Ethan parked the BMW E30 in front of "Imperium Style – Hair Couture." The car's reflection on the glass instantly caught the receptionists' attention. Their eyes lit up as he stepped out with his new jacket, looking like he had just walked off a runway.
"Welcome, sir," one of them said with an overly polite smile. "Do you have an appointment?"
Ethan scratched the back of his neck. "Uh… no. But I need a haircut."
The other receptionist almost choked when she saw his disaster of a hairstyle up close, but then her eyes darted back to the shiny car outside. Her brain did the math instantly: expensive clothes, luxury classic car, confident smile… at the very least, son of a CEO.
[HAHAHA. They see you with an expensive car and suddenly you're Prince Charming instead of a bum. Capitalism is magic, champ.]
The receptionists exchanged a quick glance and, in seconds, guided him into a private room. The walls were white with golden details, and in the center was a black leather chair that looked more like a throne than a salon seat.
"Please wait here. Our most experienced stylist will attend to you shortly," the first receptionist said, bowing with almost Japanese-level reverence.
Ethan sank into the chair, smirking. "Now this is VIP treatment."
[VIP treatment, huh? If they knew your bank account cries every time the power bill arrives, they'd hand you a broom instead of champagne.]
The door opened, and a woman walked in with her hair tied up, red lipstick, and an arrogant stare. Her nameplate read: Jessica – Senior Stylist.
She looked him up and down, her eyes stopping at Ethan's greasy, messy hair. She wrinkled her nose like she'd just smelled trash.
"Excuse me," she said coldly. "There must be a mistake. I don't attend… clients like this."
Without waiting for a reply, she walked out and started whispering with the manager just outside the door, loud enough for Ethan to hear.
"That boy's just a poor fraud! I'm not wasting my time on some nobody who smells like supermarket shampoo."
The manager looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "Poor? Did you see the black BMW outside? That car is worth more than you'll make in a whole year here. If you don't want to lose your job, shut up and cut his hair."
Ethan smiled with a vein throbbing on his forehead. When Jessica came back, her attitude had completely flipped. She wore a fake toothpaste-commercial smile.
"Sir, my apologies for the delay… it would be my honor to attend to you personally."
Ethan glared at her. "Forget it. I heard everything. I don't need someone cutting my hair while thinking I'm a homeless guy. Get your manager. Now."
Jessica froze, then bolted out. Seconds later, the manager —a sharp-eyed woman in a fitted suit— walked in with a diplomatic smile.
"Sir, I deeply apologize for the misunderstanding. Today we only have Jessica… and our new trainee. Would you prefer she attend to you instead?"
Ethan crossed his arms. "Yes. I'd rather have the rookie. At least she hasn't opened her mouth to insult me yet."
[HAHAHA. That's some high-level petty. This isn't a haircut anymore, it's a public execution.]
The manager nodded and called the trainee: a nervous girl with short hair and a spotless uniform. She was obviously new, nearly tripping as she walked in.
"This client is VIP," the manager said, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder and giving her a very loaded look. "VIP in absolutely everything he asks for. Understood?"
The rookie swallowed hard. "Y-yes, ma'am."
Ethan raised a brow, amused. "In absolutely everything?"
The manager gave him a sly smile, like the word "everything" had way too many interpretations.
[HAHAHA. Congrats, champ. You came in for a haircut and unlocked the secret menu: 'cut + happy ending combo.']
"Well then," Ethan said, leaning back in the chair with a mischievous grin. "Let's see if this millionaire haircut is worth a thousand bucks."
Emily Carter stepped into the private room, her face pale, holding scissors like they were a weapon. She closed the door softly and tried to force a professional smile.
"Good afternoon, sir…" she stammered, glancing down at the paper with his name. "Ethan?"
Ethan arched an eyebrow and leaned back in the chair with shameless confidence.
"Yeah, that's me. Don't worry, I don't bite." He smirked before adding, "Unless you ask me to."
Emily nearly choked on her own saliva, almost dropping the scissors.
"I-I…," she stuttered, blushing bright red. "The manager said I had to… please you in absolutely everything."
Ethan's eyes widened before he burst out laughing.
"You actually believed that? Relax, I just came for a haircut. Don't want to get reported on my first visit here."
[Confirmed: subject is dumb enough to ruin an erotic moment with a bad joke.]
Emily pressed her lips together, trying to regain her composure.
"Even so…" she said, mustering courage and locking eyes with him. "If you really asked… I'd be willing. I don't want to lose my job."
The air froze for a moment. Ethan stared at her with a mix of surprise and amusement. Then he leaned a little closer, lowering his voice.
"Relax, Emily." Her name rolled off his lips so naturally that her blush deepened. "I promise I just want you to cut my hair. Well… and not make me bald, please."
[Probability of rookie stylist falling for you: 67%. Probability of her breaking your heart: 200%.]
"Shut up," Ethan muttered under his breath, while Emily started working.
The tension eased bit by bit. She was clumsy at first, tugging his hair too hard by accident.
"Ow!" Ethan yelped, acting like she'd ripped his ear off.
Emily gasped, horrified. "I'm so sorry! Really, I'm so sorry!"
He chuckled. "It's fine, it's fine. Doesn't hurt that much… okay, maybe a little. But I like seeing you nervous."
Emily shot him a glare, though her flushed cheeks gave her away.