A billion-dollar nightmare? Check.
An arrogant former Army man? Check.
My worst client ever? Double check.
What bad deeds did I do to deserve this billionaire as a client?
Sure, the money is good.
But that’s not the only reason I’m here.
That’s not the only reason I’m giving Easton a makeover that he desperately needs.
His wild beard needs taming if he’s going to be a hot shot businessman.
But he has a real wild side to him that I don’t know what to do about.
His filthy mouth spoils my day.
His piercing eyes make me lose my mind.
Easton may be bad news, but he adores my curves.
He adores me.
I could only keep my distance from him for so long.
Falling in love with my billionaire enemy was not a part of my plan when I moved to a new city as a celebrity stylist.
Neither was breaking the rules and ruining my career.
But maybe, just maybe, Easton might be worth losing everything over.
Prologue: Artemis
“Are you done in there?”
“What?”
Easy’s voice came muffled through the door, barely audible over the sound of the shower.
“I said,” I opened the door to the bathroom up a crack, “are you done yet?”
“Yup. That’s why I’m still in here, Missy. Because I’m done.” I rolled my eyes and leaned back away from the steam emanating from the hot room.
“It’s a simple yes or no question, Easton. Please.”
“If you’re getting impatient, why don’t you come in here and lather me up yourself?” he called. I closed the door because I had asked for it. Walked right into that one. I checked the time on my phone. He had been in there for almost ten minutes. For someone who didn’t want to go out tonight, he seemed to be putting in the effort. Alternatively, he was just making sure this took as long as possible because he knew how much it annoyed me when he was late. I was sure he could do a good enough job in the shower himself but any longer in there and we were going to be late.
At least he was taking a shower?
Christ, the bar for this man was on the floor. It was in hell. All things considered, I wasn’t sure the man that I had met several weeks ago would have bothered with a shower before a charity auction at which several of his past and prospective clients would be in attendance. Yes, we had come a long way. I was a war-weary soldier at this point ravaged by battle.
I sighed, walking away from the bathroom door through his master bedroom. His clothes were hanging on a rack near the bed. On the bed were his cologne, hair wax and a brush, because God forbid, he tried to get away with not tending to that before we left. Knowing him, he would try. He was reformed, but only so far. With all the progress we had made, he would still try to walk the red carpet in joggers and a Van Halen t-shirt from the seventies if he thought he could get away with it. I shuddered. I thought I had seen fashion terrorism, but then I met Easy.
Finally, the water turned off. It was about time. Moments later, Easton Schultz emerged in a waft of steam and heat from the bathroom. My jaw dropped. It wasn’t his broad, defined shoulders, his perfectly formed pectoral muscles or distinct abdominals, no, it was his soaking wet hair.
“I thought I told you not to get your hair wet.”