And sometimes when you go to news websites to get the latest on the royal babies, there’ll be a sidebar with other news stories to click on and you’ll see his name alongside blurbs about what stocks he’s buying and selling, what he thinks about this or that market. People always seem to be reacting to what he says, whether it’s to agree or disagree. Basically, any statement that comes out of Rex O’Rourke’s mouth is a thing.
When you’re walking around in his posh, eco-friendly headquarters—a converted warehouse complex—you see his signature on signage everywhere. His signature is the literal logo of Rex O’Rourke Capital, as though it’s his promise. Rex O’Rourke is a monster, but if you sign on the dotted line, he’ll be your monster.
“Just walk in there with your head held high and find the fun,” I say. “You’re having fun, and he’s all hatey, and that’s on him. It’s the only way to deal with somebody like Rex.”
“Okay.” She nervously bites her lip.
“It’s true. Surly men like Rex always have a dark and painful secret and zero fun in their lives.”
“How do you know?” Amanda narrows her eyes. “Did you get that from your soap opera?”
“Well…yeah,” I admit. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”
I have a soap-opera themed Instagram account. I find soap operas incredibly soothing. Sometimes when I can’t go to sleep at night, I think about my favorite characters. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, needless to say. A wrist injury is a scary thing when you’re a hairdresser.
“The only way to deal with a man like Rex is to put on a smile, lace up your sparkly boots, and ignore his growls. Think of him as a lion with a thorn in his paw. It’s not about you. He just has a big ol’ thorn in his paw,” I say.
The way Amanda stares at me, you’d think I’d grown my own lion’s paws, and maybe even a big, fluffy mane.
I do feel that Rex carries a kind of dark weight—it’s something that I keep in mind when he acts like he hates my jokes or makes frustrated sounds when I stroll in wearing my awesome outfits. Personally, I think it’s good for him to be exposed to somebody who is an imaginative dresser. The man seriously lives the life of a gothic villain in a lonely castle, though his gruff style of human interaction doesn’t seem to hurt him in the womanizing department at all, if gossip sites are anything to go by.
I sometimes examine the pictures of him that appear online, partly to see how the style holds up in the wild, though I can’t help but notice that the rail-thin models and socialites he appears with dress in a completely boring way. A lot of earth tones—mostly black. Totally funereal. Like they think fun colors might hurt his eyes or something.
According to reports, Rex O’Rourke never sleeps with the same woman twice. Even so, women line up around the block for a crack at him. A recent Sunday feature paints him as quite the Casanova. Is he amazing and dramatic in bed with all of these women? Is that what’s going on?
More grumbled words.
“I don’t think I can do it,” Amanda whispers.
“I wouldn’t have brought you to take my place with him if I didn’t think you could do it,” I say, taking a firmer tone now. “You got this.”
“It’s kind of amazing that he likes you,” she whispers. “It seems like he wouldn’t like somebody with a fun attitude.”
“Likes me? Are you kidding? He hates me, too. It’s possible he hates me even more than he hates everyone else.”
“What?” Amanda is freaking now. It’s eight after. Two minutes to haircut time. “He hates you?”
“I completely annoy him. He’s an utter asshole to me. I don’t let him get to me, but yeah, he is not a fan.”
She gapes at me. “Why do you put up with him? Tabitha, you have a massive waiting list. Guys dying for you specifically to be their stylist.”
I shrug.
“Is it possible you’re a masochist?” she asks. “I think you are.”
Rex’s red-headed right-hand man, Clark, slips out the door just then. “Hey, Tabitha!”
“Hiya, Clark!” I say.
Clark’s eyes fall to the brace on my wrist. Quickly I cross my arms, hoping he didn’t really notice. I don’t want Rex to know why I’m taking time off. I introduce Clark to Amanda and explain she’s taking my clients temporarily. Clark winces at the closed door. “Possibly not the best day for a change.”
“Gulp,” I say brightly. “It can’t be helped. If he’s upset, I’ll amaze him with my favorite Stefano-faking-his-own-death storyline from Days of Our Lives,” I joke.
Clark snorts. “Somebody has a death wish.” With that he heads off.
“Rex O’Rourke likes to hear about soap operas?” Amanda asks.
“Oh my god, no, he hates to hear about soap operas,” I say, rolling my sleeve over my injured wrist. “Few things agitate him more. Rex hates anything that is pleasurable or relaxing. When you give him a scalp massage, you have to pretend that it’s the only way his hair follicles will lie naturally. That’s what I told him—if he doesn’t let me do it, the haircut won’t lie right.”
“Why not just skip the head massage?” she asks. “I mean, if he hates it…”
“Just because,” I say.
Because of all the people in the world, he needs it the most. The man literally has no pleasure in his life.
As if on cue, Rex yells at somebody—every other word is a number; that’s Rex’s thing when he’s yelling. My phone pings that it’s ten after.
“Go time,” I say.
Amanda swallows with seeming difficulty. I knock on Rex’s door.
A grumble from inside. “What?”
“Haircut.”
A grunt.
“That means ‘come on in.’” I grab my Hello Kitty shoulder bag and lead Amanda into his grand office where every surface is cold and flat and the view of the harbor is breathtaking.
And at the center of it is Rex in all his glowering glory.
His beauty stops my heart for a second, like it always does. His gray eyes glitter, and his skin glows with annoyance, and even the shiny parts of his hair seem to brighten with aggravation.
“What is this?” he grunts, meaning, why is a strange woman with you?
“This is Amanda Barnes. She’s taking over my clients for the next six weeks.”
Amanda smiles uncertainly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“Six weeks? Where the hell are you going?”
“Vacation.” I motion for Amanda to start setting up the mobile station. She opens the case, pulls out the tarp, and unfolds the collapsible stool.
I can feel Rex’s gaze on me.
“Amanda’s amazing,” I say. “And don’t worry, your front office did the whole background check on her, and everything’s okay. No trails of dead bodies or lamps made of human skin.” You have to have a background check before you get within a hundred feet of Rex’s office.
“Is okay with my front office the same as okay with me?” he says.
“Amanda is amazing,” I repeat brightly. “Ready?”