Pleasure In His Kiss. Pamela YayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Because I need to know the truth, and if I find out you lied to me you’ll lose your car, your cell and your allowance for the next three months.”
A gasp filled the room. “Ouch, don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”
“See,” Reagan said in a self-righteous voice, propping her hands on her hips. “Ms. Karma thinks you’re being unreasonable too.”
Morrison glared at Karma, and to his surprise she glared back at him. Stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Made him feel guilty, even though he’d done nothing wrong. What was her problem? Why was she scowling? Morrison wanted to ask her to leave, so he could talk to Reagan in private, then remembered they were in Karma’s office and dismissed the thought.
“Is your cell charged now?”
Reagan shook her head. “No, but I can use one of the chargers in the staff room and text you their cell numbers later.”
“Later? No. I want the information now.”
“I can’t. I’m at work, and since Ms. Karma doesn’t like staff using their cell phones on the salon floor I’ll message you when I take my lunch break.”
“I don’t want you working here. You should be at home studying for your midterm exams.”
Her face fell, and panic flashed in her light brown eyes. “I—I—I can’t quit. Ms. Karma needs me. Weekends are insane around here, and the staff can use all the help they can get.”
Karma came around her desk, and stood beside Reagan. “She’s right. We need her.”
“Fine, you can stay, but today’s your last shift. A beauty shop is no place for a kid—”
“I’m not a kid,” she argued. “I’m a mature, young woman who’s capable of making her own decisions, and I’m not quitting the best job I’ve ever had.”
“It’s the only job you’ve ever had,” Morrison pointed out, surprised by his niece’s tone. Conflicted, he took a moment to consider his options. He didn’t want to make a scene by dragging Reagan out of the salon, so he decided to let her stay. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m staying at the salon, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind. I’m learning a lot, the staff is incredible and Ms. Karma is a terrific mentor.”
Karma gave Reagan a one-arm hug, but Morrison wasn’t moved. More convinced than ever that the hair and makeup artist was a negative influence on his niece he made a mental note to speak to his family about Karma Sullivan. His mom would know what to do, she always did. Morrison stuck out his hand. “I don’t want you disappearing again, so give me your car keys.”
“But, I didn’t do anything wrong!” she argued. “It was an honest mistake.”
“It’s not open for discussion, Reagan. Hand them over, or you’ll lose your cell too.”
Reagan unzipped her shoulder bag and rummaged around inside for several seconds. Wearing a long face, she pulled out her key chain and dropped it in his palm. “I finish at six.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Morrison said, addressing Karma. “Why would you give my niece such a long shift? She’s just a kid. Did you work eight-hour shifts when you were a teenager?”
“Yeah, I did. In fact, I worked thirty hours a week, and maintained a 4.0 GPA.”
Reagan stared at Karma with stars in her eyes, and Morrison groaned inwardly. Damn. The last thing he wanted was for his niece to put the salon owner on a pedestal, but because of his blunder Reagan was gazing at Karma in awe, as if she’d just finished a death-defying stunt.
“I know Reagan is busy with school so she only works sixteen hours a week—”
“Sixteen hours a week,” Morrison repeated, folding his arms rigidly across his chest. “So, all the times you told me you were going to the library to study you were here, doing hair and nails? Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me you’d gotten a part-time job?”
“Because I knew you’d get mad. You always get mad when I don’t do what you want, but I love working here and Ms. Karma says I’m talented.”
Karma picked up a piece of paper from off her desk. “Here’s a copy of Reagan’s schedule for April, and May,” she explained, speaking in a soft, soothing voice. “Look it over, Mr. Drake. If you’re not happy with her shifts we can discuss it further.”
“But I want to work more, Ms. Karma, not less.”
Morrison scoffed. If I have my way you won’t be working here at all.
“Here you go.” Karma offered him the paper.
Morrison wanted to take the schedule and rip it to pieces, but he took the paper, folded it and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “Reagan, I’ll be back to pick you up at six o’clock.”
“You will?” she asked, the disappointment evident in her voice. “But I thought you were going out with your friends tonight.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going, and you’re spending the night with your grandparents.”
“Lucky me,” she drawled. “Can’t wait.”
Morrison kissed Reagan on the cheek. “Be good.”
“I will. Have fun at the sports club,” she said with a wave. “Take it easy on Uncle Duane. He’s a sleep-deprived dad of four, so don’t beat him too bad!”
Morrison chuckled, but as he exited the office and marched through the salon, he wasn’t thinking about his tennis match with his brother or his game strategy. He was thinking about Karma Sullivan—the sexy salon owner with the sensuous mouth and drool-worthy curves.
An hour after leaving Beauty by Karma, Morrison parked his silver BMW X6 at the north entrance of the Hamptons Sports Club and took off his seat belt. He grabbed his water bottle and iPhone from the center console, and exited the SUV. Starving, he’d stopped at his favorite downtown café on the way to the sports complex and ordered the All-American breakfast. He’d left the family-owned restaurant with a smile on his face, a pep in his step and a full stomach. Now Morrison was ready for his tennis match, and confident he’d win.
A grin claimed his mouth. Duane was no competition; his brother would rather play video games in his free time, than sports, and Morrison suspected the only reason he’d agreed to meet up with him was to get out of the house. A brilliant software developer, with a hearty laugh and jovial personality, he’d quit his corporate job in the city so he could start his own business and spend more time with his family. Although he worked from home, Duane often joked about being a “househusband,” but it was obvious he adored his sons and his pediatrician wife, Erikah.
Morrison retrieved his Nike duffel bag from the trunk, tossed it over his shoulder and activated the car alarm. The morning sun was overcast, filled with dark, fluffy clouds, and the air held the scent of rain. Approaching the outdoor tennis courts, Morrison heard balls bounce, cheers and groans, and the distant sound of pop music. The sports complex had it all, manicured grounds, knowledgeable staff and instructors, and an outdoor snack shop that served coffee, sandwiches and fruit.
Taking a deep breath quieted Morrison’s mind, helping him to relax. He enjoyed the great outdoors, liked seeing the birds, the towering trees and the peaceful, picturesque views. Hearing his cell phone buzz, he fished it out of his pocket and read his newest text message. It was from his mom. Morrison felt guilty for not updating his family about Reagan. He should have phoned his mom from the car, instead of daydreaming about Karma Sullivan, but for some reason he couldn’t get the salon owner out of his mind.
Morrison