long since demolished. Within two years, Erica had moved to a better location in Bellevue, had changed the name to Twisted and hired someone to do nails. Within five years, she’d had nearly forty employees, had added a thriving spa and moved to her current location. She’d signed the long-term lease on her twenty-eighth birthday. Two days later, the location in the U District had become available. She’d already been stretched thin, but she’d taken a chance and had signed that lease, as well. Two years later, she’d met Peter. They’d married and Summer had quickly followed. On her daughter’s first birthday, Erica had opened the Issaquah location.
Now she pulled into that parking lot, driving to the far end so as not to take a spot a customer might want. She’d planned to be in Kirkland but had awakened that morning thinking she needed wise counsel.
After Erica had bought out her mother, Mara had spent nearly a year traveling with one of her men. When she’d finally returned home, she’d gone back to work at another salon, saying she loved her daughter too much to work for her. But when Erica had bought the Issaquah store, Mara had insisted on moving there. She found the setting restful and loved that her station was next to the window with the view of the mountains.
Erica walked into the bright, open reception area and nodded a greeting at the two young women checking in clients. Three more were in line. Midmorning, midweek should have been a quiet time, but the hair salon was more than half-full and a quick glance at the spa schedule told her that nearly every treatment room was booked.
Erica unlocked her office and booted her computer, then went onto the salon floor. Her gaze settled on her mother, who was chatting with her client, a woman of a certain age. They had an air of familiarity about them—as if they’d known each other for years, which they probably had. Mara’s clientele was intensely loyal.
Like Erica and Summer, Mara was a tall brunette with brown eyes. She’d just turned seventy but could easily pass for someone in her late fifties. She stayed in shape with what Erica considered an unnatural affection for her Peloton bike, but whatever worked. Last summer Mara and one of the men in her life had taken some kind of barge-bike European vacation. They’d cycled from stop to stop most days and had slept on the luxury barge at night. It wasn’t Erica’s idea of a good time, but if it made her mother happy, then yay her.
As Erica approached, her mother smiled at her. “Annie, you remember my daughter, don’t you?”
Annie, a sixtysomething with stunning gray hair, nodded. “Of course. Good to see you.”
“You, too. I still envy you your hair.”
Annie laughed. “It’s about the only thing I enjoy about my age.”
“I doubt that.” Erica looked at her mother. “Do you have a break anytime soon?”
“When I’m done here.” Her mother’s brows rose. “Have I broken any rules? Am I going to get lectured?”
Mara and Annie laughed at the thought, while Erica wished what she wanted to discuss was that simple.
“Nothing so dramatic, Mom.”
“Then I’ll come see you in your office.”
“Thank you.” She lightly touched Annie’s shoulder. “So good to see you.”
Erica excused herself and took a quick tour of the store before returning to her workspace. After clearing her email, she found herself unable to concentrate. Usually work was her refuge, but not this morning.
She hadn’t slept well and when she had finally dozed off, she’d had bad dreams about Summer being held captive by someone who wouldn’t tell her what it would take to get her daughter back. Apparently the Peter situation had affected her more than she’d realized.
No, she amended mentally. Not Peter problems so much as how upset Summer had been.
“I knew you’d find out I’d been stealing towels,” her mother said cheerfully as she walked into Erica’s office.
“Very funny.”
Her mother took one of the visitors’ chairs on the other side of the desk. “What couldn’t wait until tonight?” She paused, her eyebrows drawing together. “You didn’t sleep well and you’re tense. What’s going on?”
