Page 24 of Hacking His Code

“Honestly, I’ve only ever watched the documentaries,” Purple says. “I love the part where they describe Rand and Ernestine’s relationship, but what makes it better is knowing that it’s real, that in person, they’re just as in love as they say in all those shows they’ve made.”

Their relationship unfolded before I was even born, but there are still documentaries being filmed on it today. ‘Beauty and the Geek’ was branded on every magazine at the time of their coupling, with pictures of them plastered on the cover.

Then disaster struck, and they receded to the shadows. Who could blame them?

“It’s ironic that Ernestine requires a glam squad when she doesn’t go out much,” I respond.

“Are you kidding? She’s obsessed with looking perfect for Rand,” Chestnut says. “I doubt he’s ever seen her with an eyelash out of place.”

“And she still attends a lot of functions,” Neon cuts in. “She’s just very private and purposefully doesn’t draw a crowd. Celebrities know how to disappear when they want to.”

“I’m changing her hair up a bit to match the style of the dress,” Chestnut says. “Large waves will frame her face perfectly.”

The three work in unison, seemingly never getting in each other’s way, and finally, when they’re done with my hair and makeup, Purple sets a pair of shoes down.

“Try these on,” she says.

Shit…

The shoes are simple enough, black with three-inch heels, but after what happened earlier, I don’t trust myself to walk in them.

“Ummm, can I wear flats?”

“Absolutely, not!” Neon says with bulging eyes.

I try to protest, but Chestnut slips them on my feet, and at this point, I know there’s no reasoning with them.

“Walk around a bit,” Neon says. ”You’ll be fine.”

Well, here goes nothing…

I walk over to the mirror with relative ease, the heels proving to be structured much better than the previous pair.

“You’re gorgeous!” Neon enthuses.

The visual before me leaves me weak-kneed and breathless. My unruly hair has somehow been perfectly tamed, framing my face with large, lush waves of curls. My eyes are indeed smokey, like you see on magazine covers. What I’m most impressed by, however, are my lips, which look far plumper than I know they really are.

What magic is this?

And that’s just from the neck up.

The black dress I’m wearing is low cut, yet the cups somehow manage to contain my breasts in such a way that they’re both on display, yet fully supported. A quality Forever 21 and Target can’t seem to get right. The hem sits a couple inches above my knees, a professional length but far from modest.

I look like I could walk a runway in Milan or head a corporate board. I feel vulnerable and powerful all at once. It’s dizzying, terrifying, and if I’m not careful, I think I could get addicted.

Purple appears next to me in the mirror, smiling and bubbly. “Not too bad, if I do say so myself.”

Words fail me, not because I’m modest, but because it just doesn’t make sense to me. Since when do I have any business looking likethison my ramen noodle budget?

“You just went from a low five to a high nine!” Neon enthuses. “We should really put a before and after picture of you on our website.”

“Gee, thanks…I guess.” Again, I should be offended, but coming from Neon, all I can do is laugh.

Chestnut joins in, saying, “Hunter isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off you.”

Jokes on her because Hunter’s hands will never lay a finger on me. Even if he was interested in me, I want nothing to do with spoiled rich brats that think they can kidnap a woman and then say, “Oops.”

Or at least that’s what I tell myself.