Claire's POV
I walked into the salon and the view and ambience beat everything I had ever imagined.
The air conditioning hit my exposed skin, my lips slightly parted as I took in the exuberance of the interior. The place was truly fit for elites. It felt like a place where you could easily numb shoulders with the First Lady.
At the reception, another woman was ahead of me. I took my seat on the sofa just behind the desk.
I watched as the receptionist looked down on her with barely concealed irritation. The woman wasn't dressed extravagantly, but she looked clean and put together. Her style was eccentric, bold even, and I could already tell the receptionist had taken one look at her and decided she didn't belong here.
"Ma'am." She sighed, the words barely making it through her gritted teeth. "I'm sorry, but you don't have an appointment here."
"But you haven't even checked," the woman reasoned calmly. "I haven't told you my actual name, so how would you know?"
