Page 15 of Hacking His Code

Mom:I guess maybe I’ll see what they have to say.

Arinessa:Good. I can’t wait to hear the details. I’m not going to be around much next week because I’ll be getting the new apartment in order.

Mom:Okay, dear. Talk to you later.

After I hit end, I breathe out a sigh of relief. Whatever doubt I had about Hunter is eroding. I may not take home the big prize, but my mother’s health makes this whole ordeal worth it.

My solitude is short-lived, and before I can really process my emotions, the door flies open, and three women enter the room.

One is a bottle blonde with a preference for neon everything. Another has long chestnut hair, donning a more relaxed style. She’s wearing jeans and a tee-shirt, but the high-end kind that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. The third is an Asian woman whose hair is a dark shade of purple. She’s wearing shorts with a chain-link belt and a tank top that could have very well come from Target. Her lips are black, her eyes heavily outlined. I guess you’d call the look goth.

All three of them look at me with disdain.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“We deal in glam,” Neon says. “We’re here to make you look…civilized.”

“Oh…I’m Arinessa.”

As much as I hate everything about this, the looks on their faces, the implications of their words, I try to reason that maybe this is a good thing. I’ve never had a makeover, a spa day, or anything more than a haircut from a professional. If you can call Quix Clips professional.

I look down at my body. “New clothes would be nice. All mine are back at my apartment.”

“Let’s take a look at you,” Chestnut says, eyeing me up and down. “Spin for us.”

They circle me, each of them inspecting me like I’m some kind of lab specimen.

“She has a dire feel to her,” Neon says. “We need to brighten her up.”

“I don’t know,” Chestnut chimes in. “I think we should play up her mystery. Those eyes tell a story.

I snicker because the only story my eyes tell is one of poverty and poor life choices.

“The raw materials we’re working with aren’t half bad,” Purple adds. “Long legs, great bone structure, awesome rack. It’s rare that we find such a promising baseline.”

“It’s like finding a debutant at a trailer park,” Neon japes.

The four of us burst into laughter all at once. Any normal and sane person would be offended, but how can I be mad at something that has me doubled over and grabbing my gut?

“I already like you better than ninety-percent of my clients, and the ten-percent I like more, tip double,” Chestnut says.

Purple whips out her phone and begins tapping the screen. “I’m ordering her some capris and casuals.”

“No way! Legs like hers deserve to be flaunted,” Neon counters. “In lively colors.”

“I just want jeans and a tee-shirt.” I point to Chestnut. “Like she has, but cheaper.”

The three girls laugh in unison.

“I can’t remember the last time I looked at a price tag,” Chestnut says.

Neon butts her phone in front of Chestnut. “I’m ordering her the Diamond F Jimmy Choo sneakers.”

Chestnut rolls her eyes. “God, you’re so extra. You know Hunter’s going to hate them.”

A sick feeling twists in my gut with the mention of Hunter. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that they might be well acquainted.

Or rather, how they are acquainted.