Good. If you want to call me while you’re on the table, we can talk about some product endorsement offers that came in over the weekend.”
I hear Sally choke.
“No. No.” I shudder, picturing taking a call with Moira while someone is spreading hot wax on my nether parts. I’m pretty sure this is my custom-made version of hell. “I’ll call you later.”
Moira’s sigh slithers around us. “Fine. Just don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Ramon, don’t let her forget.”
“Of course not,” Ramon answers in a rush.
“And don’t let her trip on the way into the spa. You know how clumsy she is when she’s distracted.”
I shut my eyes and squeeze them until all I see is red and black.
Ramon clears his throat. “I won’t let anything happen to her, Moira.” It’s the certainty in his voice that allows me to open my eyes again. I look at him. He’s watching me, too much sympathy in his caramel brown eyes.
I look back at Sally who is biting her lip, concern a stamp between her auburn brows.
“If that’s all, Moira, we’re going to—”
“Yes. Get in there. You’re officially late.”
And the call disconnects.
None of us moves. No one says a word.
After a long moment, Sally whispers, “Is… Is she gone?”
I try to inhale a lungful of air, but I can’t seem to make my ribs expand. I blow out a shallow breath instead. “Yeah, she’s gone.”
Ramon unbuckles his seatbelt, exits the rental, and closes the door behind him. He takes his time moving around the front of the car, and I know he’s giving me a much needed minute.
Sally hasn’t been around enough to know better. “You know what, Iris?”
I try for another solid breath. “What, Sal?”
“Your mom is the scariest person I’ve ever met.”
I have to laugh because what else can I do. At least it gets me breathing again. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Ramon opens the passenger side door, and I slide out, but the slide gets away from me, and instead of slipping gracefully out of the Range Rover, I botch the landing, and my heels skid forward way too far, and my ass—the one that’s destined for waxing—is headed for the cement.
But Ramon catches my elbow just in time, halting my fall.
“Damn, Iris,” he curses, hauling me to my feet. “You trying to get me fired?”
“Sorry,” I say, shaken and pissed at myself. “I—sorry.”
“You lightheaded?” Ramon asks, frowning at me.
I shake my head. “No. I’m fine. It’s just…” But I don’t say it. Ramon has worked for me long enough that I don’t need to. He opens Sally’s door, hands her out smooth as silk, and reaches for the cooler in the back seat.
“Here,” he says, handing me the second bottle of today’s juice cleanse. “Drink this.”
I frown. “But this is supposed to be for lunch.”
“Nah.” Ramon shakes his head. “Change of plan. We’ll get you a salad for lunch. Loaded. Just drink this now.”
I don’t argue. Ramon, my personal assistant/nutritionist/personal trainer/bodyguard, knows when he needs to step in and tell me how it is.
“We probably should have waited until tomorrow to start juicing anyway,” he says, taking my arm and escorting me to the door.
“Yeah, but we start rehearsals tomorrow, and Moira didn’t want me to look bloated after vacation.” Hiking the AT might be active, but doing so requires a high-carb diet. And high-carb means belly bloat. I knew a juice cleanse had been in my future before Sally and I even booked our plane tickets.
He pulls open the door of the boutique spa and a gust of cool AC welcomes us. “Yeah, but we didn’t take into account the Louisiana humidity. You need time to adjust to the new climate.”
He’s right. It’s only ten in the morning, and the heat is unreal. The air is heavier than I’ve ever felt in L.A.
“You said filming on location was going to be an adventure,” I say, hoping to make Ramon smile. When we heard Hexed would be filmed in Louisiana, we made alligator jokes for a good two weeks.
Our favorite one was about alligator attacks, managers, and odds on survival. But in the end, we decided that if any swamp reptile tried to eat Moira, she’d merely walk away with a new set of luggage.
Sally follows us inside. “I wish we were just here for a mani-pedi,” she whispers. And I get why she’s whispering. The place is all muted colors, soft lighting, water-feature splashing, and chime-music chiming.
“Well, you’re here for a mani-pedi,” I say, forcing a